The Pacific littoral was the other site of protracted military struggle. Given their very close economic and administrative links during the colonial era, the early separation of Bolivia and Peru was in many ways a political fiction. In part because of their historic and economic connection and in part because of the rising strength of the Chilean state, the Bolivian president General Andre´s Santa Cruz sought to establish closer connections between two halves of the old Viceroyalty of Lima. In alliance with a number of Peruvian caudillos, he invaded Peru in 1835, and in October 1836 he proclaimed the existence of the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation. This union did have some popular support, but the division of Peru into two provinces and the selection of Lima as the capital alienated elites in both countries. More important, the union threatened the geopolitical position of Chile and Argentina. Both countries viewed a strong Peru as a challenge to their predominance. The first declared war in December 1836, the latter in May 1837. Despite some early failures, the Chilean army, in alliance with Peruvian forces opposed to the union, were able to defeat Santa Cruz in the battle of Yungay in January 1839, leading to the dissolution of the confederation.
Chile’s victory over Peru and Bolivia in the 1830s established its reputation as the regional ‘‘Prussia’’ and further solidified the political institutionalization begun under Diego Portales (who was assassinated at the very beginning of the war). If any war ‘‘made’’ Chilean exceptionalism, it was this one, as it provided a rare legitimacy while also establishing a stable civil military relationship. For Peru and Bolivia, defeat appears to have accelerated the process of economic and political fragmentation begun with independence.
Beginning in 1840, various international companies began the exploration of the Bolivian coast in order to make use of the guano and nitrate deposits there. The exploitation of silver beginning in 1870 led to an economic boom. During this decade Chile and Bolivia appeared to resolve a series of quarrels by increasing the influence of the former in the disputed region. But disagreements over taxes and the nationalization of Chilean mines in the Peruvian desert in 1875 fueled the tension. Following diplomatic efforts to resolve a new set of crises, Chile declared war in April 1879. Given a Peruvian-Bolivian alliance, this involved Chile in a war with both northern neighbors. The war quickly became a contest for plunder.
None of the countries was prepared for war, although Chile had a significant advantage in naval forces. More important, the Chilean state retained its institutional solidity, whereas both Peru and Bolivia suffered from internal divisions. Chile occupied the Bolivian littoral, then Tarapaca in 1879, and Tacna and Arica and most of the northern coast in 1880. By this stage the Chilean army had increased significantly with an invasion force of twelve thousand men. International pressure from both the U.S. and European powers forced the two sides into negotiation, but the Chileans sought a complete victory. In 1881, with an army now numbering twenty-six thousand, the Chileans entered Lima. They did not leave until 1884, extracting the province of Tarapaca permanently and the provinces of Tacna and Arica, which they retained until 1929. Chile also took the entire Bolivian coast (Atacama).
The victory helped determine the future institutionalization of both the Chilean and Peruvian militaries, as well as partially defining the development options of the three countries. Chile enjoyed an economic boom as well as unprecedented patriotic euphoria, both of which helped dispel the gloom of the 1870s. Despite the relative shortness of the war, Peru suffered severe casualties and the destruction of much of its coastal infrastructure. The war may also be seen as the best example of a military impetus for a new national identity, as the Peruvian and Bolivian memory of their defeat continues to play a large role in their respective nationalisms. The Bolivian defeat deprived that country of a great part of its wealth and left it contained within the Altiplano, in which Chile had no interest. The war did help decrease the political influence of the military and helped consolidate the rule of a civilian oligarchy dominated by mining interests.
The War of the Pacific may best demonstrate the consequences of the external orientation of these states and the lack of domestic domination. It was ‘‘at heart a bald struggle over exports among jealous Chile, Bolivia, and Peru.’’ ‘‘All three countries were hard up, and run by oligarchies which disliked paying taxes and looked to revenue from these fertilizers [nitrate] as a substitute.’’ Each country was competing with the others for those resources that would allow it to maintain its ‘‘rentier’’ status and not challenge the domestic status quo. War came because the states were too weak to fight their respective elites. For example, because the elites of the Altiplano were too powerful to tax, the Bolivian state saw the littoral and the nascent nitrate industry as the best source of fiscal support. This brought it into conflict with Chile. But, precisely because it did not have adequate support from its home base, Bolivia could not hope to win.
Prague, Barricades during the revolution of 1848, June 1848
Alfred Candidus Ferdinand, Prince of Windisch-Graetz (German: Alfred Candidus Ferdinand Fürst zu Windisch-Graetz) (May 11, 1787, Brussels — March 21, 1862, Vienna) was an Austrian army officer who distinguished himself throughout the wars fought by the Habsburg Monarchy in the 19th century.
Windisch-Graetz came from a Styrian noble family and started service in the Habsburg imperial army in 1804. He participated in all the wars against Napoleon and fought with distinction at Leipzig and in the campaign of 1814. In 1833, he was named Feldmarschall.
In the following years of peace he held successive commands in Prague, being appointed head of the army in Bohemia in 1840. Having gained a reputation as a champion of energetic measures against revolution, during the Revolutions of 1848 in Habsburg areas he was called upon to suppress the insurrection of March 1848 in Vienna, but finding himself ill-supported by the ministers he speedily threw up his post.
Having returned to Prague, his wife was killed by by a stray bullet during the popular uprising. He then showed firmness in quelling an armed outbreak of the Czech separatists (June 1848), declaring martial law throughout Bohemia. Upon the recrudescence of revolt in Vienna he was summoned at the head of a large army and reduced the city by a formal siege (October 1848).
