The
conquest of Gaul was effected by a force numerically insignificant, which
was worked with the precision of a machine. The variety of uses to which
it was capable of being turned implied, in the first place, extraordinary
forethought in the selection of materials. Men whose nominal duty was
merely to fight were engineers, architects, mechanics of the highest
order. In a few hours they could extemporize an impregnable fortress on an
open hillside. They bridged the Rhine in a week. They built a fleet in a
month. The legions at Alesia held twice their number pinned within their
works, while they kept at bay the whole force of insurgent Gaul, entirely
by scientific superiority. The machine, which was thus perfect, was
composed of human beings who required supplies of tools, and arms, and
clothes, and food, and shelter, and for all these it depended on the
forethought of its commander. Maps there were none. Countries entirely
unknown had to be surveyed; routes had to be laid out; the depths and
courses of rivers, the character of mountain passes, had all to be
ascertained. Allies had to be found among tribes as yet unheard of.
Countless contingent difficulties had to be provided for, many of which
must necessarily arise, though the exact nature of them could not be
anticipated. When room for accidents is left open, accidents do not fail
to be heard of.
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