The truth is, the insignificant appearance of a line of simple breastworks has almost always caused those general and staff-officers especially that viewed them through their field-glasses, with the diminishing power of a long perspective, to forget that an assault upon an enemy behind entrenchments is not so much a battle as a battue, where one side stands to shoot and the other goes out to be shot, or if he stops to shoot it is in plain sight of an almost invisible foe. European examples, as usual misapplied or misunderstood, have contributed largely to the persistency of this fatal illusion, and Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos have served but as incantations to confuse many a mind to which these sounding syllables were no more than names; ignorant, therefore, of the stern necessities that drove Wellington to these victories, forgetful of their fearful cost, and above all ignoring or forgetting the axiom, on which rests the whole art and science of military engineering--that the highest and stoutest of stone walls must yield at last to the smallest trench through which a man may creep unseen. Vast, indeed, is the difference between an assault upon a walled town, delivered as a last resort after crowning the glacis and opening wide the breach, and any conceivable movement, though bearing the same name, made as the first resort, against earthworks of the very kind whereby walled towns are taken, approached over ground unknown and perhaps obstructed.
Even so, in the storm of Rodrigo the defenders struck down more than a third of their own numbers; Badajos was taken by a happy chance after the main assault had miserably failed; at both places the losses of the assailants were in proportion less, and in number but little greater, than at Port Hudson; yet, in the contemplation of the awful slaughter of Badajos, even the iron firmness of Wellington broke down in a passion of tears.
(1) "Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant," pp. 530, 532.
With that quick appreciation of facts that forms so large a part of the character of the American soldier, even to the extent of exercising upon the fate of battles and campaigns an influence not always reserved for considerations derived from a study of the principles of the art of war, the men of the Army of the Gulf had now made up their minds that the end sought was to be attained by hard work on their part and by starvation on the part of the garrison. Criticism and denunciation, by no means confined to those officers whose knowledge of the art of war is drawn from books, have been freely passed upon this peculiarity, yet both alike have been wasted, since no proposition can be clearer than that a nation, justly proud of the superior intelligence of its soldiers, cannot expect to reap the full advantage of that intelligence and at the same time escape every disadvantage attending its exercise. Among these drawbacks, largely overbalanced by the obvious gains, not the least is the peculiar quality that has been aptly described in the homely saying, "They know too much." When, therefore, the American volunteer has become a veteran, and has reached his highest point of discipline, endurance, and the simple sagacity of the soldier, it is often his way to stay his hand from exertions that he deems needless and from sacrifices that he considers useless or worse than useless, although the same exertions and the same sacrifices would, but a few months earlier in the days of his inexperience, have been met by him with the same alacrity that the ignorant peasant of Europe displays in obeying the orders of his hereditary chief in the service of the king.