Appointed to the chief command against the Hungarian revolutionaries under Lajos Kossuth, he gained some early successes and reoccupied Buda and Pest (Jan. 1849), but by his slowness in pursuit he allowed the enemy to rally in superior numbers and to prevent an effective concentration of the Austrian forces.
In April 1849 he was relieved of his command and henceforth rarely appeared again in public life.
In order to gain some idea of siege techniques during the Carolingian age, it is best to view a few of the operations. They are selected for us, since although sieges were numerous, detailed descriptions of them are few. Nevertheless, by examining the warfare of the Carolingians both within Francia and against external enemies, we can obtain enough information to form some concept of defensive and offensive siege tactics at the time.
The emperor Charlemagne was engaged in many sieges. There survives an interesting description of his attack of Pavia in 773, seen from the viewpoint of the besieged, told by Notker, the monk of St Gall. The monk says of himself that he was ‘a toothless person with a stammer’ who has done his humble best to describe the events. For us, Notker has the advantage of possessing some military knowledge, and he is also describing happenings from his own lifetime. He had been brought up by an old soldier, Adalbert, who had fought against the Saxons and the Avars. He gives us a description of the mysterious nine rings of the Avars, seemingly an elaborate hedged earthwork. Notker’s account may however owe something to his literary pretensions, and to Virgil’s nine circles of Styx. His account of the siege of Pavia is also coloured by flowery language and a touch of imagination, but it remains of interest.
Desiderius, the king of the Lombards, was angered by Charlemagne’s repudiation of his daughter. The emperor had married the girl, and then after only a year, possibly at the prompting of his mother, had cast her off. Desiderius defied the emperor, and shut himself up in the walled city of Pavia. He was joined by Otker, a Carolingian noble in revolt against Charlemagne. The two of them went up into a high tower to watch Charlemagne’s army approach. Desiderius was astounded as wave after wave arrived, in each of which he expected to see the emperor, each time to be told by Otker that still the great man had not appeared. The baggage train came, troops from many nations, Charles’ personal escort, his clerics. In the end Desiderius, according to Notker, sobbed and stammered: ‘let us go and hide’. Charlemagne finally arrived, the light gleaming from his weapons, like the dawn of a new day, in iron armour and on an iron-grey horse. Otker himself fainted at the sight. It was, says Notker, ‘a battle-line of iron’. The attack made the walls of Pavia shake. The citizens in their ‘madness’ thought they could resist the emperor’s might. Charlemagne surrounded the city, and ordered the building of a church, secure in his strength and his trust in God. The Carolingian Chronicle, more laconically than Notker, tells us that Charles besieged the city with much effort, spending Christmas and the entire winter there, before taking it.
Charles was also engaged in siege warfare against the Saxons. As in the Merovingian age, we can see that the ‘barbarian’ enemies of the Frankish state were generally well equipped with knowledge in this type of war. In 776 the Saxons managed to get into Lubbecke by a trick, mixing with the foragers who came out from the town, and entering it with them when they returned, though this trick seems to have been used with suspicious frequency and might just be a good tale. They attacked the town when the citizens were asleep, but were resisted to the extent that terms had to be agreed.
At Syburg the Saxons besieged the Franks, and set up siege engines, though the chronicler sneers that they did more damage with their engines to themselves than to the Franks another suspiciously frequent comment to belittle one’s foe. The Saxon engines did not do the trick, so they prepared faggots to fire the town, but God intervened and sent two shields red with flame over the church so that the Saxons fled. It is difficult to know what a modern reader should make of these pious accounts, beyond a recognition that monkish chroniclers thought safety lay in the hands of God. Accounts of sieges in the Frankish period, when the enemy was often pagan, are particularly prone to this kind of description. All the same, it still tells us that the Saxons could fire a town, and possessed siege engines. Since the Vikings also used engines, it is clear that barbarian Europe in the Viking age had at least some sophistication in military equipment.
The siege of Barcelona also took place during the reign of Charlemagne, though it was conducted by his son, the future emperor Louis the Pious. It lasted through the winter of 800 to 801. Louis was supported largely by men from Aquitaine and Septimania, that is from southern Francia. We have a detailed description, and again a rather literary one, by the monk Ermold the Black who seems himself to have come from the Midi, and is probably to be identified as Hermoldus the chancellor. His poem which describes the siege was written in honour of Louis the Pious.
Barcelona was held by the Moslems, and had long been a threat to Christians. Ermold describes the holding of the Frankish assembly at which the decision was made to mount a major attack. The king declared ‘The Almighty has given us the mission to protect the people. It is the time of year when nation clashes with nation in arms. Where shall we go?’ In response to this somewhat casual approach to making war, William count of Toulouse kissed the king’s feet, and then described the ravages made by the Saracens. Of all their strongholds, he suggested, Barcelona was the key, the one town which was ‘the cause of all our ills’. The king was moved, clasped Count William in his arms and exchanged kisses with him. The decision to attack Barcelona was made.
Ermold then takes us to Barcelona, and recounts an anecdote or two to show what kind of enemy the Franks had to meet. He described the devastation around the city for which the Moors were responsible. They had taken Christian captives, including the mother of a certain Datus. Datus therefore approached Barcelona, in hope of recovering her. He was offered a deal: his horse in exchange for his mother, otherwise his mother would be put to death. His reply is a little surprising to us: ‘Kill my mother, I cannot stop you. I shall never hand over the horse you demand, wretch. It is not for you to handle its bridle’. The Moor then brought the unfortunate mother on to the walls and killed her before her son’s eyes. The poet intends that we see this as a Moorish atrocity, with possibly a touch of irony in regard to the Frankish love of horses. At any rate, Datus boiled Page with rage, and went off to become a monk, perhaps to contemplate the relative value of mothers and horses.
