Very much depends on the governor. Hence the French saying, “tant vaut l’homme, tant vaut la place.” Among modern men we think of Todleben (not governor, but the soul of the defence) at Sevastopol, Fenwick Williams at Kars, Denfert-Rochereau at Belfort, and Osman Pasha at Plevna. The sieges of the 16th and 17th centuries offer many instances in which the event turned absolutely on the personal qualities of the governor; in some cases distinguished by courage, skill and foresight, in others by incapacity, cowardice or treachery. The reader is referred to Carnot’s Défense des places fortes for a most interesting summary of such cases, one or two of which are quoted below.
Naarden was besieged by the prince of Orange in September 1673 and defended by Philippe de Procé, sieur Dupas. The duke of Luxemburg visited the place some hours before it was invested, and arranged with Dupas to The spirit of the defence. relieve him as soon as he had collected his cavalry. But the governor lost his head when he saw the enemy encamped round the place, and surrendered it before he had even lost the covered way. He was subsequently tried by a council of war and sentenced to be degraded before the troops and imprisoned for life. The reason the court gave for not condemning him to death was that they could find no regulation which condemned a man to loss of life for being a coward. (At that period the decapitation of a governor who was considered to have failed in his duty was not uncommon.) This man, however, was not wanting in physical courage. He was in prison at Grave when it was besieged a year later, obtained leave to serve as a volunteer in the defence, fought well and was killed.
A similar case occurred in the English Civil War. In 1645 the young governor of the royal post at Bletchingdon House was entertaining a party of ladies from Oxford, when Cromwell appeared and summoned him to surrender. The attacking force had no firearm more powerful than a carbine, but the governor, overawed by Cromwell’s personality, yielded. Charles I., who was usually merciful to his officers, caused this governor to be shot.
A defence of another kind was that of Quillebœuf in 1592. Henry IV. had occupied it and ordered it to be fortified. Before the works had been well begun, Mayenne sent 5000 men to retake it. Bellegarde undertook its defence, with 115 soldiers, 45 gentlemen and a few inhabitants. He had ammunition but not much provisions. With these forces and a line of defence a league in length, he sustained a siege, beat off an assault on the 17th day, and was relieved immediately afterwards. The relieving forces were astonished to find that he had been defending not a fortified town but a village, with a ditch which, in the places where it had been begun, measured no more than 4 ft. wide and deep.
At that period the business aspect of siege warfare already alluded to had been recognized, but many commanders retained the old spirit of chivalry in their reluctance to say the “loth word.” The gallant Marshal d’Essé, who feared nothing but the idea of dying in his bed, was lying ill at his country house when he was sent for by the king. He was ordered to take command at Thérouanne, then threatened by Charles V., and made his farewell with these words, which remind us somewhat of Grenville: “Sire, je m’y en vais donc de bon et loyal cœur; mais j’ai ouï dire que la place est mal envitaillée, non pas seulement pourvue de palles, de tranches, ni de hottes pour remparer et remuer la terre; mais lors, quand entendrez que Thérouanne est prise, dites hardiment que d’Essé est guéri de sa jaunisse et mort.” And he made good his word, for he was killed at the breach by a shot from the arquebus of a Spanish soldier.
Sometimes the ardour of defence inspired the whole body of the inhabitants. Fine examples of this are the defences of Rochelle (1627) and Saint-Jean de Lône (1636), but these are too long to quote. We may, however, mention Livron, which is curious. In 1574 Henry III. sent one of his favourites, Saint Lary Bellegarde, against the Huguenots in the Dauphiné. Being entrusted with a good army, this gentleman hoped to achieve some distinction. He began by attacking the little town of Livron, which had no garrison and was defended only by the inhabitants. But he was repulsed in three assaults, and the women of the town conceived such a contempt for him that they came in crowds to empty their slops at the breach by way of insult. This annoyed him very much, and he ordered a fresh assault. The women alone sustained this one, repulsed it lightheartedly, and the siege was raised.
The history of siege warfare has more in it of human interest than any other branch of military history. It is full of the personal element, of the nobility of human endurance and of dramatic surprises. And more than any battles Arcot. in the open field, it shows the great results of the courage of men fighting at bay. Think of Clive at Arcot. With 4 officers, 120 Europeans and 200 sepoys, with two 18-pounders and 8 lighter guns, he held the fort against 150 Europeans and some 10,000 native troops. “The fort” (says Orme) “seemed little capable of sustaining the impending siege. Its extent was more than a mile in circumference. The walls were in many places ruinous; the rampart too narrow to admit the firing of artillery; the parapet low and slightly built; several of the towers were decayed, and none of them capable of receiving more than one piece of cannon; the ditch was in most places fordable, in others dry and in some choked up,” &c. These feeble ramparts were commanded almost everywhere by the enemy’s musketry from the houses of the city outside the fort, so that the defenders were hardly able to show themselves without being hit, and much loss was suffered in this way. Yet with his tiny garrison, which timbered about one man for every 7 yds. of the enclosure, Clive sustained a siege of 50 days, ending with a really severe assault on two large open breaches, which was repulsed, and after which the enemy hastily decamped.
Such feats as this make arguments about successive lines of defence and the necessity of keeps seem very barren. History, as far as the writer knows, shows no instances where successive lines have been held with such brilliant results.
Clive’s defence of his breaches, which by all the then accepted rules of war were untenable, brings us to another point which has been already mentioned, namely, that a garrison might honourably make terms when there was an open breach in their main line of defence. This is a question upon which Carnot delivers himself very strongly in endeavouring to impress upon French officers the necessity of defence to the last moment. Speaking of Cormontaingne’s imaginary Journal of the Attack of a Fortress (which is carried up to the 35th day, and finishes by the words “It is now time to surrender”), he says with great scorn: “Crillon would have cried, ‘It is time to begin fighting.’ He would have said as at the siege of Quillebœuf, ‘Crillon is within, the enemy is without.’ Thus when Bayard was defending the shattered walls of Mézières, M. de Cormontaingne, if he had been there, would have said, ‘It is time to surrender.’ Thus when Guise was repairing the breaches of Metz under the redoubled fire of the enemy, M. de Cormontaingne, if he had been there, would have said, ‘It is time to surrender.’” Carnot of course allows that Cormontaingne was personally brave. His scorn is for the accepted principle, not for the man.
It is interesting to contrast with this passage some remarks by Sir John Jones, made in answer to Carnot’s book. He says in the notes to the second volume of the Journals of the Sieges in Spain: “When the breach shall be Resisting “to the last.” pushed properly forward, if the governor insists upon the ceremony of his last retrenchment being stormed, as by so doing he spills the blood of many brave men without a justifiable object, his life and the lives of the garrison should be made the forfeit. A system enforced by terror must be counteracted by still greater terror. Humanity towards an enemy in such a case is cruelty to one’s own troops.... The principle to be combated is not the obligation to resist behind the breach—for where there is a good retrenchment the bastion should be disputed equally with the counter-guard or the ravelin and can as safely be so—but the doctrine that surrender shall not take place when successful resistance becomes hopeless.”