The Grand Illusion: The Prussianization of the Chilean Army (Studies in War, Society, and the Militar)

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The Grand Illusion : The Prussianization of the Chilean Army Studies in War, Society, and the Military Sater, William F.; Herwig, Holger H. University of Nebraska Press 0803223935 9780803223936 9780585258430 English Chile.--Ejército--History--19th century, Chile.--Ejército-History--20th century, Chile.--Ejército--Reorganization, Prussia (Germany).--Armee--Influence, Chile--History, Military. 1999 UA622.S28 1999eb 355/.00983/09034 Chile.--Ejército--History--19th century, Chile.--Ejército-History--20th century, Chile.--Ejército--Reorganization, Prussia (Germany).--Armee--Influence, Chile--History, Military.

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The Grand Illusion analyzes the impact of European military institutions on Hispanic America in general and examines the putative "Prussianization" of the Chilean army in particular. The authors focus on Chile's attempt to import and assimilate foreign military methods, doctrine, and matériel. They incorporate research from Chilean, Austrian, German, British, and American archives to offer a new interpretation of Chile's military reforms. The authors argue that the Chilean army adopted only the most superficial aspects of the German military ethos, which eventually led to the creation of a large but ineffective army. The transfer of technology and doctrine failed because German institutions and policies did not suit Chile. Political infighting, greed, and corruption further encumbered the assimilation process. The authors' findings call into question the widely accepted thesis that developed nations could, and in fact did, change the nature of the military in developing countries. William F. Sater is a professor emeritus of history at California State University-Long Beach. His books include Chile and the United States: Empires in Conflict. Holger H. Herwig is a professor of history at the University of Calgary. His numerous works include The First World War: Germany and Austria-Hungary 19141918. University of Nebraska Press Lincoln NE 68588-0484 www.nebraskapress.unl.edu

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Studies in War, Society, and the Military Editors Mark Grimsley Ohio State University Peter Maslowski University of Nebraska Editorial Board D'Ann Campbell Austin Peay State University Mark A. Clodfelter University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Brooks D. Simpson Arizona State University Roger J. Spiller Combat Studies Institute U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Fort Leavenworth Timothy H. E. Travers University of Calgary Arthur Waldron U.S. Naval War College

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The Grand Illusion The Prussianization of the Chilean Army William F. Sater and Holger H. Herwig

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© 1999 by the University of Nebraska Press All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Sater, William F. The grand illusion : the Prussianization of the Chilean army / William F. Sater and Holger H. Herwig. p. cm.(Studies in war, society, and the military) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8032-2393-5 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Chile. EjércitoHistory19th century. 2. Chile. Ejército History20th century. 3. Chile. EjércitoReorganization. 4. Prussia (Germany). ArmeeInfluence. 5. ChileHistory, Military. I. Herwig, Holger H. II. Title. III. Series. UA622.S28 1999 355'.000983'09034dc21 99-19356 CIP

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From H. H. H. to Lorraine Parrish Herwig: wife, friend, and critic.

From W. F. S. to Danny Greenson, Barbara McSwain, Michael Engelberg, Linda Alexander Rodríguez, Jaime Rodríguez, Chris Archer, and Simon Collier. The best of friends in sometimes the worst of times.

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Contents

List of Illustrations

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Acknowledgments

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Introduction

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1 The Prussian Military

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2 Chile's Old Army

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3 Körner's Army

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4 How Körner's Army Failed

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5 The Art of the Deal

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6 Domestic Corruption

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Conclusion

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List of Abbreviations

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Notes

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Index

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Illustrations Photographs

1 Chilean military mission to Ecuador

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2 Chilean military mission to El Salvador

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3 Artillery tests at Tangerhütte

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4 Chilean Artillery Acceptance Commission at the Essen test range

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5 Visit to Krupp Foundry by Chilean officers

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Tables

1 Origins of 1892 Army Leadership

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2 The Composition of the Chilean Army, 18831920

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3 Chilean Military's Share of Annual Budgets

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Acknowledgments The idea for this project emerged at a meeting of the Society for Military History at Kingston, Ontario, in 1993 and was then refined further by papers that we gave at the Learneds in Calgary, Alberta, two years later. The research on the Austro-German side was made possible by the kind and knowledgeable staffs of the Historisches Archiv Krupp at Essen-Bredeney and the Österreichisches Staatsarchiv-Kriegsarchiv at Vienna. Señora Ximena Crisostomo M., librarian at the Academia de Guerra in Santiago; Dr. Juan Ricardo Couyoumdjian of the Pontifical University of Chile; as well as Señorita Carolina Sciolla of the same institution, facilitated the research in Chile. Ms. Cathrine Lewis-Ida of the interlibrary loan section of the California State University, Long Beach, went to great lengths to obtain the most arcane works. Gonzalo Mendoza, consul general of Chile in Los Angeles, also facilitated research in Chile. We also wish to thank Gen. Roberto Arancibia Clavel of the Chilean army and the Historisches Archiv Krupp in Essen, Germany, for providing the photographs included in this publication. A part of this project was financed by a Standard Research Grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Critical readings of the manuscript were made by Lorraine Parrish Herwig, who rescued us from many an embarrassment. Elise Sinay Spilker provided support, good cheer, and gracious hospitality, particularly when we got together to iron out the wrinkles in the manuscript. We also wish to acknowledge, with special thanks, Professor Simon Collier, of Vanderbilt University, who took time away from his own work to read our manuscript.

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Introduction Capt. Hans Edler von Kiesling, who reorganized the Chilean army in the 1920s, was the first Bavarian officer under the Second Empire to accept an appointment to a foreign army. Neither Kiesling nor the colleagues in the Fifteenth Infantry Regiment he left behind at Munich in March 1910 had the slightest inkling what "Chile" meant. Some wondered whether Kiesling would have to trade in his leather Pickelhaube for an Indian feather headdress. In mid-September 1910 Kiesling, standing at the railings of the steamer Polynesia of the South American Steamship Company, spied the lighthouse of Cabo Vírgenes through the weak sunlight at the eastern outlet of the Strait of Magellan. "We greeted the land that would become our homeland with a glass of champagne. Then the empty goblets flew high and wide into the gently rising sea." 1 Whales and penguins played in the ice-choked, deep-cut bays of the strait. Seagulls tossed about in the wind. Mountainous chunks of ice broke from the toes of myriad glaciers and crashed into the sea. Snow drove the passengers below decks as the Polynesia glided past the towering gray stone walls of Cabo Pílar. Cape Horn doves and albatrosses welcomed the ship into the South Pacific Ocean. Slowly, the Polynesia shaped course for Valparaíso, dubbed "the Chilean Hamburg" by its many German merchants. The port was a mosaic of color: German black, white, and red imperial banners waved alongside union jacks, the Stars and Stripes, and Chile's Lone Star. Prams flitted about the iron hulks, offering exotic items for trade. On shore, bands played, and the bazaars were alive with hawkers. After weeks at sea, Kiesling felt deafened by the screams of locomotives, the clanging of street cars, and the sirens of factories. Valparaíso was a veritable anthill of frenetic activity. And over it all wafted the sweet smell of jasmine and ylang-ylang.