The Franks came to Barcelona and surrounded it with their tents, amidst the noise of trumpets. They attacked using the testudo, ladders and stones. They made engines and moved them up, making the walls shake, as well as the Moors on them. The Moorish commander, Zado, demanded: ‘What is that noise?’, presumably blissfully unaware of developments to date! He decided he needed help from Cordoba, a good example of the importance of defending garrisons keeping touch with outside support. According to Ermold, Zado was full of fear of the Franks, who were never beaten in war, who lived their whole lives in arms, and were used to battle from their youth: ‘the very name of ”Frank” makes me tremble’. This at least shows us how the Franks liked to see themselves. All the same, Zado ordered the walls to be strengthened, increased the guard, and improved the defences at the gates. Young Frankish warriors with a ram battered the rampart with great blows. One Moor called down to them: ‘Why do you try to destroy a city which Roman effort took a thousand years to build?’ It did not stop them. One of the Franks seized a bow and shot at the man, hitting him in the head so that he fell from the wall with a cry, his blood spattering the Franks below.
The engines could not break the gates. Louis was determined not to go until the place fell, and Count William declared that he would rather eat the horse he was riding than abandon the siege. The walls were mined. The defenders were reminded that no help had come, and that they were suffering from hunger and thirst. The Moors made a sortie. Zado himself was captured, and taken to Louis’ tent. He pretended that he would order his men to open the gates to the Franks, but in his own language shouted to them to continue their resistance, a ploy which won him the admiration of his captors. For another month the siege went on. The Franks rained arrows on the walls so that the Moors no longer dared to show themselves or to cross the town. The king himself hurled a javelin which stuck in the rampart. Finally the Moors opened the gates and surrendered. On the following day Louis made a triumphal entry. He left a Frankish garrison inside, and went home with shields, armour, clothes, valuables, horses and Zado himself.
Under Charles and his successors siege warfare played an important part in the wars to the east. Whatever the nine rings were, the Avars and Slavs employed earthwork fortifications a good deal. At Rastig Charles the Bald entered an enormous fortification which, according to the Annals of Fulda, was ‘quite unlike any built before it’. The same chronicle also mentions the Slavs encircling a site ‘with a very strong wall’ and having a very narrow entrance to trap attackers.
Engines are a commonplace of Carolingian siege warfare. At Brissarthe, a Viking force under Hasting took shelter within a basilica-style villa made of stone. The Franks surrounded this castrum with their tents, and next day built mounds for their engines. It is interesting to note that the Franks made mounds for military purposes, presumably, in this case, for engines to shoot from a distance. The Vikings attempted a sortie, but were forced back inside. One of the Frankish leaders, Robert, unwisely pursued them while not wearing helmet or hauberk, and was killed. The other Frankish leader, Ranulf, was wounded by an arrow shot from a window, and the siege was abandoned.
Riché among others, has suggested that the trebuchet originated in this period. Suffice it to say for now that the evidence is inadequate: the trebuchet, the great siege engine operated by a counter-weight, is generally thought to have appeared in about the twelfth century. Riché’s only evidence for an early date is the remark by Regino of Prüm that ‘new and unusual kind of engines’ were used, with no further hint as to what they were. 
The battle of the Dyle in 891 was also part of the conflict with the Vikings, and a vital Frankish victory. It arose, like so many medieval battles, from a siege. The Vikings had pitched camp by the River Dyle at Louvain, and there ‘after their fashion, they surrounded it with a fortified ditch’. Arnulf, King of the East Franks, came with an army to face them. He crossed the river but, having lost the Alemannic contingent, was hesitant to fight. The position was perilous for an army in the open, with marsh on one side, the river on the other, and no room for the cavalry to attack. Arnulf ordered his men to dismount: ‘When I get down from my horse and signal with my hand, follow me’. He encouraged them with the thought that they were attacking in the name of God. His men wisely appealed to him to leave a cavalry force to provide protection for the rear. And so ‘the armies clashed like iron on stone’. The chronicler said that the Danes had never been known to be beaten inside a fortification, but the Franks won the battle, and the Vikings fled, many drowning in the river, ‘grasping each other in heaps by hand, neck and limbs, they sank in hundreds and thousands, so that their corpses blocked the river bed’. Two Viking leaders, Sigfried and Gotfried were killed and sixteen of their standards were captured. The infrequency of Frankish successes against Viking fortifications suggests that they were well-made, and that Frankish techniques may not have been much more advanced than those of their enemies.
The siege of Bergamo occurred in 894. It was a Frankish attack, showing some classic techniques. In advance of the siege, the layout of the stronghold was surveyed from the surrounding hills. There was an attempted storm on the first day of attack, but it failed. At dawn on the next day, after hearing mass, stones were shot. The king’s bodyguard formed a testudo to approach the walls, ‘holding their shields above their heads like a roof’. They also mined the wall, with the defenders emptying on to their heads containers full of stones, even in desperation pulling stones from their own walls to drop. The mined wall collapsed to great shouting, and the army entered ‘like a whirlwind’. The leader of the defence, Count Ambrosius, took refuge in a tower, but was captured. The angry Franks at once hanged the count from a gallows.
