Obviously, then, for all the inferiority of the defensive as a drastic form of war it must have some inherent advantage which the offensive does not enjoy.  In war we adopt every method for which we have sufficient strength.  If, then, we adopt the less desirable method of defence, it must be either that we have not sufficient strength for offence, or that the defence gives us some special strength for the attainment of our object.

What, then, are these elements of strength?  It is very necessary to inquire, not only that we may know that if for a time we are forced back upon the defensive all is not lost, but also that we may judge with how much daring we should push our offensive to prevent the enemy securing the advantages of defence.

As a general principle we all know that possession is nine points of the law.  It is easier to keep money in our pocket than to take it from another man’s.  If one man would rob another he must be the stronger or better armed unless he can do it by dexterity or stealth, and there lies one of the advantages of offence.  The side which takes the initiative has usually the better chance of securing advantage by dexterity or stealth.  But it is not always so.  If either by land or sea we can take a defensive position so good that it cannot be turned and must be broken down before our enemy can reach his objective, then the advantage of dexterity and stealth passes to us.  We choose our own ground for the trial of strength.  We are hidden on familiar ground; he is exposed on ground that is less familiar.  We can lay traps and prepare surprises by counter-attack, when he is most dangerously exposed.  Hence the paradoxical doctrine that where defence is sound and well designed the advantage of surprise is against the attack.

It will be seen therefore that whatever advantages lie in defence they depend on the preservation of the offensive spirit.  Its essence is the counter-attack—­waiting deliberately for a chance to strike—­not cowering in inactivity.  Defence is a condition of restrained activity—­not a mere condition of rest.  Its real weakness is that if unduly prolonged it tends to deaden the spirit of offence.  This is a truth so vital that some authorities in their eagerness to enforce it have travestied it into the misleading maxim, “That attack is the best defence.”  Hence again an amateurish notion that defence is always stupid or pusillanimous, leading always to defeat, and that what is called “the military spirit” means nothing but taking the offensive.  Nothing is further from the teaching or the practice of the best masters.  Like Wellington at Torres Vedras, they all at times used the defensive till the elements of strength inherent in that form of war, as opposed to the exhausting strain inherent in the form that they had fixed upon their opponents, lifted them to a position where they in their turn were relatively strong enough to use the more exhausting form.