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After a brief tour of the city, which still showed deep scars from the 1906 earthquake, Kiesling boarded a train bound for Santiago accompanied by the German colonel Viktor von Hartrott and several Chilean officers. The Bavarian arrived in ''the Chilean Paris" in mid-September on a bright spring day. From his balcony he watched the changing of the guard at the presidential palace. Kiesling could hardly believe his eyes and ears: "Military music flowed through the streets. German army marches. Then drum and bugle sounds. . . . In the lead, a drum major in parade step, his baton flying through the air; then the band; and behind the flag, perfectly in step, the honor guard. . . . The sounds of [Frederick the Great's] Hohenfriedberg march floated toward us from far away." 2 And there was more to come. On 1819 September Chile staged a lavish celebration to honor the centennial of its first national government, the dieciocho, and the army. Kiesling brought Chile's president personal greetings from William II, along with the full German military delegation headed by the kaiser's personal envoy, General of Cavalry Kurt von Pfuel, who was resplendent in the uniform of the Thirteenth (Hanoverian) Ulanen Regiment.3 The Germans were seated at one end of the city's 650-by-450 meter elliptical parade ground, the Campo de Marte. Next to them sat the Chilean president, his cabinet, and his military establishment. At the other end of the subtropical park, surrounded by groves of eucalyptus, pepper trees, oaks, and conifers, Chile's premier foot and mounted regimentssix infantry brigades and two cavalry brigadeswere assembled all in German-cut uniforms. Krupp guns fired the presidential salute. Military bands thereupon set the troops in motion. Kiesling was thunderstruck: "Parade march in regimental columns. First out the cadet school, greeted by enthusiastic cheers and clapping. Dark blue uniforms, yellow guards' braiding on their collars, and above their spiked helmets the flowing white horsehair plumes. In front of them their flags, accompanied by officers with drawn sabers. . . . Then at a trot and finally at a gallop the parade march of the mounted units. Dust swirled high in the air, and the thunder of hooves rolled across the open field." Kiesling gazed up at the towering peaks of the Cordillera to confirm that he was not "on the Tempelhofer Field in Berlin or the Fröttmaninger Heather in Munich." Like Kiesling, the German ambassador to Chile, Friedrich Carl von Erckert, was overcome with the euphoria of the moment. He cabled his government: "Parade. Ten thousand men. Santiago. Uniforms. Parade march, just like Berlin."4 There was no doubt in Kiesling's mind that Chile had imported the Prussian-German military systemand that it had taken root. "Surely,

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there is some truth to the saying that the Chilean has soldierly blood in his veins." 5 It was all just as Gen. Emil Körner had described it to Kiesling during their meeting in Berlin just before the Bavarian had set sail for Chile. Don Emilio, as Körner became known, had indeed transformed the Chileans into "the Prussians of South America." Körner was the first German military advisor to go to Latin America to "transplant the European army." He would not be the last. By the early part of the twentieth century, similar military missions operated in Argentina, Bolivia, and Brazil. Significantly, Chile became Prussia's surrogate, spreading the gospel of German military doctrine, weapons, and uniforms to nations like Ecuador, Colombia, and Paraguay as well as to parts of Central America. In short, Germany became to the Latin American land forces what the British navy was to its fleets: their model if not their superego. In the words of David B. Ralston, Chile, it seemed, had successfully assimilated lessons of the European army. After observing Santiago's soldiers wearing German uniforms, carrying German weapons, and goose-stepping to German martial music, one could be forgiven for believing that the Chileans indeed had become Germans "in every sense."6 But, as we shall discover, looking and sounding like a German does not make one a German. Simply put, the Chileans adopted only the most superficial aspects of German military culture; they did not absorb the Prussian military ethos. Chile may have lacked the social and political institutions that facilitated the rapid absorption of these ideas and technology. Japan, for example, which also modernized its army at approximately the same time, seemed to have fewer problems assimilating German military culture than did the South Americans. But Japan seemed to have more in common with Germany: though racially homogeneous, which Germany was not, it also possessed a highly hierarchical and authoritarian political culture. Perhaps such factors facilitated the absorption of German technology and doctrine. Chile was a different story: it may have had a somewhat rigid social system, but it was not authoritarian. On the contrary, the stature of the executive branch declined dramatically in what became known as the Parliamentary Regime (18911924), at about the time the German military arrived. However, though the president ceded power to the legislature, the authority of the state over its citizens did not diminish. It was precisely at that time that Chile imposed conscription. It was also at that time that the government exerted its power to keep the lower classes in line, to prevent social disturbances from erupting, and to limit the damage when they did. Few have examined the motives of Germany and those nations to whom it sent missions. This book demonstrates that Berlin's principal focus was