Advance intelligence about a situation was often vital. At Mouzon in 947 the kings sent a force against the deposed archbishop Hugh. They attacked at dusk and from all sides, making an all-out assault because they knew the garrison was weak. Fresh men took over in shifts from those who were tired to keep the attack going, and indeed the place surrendered within one day. It was equally important to appreciate the strength of the defences. Montaigu near Laon was besieged in 948. The attackers noted the poorly fortified enclosure, which seems also to have been small. The inhabitants were cowed by a strong attack, and surrendered. A third important factor was timing. The siege of Laon in 948 was badly planned since it began with winter approaching, and Lothar had not time to make the necessary machines ‘without which a hill of such height could not be stormed’. He had to tell the army to disperse and come back to start again in the spring!
The renewed siege in the following year is of considerable interest because of the detailed description given by Richer. The chronicler says it was his own father who advised the king on how to take the place. The whole story is somewhat dubious, it seems unlikely the king would have required such mundane advice, or that he would have been particularly delighted to receive it. The ploy that Richer says was used is also a trick that was often recounted. One wonders if it could have been used in fact as often as it is described. Surely somebody would have got the message! There is still value in the account for what it tells us about siege methods, and because the chronicler clearly had at least some firsthand knowledge of events.
According to Richer, his father Raoul was a miles of the king, whose advice was always valued. Raoul advised his master first to examine the layout of the site with great care, and to see how well it was guarded. Richer’s father was given the task of organising a spying expedition, and then armed with information went to the king with a plan. He was given the go-ahead, and authority to put the scheme into effect. Troops were placed in hiding near the town. Then Raoul and his chosen party, dressed in disguises, watched in the evening as the citizens came out on their daily foraging trip. Raoul’s group wore the same clothes, and a similar number, with faces hidden in their hoods against the sun, approached the gate as if they were the foragers returning. Once allowed into the city, they dropped their bundles and drew their swords. The attackers were protected by a tower on the left, houses on the right, and the town wall to the rear. They held the gate so that the hidden force could now come in, then massacred the citizens without pity. However they do not seem to have had complete success. Some defenders continued to resist from the tower, and the account peters out inconclusively.
A similar trick is reported by Richer, also organised by his father, against Mons in 956, and there is an earlier account about Montreuil-sur-Mer in the 930s, when Arnulf of Flanders dressed men in dirty old clothes so they would not be noticed, in order to enter the town and contact a traitor. The latter was offered a choice of a gold or an iron ring for his reward: gold if he helped, chains if he did not. He chose to help, appearing at night on the walls with a torch to show which entrance had been left open for them. Another reference in Richer implies that the idea of rendability might date from the tenth century, and is suggestive of the development of castle warfare. The duke of Paris showed his intended loyalty to King Lothar by offering to open all his oppida for a royal visit. Our Carolingian sieges show a full range of methods and weapons being used. In addition to engines, the account of Senlis in 949 suggests that the defending citizens were using crossbows. Sieges are still of towns for the most part, but the importance of camps and towers points towards strongholds which are becoming more like castles.
 Riché, Daily Life in the World of Charlemagne, believes the trebuchet was used at Angers in 873; Regino, p. 105 on new engines. R. Rogers, Latin Siege Warfare has useful discussion on the historiography of siege weapons, including the views of Schneider, who supported a view of trebuchets developed by the vikings, see Rogers, p. 20 (microfiche).
In assessing the capabilities of warships, the most basic parameter is size, usually given in tons. Unfortunately, pre-modern usage was inconsistent and modern authors all too frequently fail to specify which ton they are using and how. The ton has its origins in the English tun, a barrel with a capacity of 252 gallons used in the French wine trade that became the dominant unit of measure for shipping in medieval Britain and western Europe from Amsterdam south. The equivalent in northern waters was the last, roughly two tons, while the botte, about half a ton, prevailed In the Mediterranean. Capacity was at first given in terms of the number of tuns, lasts or botte that could actually be loaded into a ship’s hold. Later, methods were developed for using hull dimensions to calculate precisely capacities in these units (and their local variants, of which there were many). The results were – and are – economically informative. The sizes of sailing warships were calculated in the same way, but the results are less helpful, for carrying capacity is a poor indicator of military potential. By contrast, war galleys were rated according to their number of rowing banks and oarsmen. In both cases, size was related to combat capability; the question is how best to measure and express it. Most modern authors use tonnage – by definition a measure of capacity – to express the size of medieval and early modern ships, but this can be misleading even when used correctly.
The modern solution is to rate warships in terms of the weight of water they displace, expressed for convenience in long tons of 2,240 pounds avoirdupois. Unlike medieval capacity calculations, the results are not exact, for a vessel’s displacement varies with the load it carries. The results are, however, meaningful and apply to war galleys as well as sailing warships. We must obtain them ourselves, however, for in medieval times only Chinese shipwrights were able to calculate displacements, and their methods were lost with the Ming dynasty’s ban on ocean-going vessels. European shipwrights began calculating displacements only in the late 1600s, and for another two centuries used the results only as part of the design process. Fortunately, medieval and early modern shipwrights – at least successful ones – were systematic and their designs consistent. Knowing the dimensions of a few representatives of a given type, we can calculate the displacements of the rest with reasonable accuracy from one or two parameters: length, breadth and depth of hull or capacity in tons, lasts or botte. We are helped in this endeavour by naval historian Jan Glete who has calculated the displacements of an immense number of early modern warships and published the results in his trail-breaking Navies and Nations: Warships, Navies and State Building in Europe and America, 1500-1860.
