home except half a company of pikes, and two fowling pieces, who fell upon the Kittendorf public house and there did wonders.

"As they were marching back, Stahl came up to the Amtshauptmann and asked, 'By your leave, Herr Amtshauptmann, may I lay my pike in your carriage for a little while?'

'Certainly.'

"Then Deichert came, and Zachow came, and many came, and at last all came, with the same request; and by the time the Herr Amtshauptmann drove into the town, his innocent basket-carriage looked like an engine of war, like some scythechariot out of the Persian and Roman times.

"Rathsherr Herse just let a corps of sharpshooters fire 'at 'em' three times in the marketplace, and then every one went home quite satisfied. My uncle alone was dissatisfied. 'Heinz,' he said again to his adjutant, 'there's no good in all this.'"

Compare the above experience to the marching of the Third German Army Corps in the campaign of 1870, after the German nation had been trained for fifty years to arms:

"When Prince Frederick Charles took over the command of this corps, he compelled the men to wear their packs all through the drill season, in peace times. The men accordingly were accustomed to march considerable distances bearing

heavy weights on their backs. Their muscles were hardened, and they could withstand the fatigue of the march without experiencing any serious discomfort. I stopped at the entrance of the village and saw them pass; although it was the middle of a hot day, there was no suggestion of straggling. Regiment after regiment went by without a wave in the uniform rate of marching. Step was not maintained, but each man forged ahead, marching at ease, maintaining his distance and interval in the endless column. The impression was of the onward movement of an irresistible mass, each unit of which had been prepared by physical training to do its part, and by practice, to hold its place in the great machine which was moving on Paris. The genius behind the training which made such marching possible, knew that war for infantry was largely a matter of legs and maintaining distances."

The same impression was produced in 1914, upon Richard Harding Davis, who describes the entry of a German army into Brussels:

"It moved into the city as smoothly and compactly as an express train. There were no halts, no open places, no stragglers. It has been in active service three weeks, and so far there is not apparently a chin-strap or horseshoe missing. It came in with the smoke pouring from the cookstoves on wheels, and in an hour had set up post

office wagons from which mounted messengers galloped along the line of the column, distributing letters, and at which soldiers posted picture cards.

"The infantry came in files of five with two hundred men in each company, and the lancers in columns of four, with not a pennant missing. The men of the infantry sang 'Fatherland, My Fatherland', between each line of the song taking three steps. At times two thousand men were singing together in absolute rhythm, the beat of the melody giving way to a silence broken only by the stamp of iron-shod boots, and then again rising. When the singing ceased the bands played marches. During seven hours the army passed in such a solid column that not once might a taxi-cab or a trolley pass through the city. Like a river of steel it flowed, gray and ghostlike, and then, as dusk came, and as thousands of horses' hoofs and thousands of iron boots continued to tramp forward, they struck tiny sparks from the stones, but the horses and men who beat out the sparks were invisible.

"At seven this morning I was awakened by the tramp of men and bands playing jauntily. Whether they marched all night I do not know, but now for twenty-six hours the gray army has rumbled by with the mystery of a fog and the pertinacity of a steam roller."

The men above described, if not Brandenburgers, were descended from the kind of men who in the year 1813 picked their way through the mud of the German roads like geese in a barleyfield, and went home at night discouraged or satisfied by the efforts of one day's campaign.

We shall see that discipline concerns itself in acquiring, among other habits, the habit of precisely executing the daily routine duties required on a campaign: the prompt obedience of orders that have for their object the feeding, clothing, and care of men: the practicing in times of peace the things which must be done in war, until they become second nature: the acquisition of collective confidence, courage, and strength, which make the actions of a real army suggest the movement of an express train and the pertinacity of a steam roller.

There are two episodes in American history, which occurred in the year 1814, one illustrates the folly of depending upon untrained citizens to resist invasion, the other shows how discipline imparts to men the tactical cohesion necessary to win.

The first is the account of a week's campaign in Maryland resulting in the battle of Bladensburg, the utter rout of an American army by a force numerically inferior, and the occupation of Washington by two hundred English soldiers.

The second episode is the story of how General Scott spent the spring of 1814 hammering into shape a body of recruits near Buffalo, and how they later made good at Chippewa, where they defeated a body of English regulars and Canadians superior in numbers.

In the Maryland campaign, General Ross with some forty-five hundred troops landed on August 18 at Benedict, near the mouth of the Patuxent River. His mission was to co-operate with a detachment of the English navy in destroying an American flotilla of small boats under Commodore Barney, which had been driven out of the Chesapeake, and had taken refuge in the Pa

tuxent.

The City of Washington is situated on the Potomac River just west of its junction with the East Branch. The Patuxent flows south and into Chesapeake Bay. In their upper courses the Patuxent and the East Branch are parallel streams, some fifteen or twenty miles apart. In 1814, a road crossed the East Branch running due east from Washington to Upper Marlboro on the Patuxent. Another road ran north from Washington along the west bank of the East Branch, and crossing the river at Bladensburg, swung south to Upper Marlboro. On the East Branch below Bladensburg there were no bridges except at Washington.