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not simply reforming the Chilean army but using its military to create an export market for its technology. Körner's military mission established an economic beachhead in Chile that allowed German manufacturers of civilian consumer and heavy goods easier access to Santiago's markets. Commerce, in short, became a camp follower, trailing in the Prussian army's wake. Thus, instituting military reform was not really Potsdam's principal concern; selling war matériel and equipment was. Hence, Körner created a large, heavily equipped conscript army not because Chile needed it but because larger armies consumed more German weapons, uniforms, equipment, and even musical instruments. Obviously Santiago had its own motives for hiring the services of German military advisors. Chile had managed to antagonize its most proximate neighbors: it had taken land from Peru and Bolivia during the War of the Pacific (187984), and it had attempted, unsuccessfully, to do the same to Argentina. Although few nations really feared Bolivia, Santiago had an ongoing dispute over the status of its northernmost territoryTacna and Aricathat Peru periodically threatened to resolve by force. To give Lima's patriotic rhetoric some credibility, Peru hired a French military mission, an act of questionable wisdom given Germany's triumph in 187071. Still, the prospect of a newly armed Argentina vigorously demanding a resolution to its boundary dispute with Chile and acting in concert with Peru could prove unsettling to the most rabid Chilean nationalist. Should Buenos Aires and Lima choose, Chile would be boxed between the Andes and the Pacific and then crushed by Argentina from the east and Peru from the north. The Chilean army's embrace of its German instructors and their reforms enhanced the nation's military reputation. Indeed, Chileans soon began prating ad nauseam that they really had become the Prussians of South America. These statements, as we shall learn, proved to be less than accurate: Chile would never be a Prussia, as if that goal were a laudable one. Still, given the fact that most people judge by appearances, the assertion seemed correct: the Chileans may not have been the Prussians of the Pacific, but they looked the part, and that alone may have discouraged Argentina and Peru from taking up arms to resolve outstanding grievances. Similarly, by sending military missions to Santiago's more benighted sister republics, the Chilean army forged diplomatic alliances that the Moneda, the Chilean White House, desperately needed in Santiago's ongoing disputes with Buenos Aires and Lima as well as Washington. The army that Körner constructed was warped, perhaps fatally. Based on conscription, it sought to create a Chilean Landwehr that the Moneda could mobilize in time of emergency. But, in fact, the state lacked the means to

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ascertain how many former conscripts were alive, let alone where they lived. And since the army never had the funds to provide supplemental training, the reservists' military skills atrophied. When analyzed objectively, Körner's large and highly complex army appeared misshapen: it lacked essential services, like a logistical infrastructure and a medical corps, but appeared top-heavy with administrative positions. It possessed a general staff but needed organic codes that regulated promotion, retirement, and pensions in a rational way. In truth, the army that Körner built did not make sense; it remained incomplete and thus crippled. Körner had to enlist allies in Chile to get the nation to accept the bizarre reforms he planned. The officer corps, of course, seemed the most open to his proposals: a larger army meant more positions for the officer corps to fill, more weapons to fire, and more funds to spend. But it was precisely because big armies also cost more money that problems arose. As much as the oligarchy wanted to protect the recent gains of the War of the Pacific and maintain domestic order, it did not wish to waste its tax dollars on projects that did not benefit it. Convincing it to accept a large, modern draftee army was a hard sell, but Körner achieved this goal by persuading the Chilean elites that such an army, unlike a small professional military, consumed more supplies, food, forage, and weapons. Paradoxically, this policy benefited everyone: the German arms manufacturers, who sold Chile the weapons, and sometimes paid General Körner a "commission" for each purchase; the Chilean sutlers, landowners, and industrialists, who provided the military's food, clothing, and forage; and the officer corps, who received kickbacks for these purchases, filled the positions in the bloated military bureaucracy (those "decorative posts . . . [that] justify the increase in generals"), or who commanded the phantom units that composed the army. 7 Körner's military was Catch-22's Milo Minderbinder writ large: because Germany's weapons merchants, Chile's domestic oligarchy, and the army's officer corps were all part of the syndicate, they all prospered; and because they prospered, they perpetuated the syndicate. This fraud occurred because Chile's political climate not just permitted but in some respects even encouraged it. The Parliamentary Regime, like the Gilded Age in the United States, marked a nadir in public morality. A small oligarchy controlled the nation, which it regarded increasingly as something to be exploited, not protected. The officers, seeing their salaries eroded by inflation, went outside of the military to advance their careers and, in some cases, become allies in the process of corruption. But before we can discover what the Chilean army would become, we must study its model, the Prussian army.

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1 The Prussian Military The Prussian military system became the envy of, and the model for, much of the world after the Franco-Prussian War of 187071. Governments not only in Europe and Asia Minor but also as far away as Japan and China, Central and South America, turned to Prussia for military training missions and weapons and sent their best and brightest subaltern officers to study the German way of war. The states of South America in particular eagerly abandoned wellestablished ties to St. Cyr and Schneider-Creuzot in France to forge new relations with the War Academy (Kriegsakademie) in Berlin and Friedrich Krupp in Essen. 1 On the eve of the First World War, Chile, Argentina, and Bolivia solidly backed Germany; Berlin's "surrogate Prussians" in Santiago de Chile were revamping the armies of Colombia, Ecuador, El Salvador, Paraguay, and Venezuela; Peru alone remained with France.2 Friedrich Krupp, for his part, crowed that by 1914 his company had become the principal purveyor of artillery to no fewer than eighteen Western Hemispheric states.3 In the small-arms trade, Mausers from the Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken (DW & MF, formerly Ludwig Loewe AG) virtually had swept American Remingtons, Austrian Mannlichers, and French Gras rifles from the arsenals of Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Ecuador, Paraguay, Uruguay, and Venezuela.4 In short, by 1914 Prussian-German advisers, working either directly in South American states or through the German mission in Chile, were training most of the military academies and armies south of the Panama Canal, were supplying them with Krupp artillery and Mauser rifles, and were encouraging them to order everything from bayonets to uniforms and harnesses from Germany. The German military had not always enjoyed such prestige. For the first seven decades of the nineteenth century, the French system prevailed. Al-

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most every military academy in the world studied and even reenacted Napoleon's great campaignsAusterlitz, Jena and Auerstedt, Lützen, and Borodino. The emperor's keen strategy, as propagated by the Swiss military theorist Baron Antoine Henri Jomini's Traité des grandes opérations militaires, was devoured by cadets and would-be commanders everywhere. Students at the U.S. Military Academy, for example, discussed military theory in their "Jomini Club" Texts were French (or in English translation), ranks were literally translated from the French, and cadet uniforms were modeled on those of St. Cyr. The Prussian army first challenged the almost universal veneration of military "things French" when it routed the Austrians at the Battle of Königgrätz in 1866 and then shattered its remnants when Berlin destroyed the French imperial army at Sedan in September 1870. Almost overnight, the German way of war held sway. Carl von Clausewitz (On War) replaced Jomini as the new apostle of Mars. Prussian-German military missions were requested from Japan to Chile. And with them came Prussian cannons, rifles, uniforms, saddles, harnesses, spiked helmets, and even musical instruments. Officials in Berlin appreciated and nourished this new trade in arms. For the kaiser, the Prussian War Ministry (Kriegsministerium), the Prussian General Staff (Generalstab), and the German Foreign Office keenly recognized the intimate connection between military missions, arms sales, and overall economic and cultural influence overseas. As a senior statesman in the Wilhelmstrasse, home of the Foreign Office, put it in a position paper of 1910, "The fact that as many South American states as possible employ German officers as instructors is of great importance not only for our armaments industry but also for the strengthening of Deutschtum and general commercial relations in these lands." 5 The Reich's physical ability to fulfill the numerous and growing requests for military missions seemed the only limit to its domination of the military systems and cultures of South America. To assess the effectiveness of the German military presence in South America in general and in Chile in particular, it is necessary first to understand the nature of the Prussian military system and the composition and modernization of the German army. Most of its practices and institutions had evolved in a specific Prussian socioeconomic-military setting over the nearly two hundred years since King Frederick William I (171440) had created the essence of the Royal Prussian Army and since his son, Frederick II (174086), had deployed that force against much of Europe for two decades of almost constant fighting in the three Silesian wars (174063). And it was this peculiar and historic Prussian military system that