Conrad of Urach was the son of Count Egino the Bearded of Urach; his mother came from the family of the dukes of Zähringen. His birth fell before 1170. Apparently determined for a clerical career early on, he received his training at the cathedral school of Liège (St. Lambert’s), where his maternal great-uncle, Rudolf of Zähringen, sat as bishop 1167–1191. At some point (probably while his uncle was still bishop), Conrad acquired a canonate in the cathedral; in 1196 he appears as cathedral dean, charged with maintaining order among the community. That the canons were in need of reform can be seen from the statutes issued in 1202 by Cardinal legate Guy Poré. By that time, however, Conrad had left the chapter.
Conrad’s uncle, Duke Berthold V of Zähringen, was a candidate for the throne of Germany in the disputed election which followed the untimely death of Henry VI in 1197. As guarantees that he would produce the money needed to secure his election, Berthold offered his nephews—Conrad and Berthold of Urach—to the archbishops of Cologne and Trier; meanwhile, most other German princes had elected Philip of Swabia, brother of the deceased king. Hearing this, the duke renounced his claims, but the two archbishops retained their hostages for some time longer. This use of them as pawns in the political game of chess apparently had a profound effect upon both hostages: should they be released, they vowed to become monks, and, in fact, both became Cistercians. In 1199, Conrad entered the Cistercian house at Villers-on-the-Dyle in Brabant.
Meanwhile, on February 1, 1200, Albert of Cuyck, the successor to Rudolf of Zähringen as bishop of Liège, died, and the see was left vacant. Part of the cathedral chapter elected Conrad of Urach, who had not yet made his final profession at Villers, as bishop; another faction elected an archdeacon who was studying at Paris at the time. Conrad renounced any claim to the office, however, apparently preferring the vita contemplativa (contemplative life) to the vita activa (active life) required of a German prince bishop. He made his final vows at Villers. His family ties, as well as his obvious abilities, led to his becoming prior at Villers by ca. 1204, and in 1208/1209 he was elected abbot. His reputation as an ardent reformer and as a rigorous administrator led to his elevation as abbot of Clairvaux in 1214, and, as such, he attended the Fourth Lateran Council.
Despite his having become a monk, Conrad could not escape the responsibilities placed on him as one of the most influential individuals in the Latin Christendom of his day. In December 1216, he was sent with Abbot Arnald of Citeaux to Philip II and Louis of France to negotiate peace with England. In 1217 Conrad became abbot of Citeaux and general of the Cistercian Order; he probably assumed offi ce at the general meeting of the chapter of the order held at the end of the year.
In January 1219, Pope Honorius III consecrated Conrad as cardinal bishop of Porto and San Rufi na. At the time, there were twenty members of the College of Cardinals: four cardinal bishops, eight cardinal priests, and eight cardinal deacons. Of these, sixteen were from Italian provinces, two from Iberia, one from England, and one from Languedoc. Conrad thus joined the college as its only German member and remained so thus until 1225. During Lent 1220, he was appointed as the successor of Cardinal Bertrand as legate to the Albigensian lands, and given a mandate to support Amalrich de Montfort against Count Raymond of Toulouse. His fame spread, to the extent that soon thereafter, he was nominated to the archbishopric of Besançon. Honorius III would not allow this, however, claiming that Conrad’s talents were needed throughout the Church.
In 1224 Conrad was given the legation as crusade preacher in Germany, but he also participated in various other activities, such as the condemnation of the accused renegade prior Henry Minneke at Hildesheim in October 1224, the national synod held at Mainz in November and December 1225, and the burial of Archbishop Engelbert of Cologne in December 1225. By May 1226 he was back in Rome, and he was present on March 18, 1227, when Honorius III died. According to tradition, Conrad was the fi rst to be offered the tiara, but, again, he rejected an episcopal offi ce. Only then was Gregory IX chosen. Even had Conrad accepted, however, his pontifi cate might well have been a brief one: he died on September 29, 1227, and was buried at Clairvaux, at the side of the smaller altar.
Neiningen, Fulk. Konrad von Urach (†1227): Zähringer, Zisterzienser, Kardinallegat. Paderborn: Schöningh, 1994.
Pixton, Paul B. “Cardinal Bishop Conrad of Porto and S. Rufina and the Implementation of Innocent Ill’s Conciliar Decrees in Germany, 1224–1226.” In Proceedings of the Tenth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law [. . .] 1996.
Schreckenstein, Karl Heinrich Freiherr Roth von. “Konrad von Urach, Bischof von Porto und S. Rufi na, als Cardinallegat in Deutschland 1224–1226.” Forschungen zur deutschen Geschichte, 7 (1867):319–393.
Winter, F. “Ergänzungen der Regesten zur Geschichte des Cardinallegaten Conrad von Urach, Bischof von Porto und St. Rufina.” Forschungen zur deutschen Geschichte 11(1871):631–632.
HNLMS De Zeven Provincien of the Royal Netherlands Navy in Hamburg, Germany. This frigate is is the first ship of the De Zeven Provincien class of air defence and command frigates.
Laid down: 1 September 1998
Launched: 8 April 2000
Commissioned: 26 April 2002
Class and type: De Zeven Provinciën class frigate
Displacement: 6,050 tonnes (full load)
Length: 144.24 m
Beam: 18.80 m
Draft: 5.18 m
Propulsion: 2 propeller shafts, controllable pitch propellers
2 Wärtsilä 16V6ST diesel engines, 8.4 MW each
2 Rolls Royce Spey SM1C gas turbines, 18.5 MW each
4 GEC Alsthom Paxman diesel-generators, 1650 kW each
Speed: 30 knots
Complement: 174 (202 incl. command staff)
Armament: 5×8 Mk41 vertical launch system with 8 cells each
Standard armament: 8×4 Evolved Sea Sparrow Missile and 32 SM-2 IIIA surface-to-air missiles
Another 8 cell MK41 VLS can be added
2 Goalkeeper CIWS guns
2 quadruple Harpoon anti-ship missile launchers
1 Oto Melara 127 mm/54 dual-purpose gun
2 Oerlikon Contraves 20 mm machine guns
2 twin MK32 Mod 9 torpedo launchers with Raytheon MK46 Mod 5 torpedoes
The De Zeven Provinciën class frigates are highly advanced air-defense frigates in service with the Koninklijke Marine (Royal Netherlands Navy). This class of ships is also known as LCF (Luchtverdedigings- en commandofregat, air defense and command frigate). These ships were built for air-defense but they also have weapons onboard to attack surface and submarine targets, for example: the Harpoon Missile and Mk. 46 Torpedoes. The ships are similar to the German Sachsen class frigates. For anti-air the ships are equipped with several weapons. The primary weapon is the Mk41 Vertical Launch System, each with 32 Evolved Sea Sparrow Missile and 32 SM-2 IIIA. During ballistic missile tests in the Pacific ocean near Hawaii, the SMART-L long-range air and surface surveillance radar proved its range capability: 2000 km max. Because of these results, the Dutch Government has decided to equip all four ships with about 8 Standard SM-3 per ship. Plans to equip some of the Zeven Provinciën-class frigates with a total of 32 BGM-109 Tomahawk cruise missiles have existed but these were shelved in May 2005.
The ships are classified as frigates by the Netherlands Navy but internationally are classified as destroyers as this better fits their armament and role. In most Dutch websites and books they are referred as frigates but in international websites and books referred as destroyers.
At the beginning of the Civil War both Spanish armies were composed of the professional forces, police forces, volunteers, and the conscripts who were undergoing their compulsory year of military service. As has been seen, the insurgent Nationalists had the advantage of being able to use the Legion and the Moroccan troops. The Republic, while it had the conscripts and the various police forces of its zone, was immensely weakened militarily because most of the professional officers had rebelled or were suspected of sympathy with the insurgents and had hidden from the hostility of murderous militias bent on killing all representatives of Spanish militarism. In the insurgent area, however, the military columns were able very soon to take the field, with almost all their own officers and noncommissioned officers and with their equipment. The militias that accompanied them were brought under strict military discipline. On the government side, however, the militia that accompanied troops in the heterogeneous columns marching out of cities such as Madrid, Barcelona, and Valencia was not disciplined; the professional officers were apprehensive of them. While the militia constituted the popular strength of the insurgents, they were a source of disorder and chaos for the Republic.
Nevertheless, on both sides, the bulk of manpower came from drafting the reserves, that is those men who had completed or were still to complete their military service. Because the Popular Army steadily lost ground, it had to draft more and more classes. In September 1936, men of the classes of 1932 to 1935 were called; in 1937 even older men, many married and with families, going back to 1931. The class of 1938 was called before its time. After the battle of Teruel in early 1938, the classes of 1929 and 1930 were called, and after the great rout of April 1938, several more years were called, including boys who were not due for service until 1941. During the Ebro offensive, in September 1938 two more older classes were called, and in desperation, in the midst of the retreat through Catalonia in January 1939, the authorities drafted men of the classes of 1919 through 1922, who were in their forties, and boys, known as the Quinta del Biberón or the ‘‘baby’s bottle class,’’ who were not due for service until 1942. In all, men between the ages of seventeen and forty-five were called to the Popular Army. Communist opinion was that such total mobilization should have been undertaken long before. Yet, without sufficient equipment and commanders for them, the wisdom of such a procedure would have been doubtful. The Nationalists did not draft so many classes of reserves as the Republic because they had more volunteers in the Moroccan units, the Legion and the battalions of Falange and Carlists. In any case, the Republican territory which they overran provided, if not large numbers of recruits for the Army, at least a conscript labor force. The two armies, Popular and Nationalist, approached a total of not far short of two million men, a colossal figure for a population of under twenty-five million.
The International Brigades
The contribution of the Popular Army’s International Brigades, one of its best-known features, should be considered. By mid-October 1936, in the provincial capital of Albacete and surrounding villages, the foreign volunteers for the Republic were being formed into International Brigades. Part of the first International Brigade went into combat on November 8 and 9 facing an imminent assault on Madrid by the enemy. By this time, however, several more Spanish mixed brigades had been formed. Thus, the first International Brigade was allocated the number eleven and the others were numbered successively up to fifteen. Statistics have varied enormously, but present-day calculations suggest a maximum of about 35,000–40,000 foreign volunteers, but not more than perhaps 15,000 at any given moment. The formation of the International Brigades represented a decision by the Comintern to do something concrete for the Republic and to direct the flood of volunteers and prospective volunteers for Spain so that they would offer an example of international left-wing solidarity. As channeled through the French Communist Party, controlled and led by French and Italian communists, including some who had had training and experience in the USSR, the Internationals would be controllable in the context of the Soviet need to prevent the Democracies thinking that a major social revolution was taking place in Spain. Moreover, the crushing of the revisionist anti-Stalinist revolutionary communist party, the Partido Obrero de Unificación Marxista or POUM, in June 1937 was accompanied by the dissolution of its unit, the 29th Division, in which many foreign volunteers fought.