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non-European powers especially tried to import. Thus, if the Chileans had indeed become the "Prussians of South America" and their officers the consummate germanófilos, as both official Berlin and its critics asserted, it is imperative to analyze the nature of the model that they allegedly had adopted so enthusiastically. Command Structure The constitution of the North German Confederation (16 April 1867)taken over almost word for word in the constitution of the German Empire (16 April 1871)granted the Prussian Hohenzollern king-emperor almost unlimited powers in the military realm. As King of Prussia, William II (18881918) acted as the commander in chief of all Prussian armed forces. Only the extent to which his war minister could steer passage of monetary bills through the Prussian Lower House (Landtag) limited his authority. The existing military agreements with Bavaria, Saxony, and Württemberg and the generosity of the German parliament (Reichstag) constituted the principal brakes on the kaiser's power. Article 63 of the constitution enshrined the emperor as Bundesfeldherr (commander in chief of all German forces) and granted him operational control through the Prussian General Staff. Article 64 stipulated that all field and fortress commanders pledge unquestioning obedience to the Bundesfeldherr while giving the monarch absolute power to make all flag-rank appointments. Additionally, Article 68 accorded the Hohenzollern ruler exclusive power to declare war and to make peace, which he exercised only once, on 31 July 1914. 6 The Prussian military system sharply divided authority into command and administrative functions. This meant, in effect, that the king-emperor maintained exclusive control over the organization, discipline, appointments, promotions, and deployment of troops. William II jealously guarded his active command function (Kommandogewalt) at least up to 1914. His chambers remained the first and last place of appeal. Ministers and generals might advise; but the kaiser alone decided. William II was assisted in this awesome and demanding command role by about forty officers, all members of the highest ranks of the generalcy. Each commanding general enjoyed direct access (Immediatstellung) to the kingemperor. Three royal organizationsthe War Ministry (administration), the Military Cabinet (personnel), and the General Staff (operations)assisted the monarch in running the army. There was no Prussian equivalent to the British Committee on Imperial Defence, the French conseil supérieur de la guerre, or the American National Security Council. In

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short, ultimate authority in military affairs rested exclusively with the kaiser. Parliament might debate the military budget, but it could neither discuss nor question strategy and policy. The Prussian War Ministry, established by Gen. Gerhard von Scharnhorst in 1809, was responsible for the organization, equipment, armament, financial support, and education of the troops. Numbering some six hundred to seven hundred officers and civil servants by 1900, the Kriegsministerium consisted of five major bureaus. The Central Department dealt with finances, archives, books, and publications; the General War Department with the major service branches such as infantry, cavalry, artillery, and engineers; the Army Administrative Department with victualing, payroll, and uniforms; the Barracks Department with the construction and maintenance of barracks and maneuver fields; and the Replacement, Provisioning, and Justice Department with medicine, pensions, justice, and replacements. 7 Kaiser William II selected all his war ministers from the ranks of division commanders, all of whom had studied at the prestigious Kriegsakademie and served with the General Staff. Preparing the military budget and winning parliamentary approval became the war minister's most important task. This proved quite vexing. Although the war minister was a Prussian, he had to cajole the Reichstag, which represented all of Germany, to fund, and fund generously, the largely Prussian-dominated army. Although he was the only military officer in Prussia accountable to Parliament, as an officer on active duty in the Prussian army he owed unquestioned obedience to the King of Prussiaand by extension to the German Emperor. This dual loyalty to king and Parliament constituted a conflict of interest. Ironically, though so important, the Prussian war minister did not command a single troop contingent or formation. He enjoyed authority solely in administrative matters. In case of a conflict with Parliament over the military budget, he could resign his ministerial portfolio. In case of a conflict with his Supreme War Lord (Oberster Kriegsherr), he possessed neither leverage nor freedom as his oath of loyalty to the person of the king-emperor was inviolate. Simply put, the war minister's position was precarious and unrewarding. The Militärkabinett (Prussian Military Cabinet), created by royal decree by Kaiser William I in 1883, served as the monarch's personnel bureau.8 As such, it was regarded especially by the left with suspicion and accused of being "unconstitutional." Its chief, usually a lieutenant general or major general, dealt with all matters pertaining to appointments and promotions, punishments and dismissals, decorations and awards, honor and appeals. His role was purely advisory. Additionally, the chief of the Military Cabinet, assisted by no more than ten officers and an equal number of civil servants,

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was responsible for drafting the monarch's commands and decrees. Like the Prussian war minister, the chief of the Military Cabinet came to his post only after distinguished service with a division or army corps and the General Staff. As the monarch's primary liaison with every other institution of the Prussian army, the chief of the Military Cabinet enjoyed a potentially influential position. Yet, like all other active officers, he owed his complete allegiance solely to his Supreme War Lord. Perhaps the Militärkabinett's greatest poweras well as the bulk of its workloadlay in deciding promotions. Each year, every one of the Prussian army's twenty-nine thousand officers, from the lowest second lieutenant to the two dozen august army corps commanders, underwent formal evaluation by his immediate military superior by way of rigorous and brutally straightforward fitness reports (Qualifikationsberichte). These had to be submitted to and were evaluated by the Military Cabinet. Moreover, to get around the army's strict policy of seniority (Anciennität) in matters of promotion, high-level commanders could submit lists of especially qualified and deserving officers fit for accelerated promotion. These too had to be read and assessed. Thus, the job of the chief of the Military Cabinet was both to select and to reject. His decisions were generally final. Most Prussian officers ended their careers as a captain when, in the parlance of the day, they failed "to turn the major's corner." For senior postings such as army corps commanders, upper-level staff appointments, fortress governors, and administrative heads, the final decision in all cases rested with the kaiser. The latter usually but not invariably accepted the chief of the Military Cabinet's recommendations. The most celebrated case of a royal rebuke occurred in 1906 when William II insisted against the advice of his chief of the Military Cabinet, his war minister, and his chancellor on appointing Gen. Helmuth von Moltke (the Younger) as chief of the General Staff. It has been stated that Europe developed five perfect institutions: the Roman Curia, the British Parliament, the French opera, the Russian ballet, and, after the victorious wars against Denmark (1864), Austria (1866), and France (187071) planned and executed by Gen. Helmuth von Moltke (the Elder), the Prussian General Staff. Indeed, there is no question that the General Staff was the Prussian army's premier contingent. 9 And it became the one institution that most foreign armiesincluding Chile's under the Saxon-Prussian captain (and later general) Emil Körner after 1908sought to emulate. The Generalstab exercised its seemingly incontestable powers largely by tradition and example. Constitutionally, the chief of the General Staff com-