The International Brigades were seen as an example of proletarian solidarity with the Republic. Because it was also thought that they were more militarily skilled than the Spaniards, more experienced in war, and more disciplined than their hosts, the Internationals were used as shock troops. However, the records of the Internationals and the memoirs of men who participated in the International Brigades reveal that the amount of chaos and unskilled leadership that they suffered was at least as great as among Spanish units. It is inexact also to claim that any significant number of Internationals had had experience of the 1914–18 war except their commanders, which is why they were appointed. Probably only among the French volunteers, who admittedly formed the greatest individual number of Internationals, had most men completed military service. The Italians were refugees from their country, as were many of the Eastern Europeans. The Germans had come to military age during the Weimar Republic when Germany had no compulsory military service. Neither the United States nor the United Kingdom had obligatory service. In any case, the Internationals cannot be fairly compared for experience, training, discipline, or leadership with Franco’s shock troops, the Legion and the Moroccan troops. Losses among the Internationals, who were thrown against the Legion and the Moroccans, were thus very heavy, and by the time of the Battle of Brunete in July 1937, the International Brigades, reinforced already many times by new volunteers, included many Spaniards. By the time of the Ebro battle (July–November 1938), at least two-thirds of the troops of the International units that took part were Spaniards.
The question of strategy may be more a matter of political rather than military decision. Proactive attacks by the Republican Army, such as those at Teruel in December 1937 and on the Ebro in July 1938, may have corresponded more to political decisions than to military appropriateness. The problem with major surprise assaults such as the crossing of the Ebro on the night of July 25–26 was that, as the Italians learnt to their cost at Guadalajara in March 1937, such movements needed air cover. They also required a clear view of what had to be done once the initial gains had been made. On the Ebro, air cover was scarcely present, so that advancing Republican troops and the pontoon bridges over which all their materiel had to come and their wounded evacuated were constantly bombed by the enemy. Advancing Republican troops, whose inexperienced commanders lacked initiative, allowed themselves to be held up by strongpoints of lesser importance. They thus lost the element of surprise. Furthermore, Franco’s logistics were of an extremely high order, which allowed him to bring up reinforcements before the Army of the Ebro, the best trained and equipped of all the Republican forces, could take full advantage of its initial success.
On a more theoretical point, it seems arguable that, although officers on both sides had imbibed the same military ideas because they had attended the same military academy, on the Republican side it was French defensive concepts, highly respected in the Spanish military academy, personified in confidence in the Maginot Line, and encouraged by the communist view that even an unskilled army could force a favorable decision by resistance, that seemed to predominate, while few shared the more aggressive concepts of colonial warfare. Did this contrast arise because Africanistas, many of whom had taught at the General Military Academy that he himself had commanded in the 1920s, commanded Franco’s armies?
Perhaps such contrasts were more applicable to tactics. Were company and platoon movements taught better in Franco’s army than in the Popular Army of the Republic? If this was not so, can the clearly better infantry performance of Franco’s army, even excepting the Moroccans and the highly trained Legionaries, be explained in terms of better officer and noncommissioned officer training, an absence of revolutionary rhetoric or better morale? Alternatively, was it all merely a matter of more arms, better discipline, and greater confidence in the professional quality of commanders at all levels?
Once the Republic, because of its inner political chaos, had made a number of incoherent and mistaken strategic decisions, such as abandoning the blockade of the Moroccan coast and not backing the initiative by militia from Valencia to recapture the port and naval base of Palma de Mallorca, its inability to defeat Franco’s insurrection was probably inevitable. Nevertheless, without the refusal of foreign countries to supply arms to the Republic, in contrast to the regular supplies that Franco received from Germany and Italy, a stalemate might have been possible. The construction of a new army in such a situation can be seen, in retrospect, to have been a substantial achievement.
Postscript – The Casado Uprising
Communist influence was strongest in the Army of the Ebro commanded by militia Colonel Juan Modesto. This army crossed into France in February 1939 after Franco had overrun Catalonia. Communist power in central and southern Spain must have been much weaker, for, when Colonel Segismundo Casado and the professional officers rebelled against the Negín government, which they considered without authority once the President of the Republic had resigned, the Spanish communists and the foreign Comintern delegates flew out of Spain and into exile. Resistance to Casado by some communist-led units was crushed.
Casado and his colleagues had been in touch for some time with Franco’s agents in Madrid. The concern of the anti-Negrín conspirators was to achieve a reasonable peace settlement, to save what could be preserved and to allow time for those in peril to escape. The professional officers seem to have believed, naively, that their colleagues on the other side, men whom many of them knew as friends and old colleagues, would welcome them back into the military family. After all, the professional officers of the Popular Army had obeyed their oaths of loyalty and had done their duty. They had not been guilty of any criminal acts, and many of them were socially conservative and Catholic. The Republican professional officers were, in the event, misled. Every officer was courtmartialed after the war by Francoist tribunals. At the present stage of research, it seems that sentence of execution was confirmed only against those officers who were seen, because of their rank, to have been responsible for the deaths of their fellow officers sentenced by court-martial for their rebellion in 1936 and perhaps against others who were strongly associated with political forces of the Left. Many officers, nevertheless, spent years in prison, or purging their sentence in labor camps. Most were expelled from the Army and eked out difficult lives in postwar Spain.
(March 9–29, 1847)
After the amphibious landing of 10,000 men and artillery under the command of Major General Winfield Scott, the city of Veracruz was shelled into submission during a 21-day siege. From Veracruz, Scott launched his inland advance along the National Road to take Mexico City five months later.