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manded not a single soldier, battalion, regiment, division, or corps. He could issue no formal orders, purchase no equipment, and authorize no war plan. His selection of personnel had to be cleared through the Military Cabinet, while his influence on the army's strength, organization, training, and equipment was dictated by the War Ministry. The formal role of the chief of the General Staff was simply to advise His Majesty, the king of Prussia and German emperor, on military planning and policy. No more and no less. His influence far exceeded his office's constitutional basis for several reasons: the Elder Moltke's successful wars against Denmark, Austria, and France; the General Staff's insistence on intellectual and operational excellence from its Prussian as well as Bavarian, Saxon, and Württemberg officers; the chief's superior bearing and demeanor; and the fact that virtually every commander from the divisional level on up had come through its ranks. In reality, the General Staff consisted of two entities: the Great General Staff in Berlin, which served its chief as a support cohort, and the Troop General Staff, which assisted divisional, corps, and fortress commanders in exercising their routine command and training functions. Within his own house, the chief of the General Staff formulated operational and strategic contingency war plans, which he had to submit to the Supreme War Lord for approval. In addition, he was in charge of planning and evaluating the annual maneuvers. In short, the chief of the General Staff occupied no constitutional position: in the final analysis, he was no more and no less than "the first advisor of the Imperial Supreme Commander." In time of war, the Great General Staff (Grosser Generalstab) directed mobilization and operational planning. It had grown from a minuscule cadre of fifteen officers, which the Elder Moltke had taken into battle in 1870, into a bureaucratic labyrinth of 650 officers by 1914. Alfred Count von Schlieffen had stamped his personal motto"Say little, do much; be more than you appear"on the General Staff. The work ethic of this Hutterian Pietist became the expected norm: his day began at 0600 hours in the map room and ended at 2300 hours at his desk, after which he read military history to his daughters at home. Likewise, his toneclipped, sarcastic, heavy with scorn and ridiculewas emulated by what Otto Prince von Bismarck termed the "demigods" of the General Staff. On the eve of the First World War, six major sections handled the General Staff's workload. The Central Section, composed of deputy chiefs, adjutants, and secretaries, controlled the flow of paperwork and monitored work completion. The First and Third Sections dealt with intelligence, analyzing foreign armies east, west, and south of Germany. The Second Section

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managed mobilization and thus railroad schedules, while the Fourth Section directed staff rides and supervised the War Academy in Berlin. The Fifth Section handled military history. General Staff officers viewed themselves (and were regarded by their fellow officers) as members of an elite formation. They were all volunteers, were favored in advancement and promotion, and were outwardly distinguished by special burgundy pants stripes. And they all rotated General Staff with line appointments to avoid becoming ''estranged from the front." To appreciate the complexity and the precision of General Staff planning a brief glance at the seven distinct stages of mobilization in 1914 is instructive. Stage one ("state of security") alerted the army to new and threatening intelligence. Stage two ("political tension") put commanders on ready alert. Stage three ("imminent threat of war") was the first to be made public: leaves were canceled, reserve staffs were ordered to duty, and eleven of the twentyfive army corps called up their first-line reserves. Stage four ("war mobilization") required all first-line (Landwehr) and second-line (Landsturm) reserve units to report to their military commands and directed twenty-one brigades to move to the Reich's borders. Stage five, perhaps the most critical, brought each war-mobilized corps of forty-one thousand men, fourteen thousand horses, and twenty-four hundred wagons up to the border in twenty-four hours. Stage six was simply dubbed "concentration," whereby the troops were off-loaded from trains and assembled in preplanned formations at border crossings. Stage seven ("attack march") brought the armed forces into contact with the enemy. 10 In August 1914 the Military Telegraph Section of the General Staff, working in close cooperation with the German posts and railways and utilizing eleven thousand trains, mobilized and transported four million officers and men as well as six hundred thousand horses to the front in 312 hours. It was this institution and precision that don Emilio Körner sought to replicate in Chile beginning in 1908. Finally, not to be overlooked in the Prussian military structure were the commanding generals of the Reich's twentyfive military corps districts.11 Each of these commanders was directly responsible to the Supreme War Lord (William II) for all matters pertaining to command, leadership, and training and to the Prussian war minister for those pertaining to supply and equipment. The corps commanders occupied the highest command posts in the realm. They acted sovereignly in all matters of command authority, discipline, combat training, and administration. They approved all fitness reports (for the Military Cabinet) and in time of war enacted through their deputies the Prussian state-of-siege law (of 4 June 1851), which gave them the power

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to suppress any civilian unrest and to censor all mail and newspapers. Each corps commander had direct and immediate access to the king-emperor. Personnel In 191314 some twenty-nine thousand officers commanded the approximately eight hundred thousand men of the Prussian army. About twelve hundred officers entered the officer corps each year. Initially, the Prussian landed nobility (Junker) supplied the vast majority of officers90 percent in 1806 and almost 80 percent as late as 1861but after the founding of the Reich in 1871 it was too small numerically (3 percent of the population) to maintain that traditional function. As a result, 70 percent of all officers and 48 percent of all colonels and generals were of bourgeois origin by 1914. 12 Still, there were pockets of elites: the guard, cuirassier, and cavalry regiments only selected their members from the aristocracy. Most nonnoble officer candidates came from the ranks of the middle class of property and education (Bildungs- und Besitzbürgertum)that is, they were the sons of academicians, industrialists, merchants, teachers, pastors, and civil servants. And though this social engineering altered the feudal character of the officer corps, the noble officers (those with the nobiliary participle von) still set the tone even in those units they did not control through the Courts of Military Honor (Ehrengerichte). There were only two paths of entry into the Prussian officer corps: 20 to 30 percent of candidates came through the venerable cadet schoolsnine in Prussia and one each in Bavaria and Saxonyand the rest came through direct appointment as "aspirant officer" (Fahnenjunker) by regimental commanders. The cadet schools, which supplied half of all German generals in 1914 and which numerous foreign countries sought to emulate, deserve a detailed look. On the eve of the Great War, Prussia maintained eight preparatory cadet schools (Voranstalten), with 1,690 billets, as well as the main cadet school at Berlin-Lichterfelde, with 1,000 places. Admission to the latter was coveted by most foreign, including Chilean, applicants. Not surprisingly, under the guidance of General Körner, Chile's Escuela Militar copied the cadet school at Lichterfelde, which included translating its curricula and adopting its uniforms and drill.13 Prussian cadets entered the preparatory schools at age eleven. Most remembered a Spartan life of drill, unquestioned discipline, cold, and hunger. At the Voranstalt at Köslin, for example, the day started at 0600 hours and ended at 2115 hours. In between lay five fifty-minute class periods as well as