Dismayed by the slow progress of the war in northern Mexico and by General Zachary Taylor’s reluctance to strike overland for Mexico City from Monterrey, President James K. Polk authorized the opening of another front: Veracruz. Major General Scott, the senior commander of the U.S. Army, was chosen to lead the advance. Sailing in January 1847 from New Orleans to Camargo on the Río Grande, Scott took the better portion of Taylor’s idle Army of Occupation and ventured down the gulf coast for Veracruz.
Scott had put considerable care into planning the landing of his 10,000-man army. Only half of the specially designed surfboats he had ordered for transporting his soldiers had arrived, but it was imperative he land his army, organize, and move out before the rainy season, and its rampant yellow fever, began in April (Mexican leaders were confident the vomito would incapacitate the army enough that an expert defense could be planned).
Scott had chosen to land his troops at Collado Beach, a few miles south and out of range of the city’s defenses and artillery, and sheltered by Sacrificios Island. The first major sea invasion in U.S. military history went very smoothly on March 9. About 100 vessels landed more than 12,000 soldiers and tons of equipment by midnight. An observer wrote of the spectacle, “the tall ships of war sailing leisurely along under their topsails, their decks thronged in every part with dense masses of troops whose bright muskets and bayonets were flashing in the sunbeams; the jingle of spurs and sabres; the bands of music playing; the hum of the multitude rising up like the murmors [sic] of the distant ocean; the small steamers plying about, their decks crowded with anxious spectators; the long line of surfboats towing astern of the ships.” (Bauer 1969)
Scott wanted no more than 100 casualties in taking the city. As his men moved toward Veracruz they found the approaches had been planted with prickly pears, trenches, and sharpened stakes to slow their advance. On March 10, Scott began to encircle the city with his forces and shut off the water supply to the city. The heavy guns from the warships were hauled by hand across the deep sand under the guidance of engineers, such as Captain Robert E. Lee. It took nearly two weeks to place all the guns.
Scott’s ultimatum to surrender was rejected by the Mexican commanders on March 22. He then began to use the land batteries, and those on the U.S. warships, to shell the city. Lee recalled painfully that “the shells thrown from our battery were constant and regular discharges, so beautiful in their flight and so destructive in their fall. It was awful! My heart bled for the inhabitants. The soldiers I did not care so much for, but it was terrible to think of the women and children.” Houses were shattered, field hospitals at the Church of San Francisco and Santo Domingo were destroyed, and corpses littered the streets.
After the second day of shelling, Scott refused a plea to allow women, children, and noncombatants to leave the city. The shelling continued night and day. On March 26, the acting commander, General José Juan Landero, asked Scott for terms. A temporary truce was called. Commissioners from both sides agreed on treaty terms on March 29. The city had been demolished by nearly 7,000 shells, and hundreds of civilians, including many women and children, had been killed. The bombardment drew criticism from Mexico, Europe, and the United States as being cruel and inhumane. Mexican losses are estimated as high as 1,100 military and civilian deaths; Scott lost only 68 killed and wounded.
The Mexican army marched out of Veracruz on March 29. Pennsylvania soldier J. J. Oswandel recalled,
At 10 o’clock, A.M., the Mexicans blowed their trumpets announcing their coming, and all eyes were then cast toward the Mexicans. It was a beautiful sight to see the Mexican army with their drums, fifes and bands of music playing and their flags flying in the air, marching out of their doomed city, which they have so bravely and gallantly defended to the last hour.
As they marched, we could see them now and then look back to Vera Cruz, kiss and wave their hands and bidding it good-bye, when they came to a halt opposite the flag-staff. The Mexican officers then came to Gen. Scott’s headquarters, who was surrounded in full uniform, by his staff Commissioners, and Commodores [Matthew C.] Perry and [Josiah] Tattnall, and their staff officers. After greeting one another, some conversation took place in regard to the stipulation and agreement. After this the signal was given for the Mexican soldiers to stack their arms, or muskets, cartridge boxes, belts, and other munitions and implements of war, after which they were let go to their homes.
Some showed signs that they were glad to get rid of their arms, and seemed to lay them down cheerfully, while others slammed their muskets and accoutrements down on the ground with an oath and anger. One fellow could be seen taking the flag off the pole and hiding it away in his bosom…and he swore by the great God of the Universe, that he would for ever protect it, stand by and defend it from falling into the hands of the enemy. He was let keep it. He was so rejoiced over it that he cried like a child.
The whole number of prisoners were nearly six thousand soldiers. They were all well uniformed and drilled…[The surrender] was one of the grandest sights and spectacles that I have ever seen. Yet I tell you it was hard to see the poor women with their small children strapped upon their mother’s back, and with what little clothing they could carry, toddling along with the Mexican soldiers.
Everything passed off quietly; no insulting remarks or fun was made towards the Mexicans as they passed out, we looked upon them as a conquered foe, who have fought for their firesides and property, the same as we would have done if attacked by a foreign foe….
For further reading:
Alcaraz, The Other Side, 1850;
Bauer, Surfboats and Horse Marines, 1969;
Elliott, Winfield Scott, 1937;
Knox, A History of the United States Navy, 1936;
Morison, “Old Bruin” Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry, 1967;
Oswandel, Notes of the Mexican War, 1885;
Semmes, Service Afloat and Ashore during the Mexican War, 1851;
Trens, Historia de Veracruz, 1947–1950.