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gymnastics, matins, vespers, and inspections. Over their eight or nine years of formal education, the cadets were taught forty-two hours of mathematics, forty hours of Latin, thirty-four hours of French, twenty-eight hours of German, eighteen hours of earth sciences, seventeen hours of history, and thirteen hours of physics. 14 Cadets matriculated by way of written exams that lasted seven hours a day for four days and were followed by an hour-long oral exam. Once accepted, a second lieutenant's commission was virtually guaranteed; even the most obtuse were given the rank of "officer aspirants" and placed at the bottom of the year's seniority lists. It was commonly joked at Lichterfelde that it required "fatal skill" to fail. But the "real" education, that which forged "character"that ill-defined, politically incorrect, and elusive concepttook place outside the classroom. For the German officer candidate, "character" was a meld of honor and duty, obedience and self-reliance, cleanliness and orderliness, comradeship and honesty. "Character'' also meant mastering the essential skills the line officer needed: close-order drill, marksmanship, field exercises, athletics, riding, and fencing. Finally, "character" meant learning the ultimate skill: dying. As a first-year cadet at Karlsruhe, the future novelist Ernst von Salomon (Die Kadetten) vividly remembered being told "You are here to learn how to die." When Ernst queried his brother, three years his senior in the cadet corps at Karlsruhe, about this, he received the uplifting response: "The most wonderful thing in life would be to perish as a 20-year-old lieutenant in some roadside ditch outside of Paris."15 Although about 240 cadets were annually graduated from the cadet corps, they formally joined the Prussian officer corps only after they were secretly elected by the majority of the officers of a regiment and were thereafter formally "commissioned" by the king-emperor. Most German subaltern officers expected slow advancement. On the average, it took freshly graduated Fahnenjunker fifteen years to reach the rank of first lieutenant (Leutnant and Oberleutnant); thereafter came ten more years of service as captain (Hauptmann or Rittmeister). The lucky few who turned the "major's corner," that is, were promoted to the rank of Major, remained in that rank for six to eight years. Successful lieutenant colonels (Oberstleutnant) required only twelve to eighteen months to attain the rank of colonel (Oberst). For the vast majority of officers, promotion proceeded strictly according to seniority. In this way, the army hoped to eliminate cut-throat competition and unhealthy rivalry within each grade. Promotion rested first and foremost in the hands of regimental commanders, who annually prepared the fitness reports of their junior officers for the Military Cabinet. Apart

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from "character," military performance, and personality, each officer was rated on his suitability for promotion to the next rank and for command position. Only a few leading lights of the General Staff won a special accelerated promotion. After the turn of the century, second lieutenants received 125 marks per month; first lieutenants, 200; and captains, between 182 and 425, depending on their branch of service. The technical services were not at the top of the pay scale; that coveted place was reserved for the aristocratic cavalry and guards. Parental subsidies to subaltern officersranging from 45 marks per month in the infantry to 75 in the artillery and up to 150 in the cavalrywere absolutely essential for years to pay for uniforms, horses, dancing and fencing lessons, and "proper" social activities. A good steed, after all, could cost 2,000 marks. Though parents of officers had to subsidize their sons, a military career cost less (around 6,000 marks in 1900) than a career in the church (5,000), in medicine (18,000), and in the law (25,000). Moreover, at the latest a second lieutenant began to draw pay by the age of twenty, while his compatriots in the church did so at twenty-six and in the civil service at twenty-eight. 16 The backbone of the Prussian armyand certainly the group with whom most young German military men had the closest contactwas its noncommissioned officer (NCO) corps. Most NCO aspirants came from the farming community and the lower middle class. The army purposefully sought to exclude members of the mainly urban Social Democratic Party (SPD) from the military. In fact, it strongly discouraged NCOs from marrying the daughters of Social Democrats. Most NCOs retired after twelve years of service. Then, armed with a formal Certificate of Guarantee of Employment (Zivilversorgungsschein), which gave them first claim to civil service positions, they joined the lower rungs of the civil service (teachers, technicians, communications workers). To make NCO careers more attractive, beginning in 1893 the government offered them a bonus of 1,000 marks (raised to 1,500 in 1914) upon successful completion of their initial twelve-year hitch. On the eve of the First World War, there were 106,000 NCOs, who constituted 14.5 percent of the personnel in the Prussian army. Each year, between 8,000 and 9,000 NCOs joined the army.17 The NCOs, mostly elementary school graduates, rose through the enlisted ranks and then received training at seven special NCO Schools (Unteroffizierschule) in Prussia and one each in Bavaria and Saxony. As the army's stock of field and fortress artillery, rapid-fire small arms, signal equipment, medical and train support increased during the nineteenth century, the skill-level demands made on the NCOs increased dramatically. Yet they remained

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suspended between officers and enlisted men in terms of their social and military status. Because of their low social status, Prussia flatly refused to promote any NCOs to the rank of officers. The NCOs therefore had no choice but to establish their own esprit de corps by way of social and sporting events as well as technical courses and special uniform insignia. In the process, they hoped to differentiate, and thus secure, their positions especially vis-à-vis the rank and file. Despite the NCOs' dissatisfaction with their place in the Prussian military hierarchy, in 1895 Capt. Erich Herrmann patterned Chile's Escuela de Clases after the Prussian NCO School. Naturally, the 616,000 enlisted men the Prussian army claimed by 1914 constituted its largest component. The Prussian-German constitutions of 1867 and 1871 stipulated that the government should call 1 percent of the population to the colors and that Parliament should automatically provide for their financial support. For much of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, this formula for troop strength held steady. But the Reich's rapid population growth of nearly 15 million people between 1890 and 1914 easily outstripped the Reichstag's willingness to finance the additional barracks, pay, and equipment required to handle what should have been an escalating number of recruits. Thus, while the army drafted 200,000 to 300,000 young men each year, by 1914 the pool of men between the ages of twenty and forty-five who had escaped military service stood at an alarming 5.4 million men, or one in every three draft-eligible males. Only in 1913 did the Prussian army enact a massive expansion of its forces (to be realized by 191516) to 32,000 officers, 110,000 NCOs, and 661,500 enlisted men. 18 The "new and increased" costs of national defense surpassed all previous bounds: 54 million marks for 1913, 153 million for 1914, and 186 million for 1915, as well as a "one-time" outlay for hardware of 1.055 billion marks.19 Prussia viewed its armed forces first and foremost as a corps royal, a Praetorian Guard designed to maintain the conservative and monarchical domestic order, and only secondarily as an instrument of national defense and foreign policy. Thus, the crown rejected any and all attempts to extend universal male service to the fullest so as to make the army truly the "school of the nation." It preferred to draw its recruits from the reliable, conservative, rural population. As late as 1911, for example, though only four out of every ten Germans lived on the land, the army took fully 64 percent of its conscripts from the countryside and only 6 percent from the SPD-dominated large urban centers.20 Kaiser William II brutally expressed the army's primary domestic function in his New Year's message to corps commanders in 1906: "First gun down the Socialists, then behead them and render them

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harmlessif need be by a bloodbathand then make war outside our borders. But not the other way around and not too soon." 21 German youths entered the army on 1 January of the year in which they reached age twenty. They served seven years, beginning with three years (later two) on active duty with the regular army and followed immediately by four years of reserve duty, which consisted of eight weeks of summer training per year. The men subsequently participated for five years in the Landwehr, the first-line militia, and after 1888 had to serve in the Landsturm, the second-line reserve, until they reached age thirty-nine. And to reward the academically privileged, Article 11 of the Military Law of 9 November 1867 allowed young men who possessed excellent school records and who could provide their own uniforms and equipment to volunteer for but one year of active service (Einjährig-Freiwillige), after which they were qualified to be appointed officers in the reserves.22 Parliamentary criticism of the army's often brutal treatment of draftees forced it to improve conditions for the conscripts. By 1914 enlisted men received daily rations of 750 grams of bread, 80 of fresh meat, and 40 of fat. Army veterinarians routinely inspected the meat that was served. Special garrison kitchens and bakeries guaranteed fresh meals. Canned goods depots provided healthful food in the field. Furthermore, in the last decade of the nineteenth century, Berlin built twenty-nine new military hospitals and instituted pensions for invalids that ranged from 900 marks per year for sergeants to 540 for privates. To house them, the army constructed twenty-one new convalescent homes.23 The soldiers had to reimburse the state for their rations, privates and corporals paying 13 pfennig per day out of their monthly pay of 9 and 15 marks, respectively. German soldiers received more pay per month than privates in the armies of Austria-Hungary (4.05 marks), Italy (2.40), France (1.20), and Russia (1.08) but less than those of Britain (30 marks) and the United States (63). Although it is difficult to generalize about the quality of Germany's enlisted men, official sources claim that nine out of ten recruits could read, that they met minimum standards for size and physical abilities, and that they fulfilled their military obligations willingly. There is no question that they served loyally and bled lustily for their fatherland between 1914 and 1918. Education The Prussian army appreciated that raw and untrained personnel alone did not make an effective fighting force. Hence, it paid lavish attention to

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the training of its forcesfrom its officers through its NCO and down to its specialized veterinary, medical, engineering, and signal corps. The best and brightest subaltern officers competed for the highly coveted annual billets of the venerable Prussian War Academy (Allgemeine Kriegsschule; later Kriegsakademie), founded by Carl von Clausewitz in 1818. Following the rapid expansion of the army in the 1890s, the War Academy concentrated on training officers for the General Staff. Each year, the Kriegsakademie accepted 160 students from among the roughly 800 to 1,000 applicants for its intensive three-year study in military science. Applicants had to be nominated by their regimental commanders (colonels) and pass grueling exams written anonymously at corps command headquarters. All applicants had to have been officers for five years and on tours of active service for three years. The Prussian War Academy's Bavarian counterpart was much more modest in scale, taking in but 16 applicants per year. Officers at the Kriegsakademie had to attend every lecture of every course. Required subjects included tactics, modern military history, ancient military history, military geography, general geography, military hygiene, military law, international law, weapons, fortifications, General Staff work, administration, communications, and general history. The courses were weighted for the purpose of ranking the officers, with tactics, General Staff work, and military history counting most. Students could choose their science option from among mathematics, physics, chemistry, general geography, and surveying; for their language option they could choose from French, English, Russian, and Japanese. 24 Emil Körner, the future reorganizer of the Chilean army, attended the Kriegsakademie from 1873 to 1876, graduating third in his class behind Paul von Hindenburg (a future chief of the General Staff) and Jakob Meckel (the future reorganizer of the Japanese army). Not surprisingly, as one of his first acts in Chile, Körner created the Chilean Academia Guerra, using the Prussian Kriegsakademie as its model. The War Academy stressed first and foremost the skills required for mission-oriented tactics (Auftragstaktik). During the winter term, the students received tactical instruction in the classroom. In the summer, they participated in the famous staff ride (Schlussreise), where an officer's performance could determine his career. Assignments were long and difficult and often given at Easter or at Christmas to test the officer's mettle and dedication. Only one in ten graduates of the Kriegsakademie was deemed fit for duty with the operational branches of the General Staff and the field divisions.25 The stated objective of the War Academy was to furnish the army with staff officers who had received solid tactical training and who could serve army commanders as advisors and assistants. Put differently, the acad-

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emy did not seek to produce future strategists or even senior field commanders but rather to graduate competent staff officers trained in tactics and operations. Nevertheless, the demand for advanced military education (and hence career advancement) became so great that Prussia soon had to expand its existing centers of learning and create new ones. 26 The ten so-called war schools (Kriegsschulen) became twelve before 1914 with the addition of schools at Hersfeld and Danzig. Each school offered billets to one hundred students for thirty-five weeks of instruction. But demand still outstripped available facilities, resulting in a reduction of course length to seven months by 1913. Instruction emphasized tactics, weapons, terrain, fortresses, drill regulations, and French or Russian languages. Until 1907, the Prussian army also maintained a special Artillery and Engineer School (Artillerie- und IngenieurSchule) at Berlin-Charlottenburg to train its gunners. Graduation from that school ensured promotion to the rank of captain.27 Capt. Emil Körner's last active duty assignment in Prussia was at Charlottenburg, where he had been a teacher of tactics and military history from 1881 to 1885. Yet again, the increasing quantity and quality of field and foot artillery demanded more education. Hence, in 1903 the Prussian army opened its new "Military-Technical Academy" (Militärtechnische Akademie) in Berlin. Commanded by a general, the academy annually enrolled fifty artillery specialists for three years. Instruction included engineering, ballistics, construction, and transportation. Further specialization in 1909 divided the academy into three separate branches: weaponry, engineering, and transportation. The science of war demanded much of its practitioners, and the army saw no alternative but to provide the most modern weaponry and the most advanced training methods. Envious neighbors and admiring foreigners agreed that Germany's efficient army was worth its immense cost in both human and financial terms. Service Branches The German army of 1914 was symmetrical and organized by twos: each of its twenty-five corps consisted of two divisions, each of its fifty divisions had two brigades, and each of its one hundred brigades was divided into two regiments. Thereafter, each regiment was composed of three battalions, each battalion of three or four companies, and each company of three platoons. The peacetime battalion consisted of twenty officers and 600 NCOs and men; in wartime it numbered twenty-six officers and 1,054 NCOs and men.28

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The division constituted the most critical operational unit. On the eve of the First World War, a division consisted of twelve infantry battalions, four machine gun companies, three or four squadrons of cavalry, one or two pioneer (or engineer) companies, a supply train, and twelve batteries of field artillery. Each division was given its own "divisional doctor" and one or two medical companies. In terms of supply, each battalion had attached to it thirtynine men, fifty-eight horses, and nineteen wagons for ammunition, medical supplies, field kitchens, food, and baggage. Pioneer companies typically were staffed by six officers and 264 NCOs and men. 29 Since the wars of unification between 1864 and 1871, infantry had become known as the "queen of battle." The Infantry Regulations of 29 May 1906, for example, were clear on the subject: "Infantry is the premier arm. In unison with artillery, it destroys the enemy. It alone breaks his last resistance. It bears the main burden of combat and makes the greatest sacrifices. But for this, it also gathers the greatest glory."30 Less charitably, many General Staff officers, perfectly aware of the vast improvements in artillery and small-arms fire, privately referred to infantry as little more than moving targets! The standard weapon of the German infantry after the Franco-Prussian War was the 7.9mm Gewehr 88 (Rifle 88)basically a refined version of the 11mm Austrian Mannlicher M86. A magazine repeater rifle, the Gewehr 88 had a range of up to 2,050 meters. Because of the gun's lightweight construction, an infantryman could carry up to 120 cartridges into battle. But by the end of the century, the Prussian army demanded a new weapon. The result, the socalled Rifle 98, was a joint undertaking between the army and the Mauser firm. Sturdy and reliable, it would serve German armed forces for the next half century. Though bulkier and clumsier than the British Lee-Enfield and the American M1903 Springfield and neither as rapid firing as the British weapon nor as accurate as the American, the Gewehr 98 nevertheless suited the German army, which did not rely on individually aimed shots but on controlled, concentrated fire bursts. The rifle's magazine held five bullets; each infantryman now carried up to 150 cartridges. By 1910, the German military had relegated bright, colorful uniforms to parade grounds and museums. It now wore field gray (feldgrau), which in fact had a greenish tinge. The new tunic was designed to blend well with mud, smoke, and the late fall foliage of central Europe. For protection and support, the army retained calf-length boots rather than changing over to shoes or puttees. Each soldier carried up to seventy pounds of gear, most of it in a square knapsack, and the rest (six ammunition pouches, bayonet,

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entrenching tool, haversack, and mess kit) was suspended from a harness of leather belts and straps. Abandoning gear to lighten the load was a court-martial offense. Grenades did not become part of standard issue until 1914. In battle, the infantryman was to feed himself from the contents of his haversack: tinned meat and preserved vegetables, biscuits, coffee, and salt. During peacetime maneuvers, his needs were met by mobile field bakeries, field butcheries, and field kitchens, all attached to corps supply columns. This modernity in military gear ended at the soldier's neckline. The leather spiked helmet (Pickelhaube), first introduced in 1842, continued to be worn right up to the start of the 1914 war. Its high crown or "spike" offered the infantryman protection against saber cuts by mounted cavalry. But the Pickelhaube's leather and metal construction only conducted heat in summer, and its large neckpiece constantly tipped it into the soldier's face during firing practice. The addition of a canvas cover for field service offered little improvement. Nonetheless, the Chileans adopted the Pickelhaube, replacing the Prussian eagle with the Chilean national seal. Though stubbornly retaining its outmoded headgear, the German army did appreciate Hiram Maxim's invention in 1883 of a single-barrel machine gun (MG). The first German MG companies were established in 1901. By 1914, each regiment included a machine gun company, whose six water-cooled Maxim automatic machine guns provided support to the offensive. Each infantry division was also given a regiment of cavalryor four squadrons each of 170 "sabers." 31 German cavalry relied on the lance, introduced in 1890. Attempts to develop a reliable and comfortable "Carbine 98" for the cavalry never came to fruition because of the length of the Rifle 98's barrel. Cavalry had to scout for enemy formations, screen its own infantry columns from hostile cavalry, and at the critical point of battle charge enemy lines. The advent of the machine gun and the magazine-fed rifle limited cavalry's shock potential on the battlefield. Cavalry was generally (and, as it turned out, realistically) viewed as a one-shot instrument. Much has been made of its anachronistic character and use in 1914 and after, but given the unreliability of turn-of-the-century cars and trucks it was not yet quite as dated as subsequent scholars have insisted. Reconnaissance from the air remained in its infancy before the First World War. The four battalions of aircraft that existed in Germany in 1913 consisted of a mixed bag of monoplanes and biplanes. Three-hour flights at fifty to eighty miles per hour were considered maximum capability. Although a few particularly aggressive pilots and copilots might augment their pistols with a rifle or even a light bomb or hand grenade, airplanes mainly were designed to collect information. But the problems of accurate

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terrain recognition and speedy information transmission remained unresolved by 1914. Awkward, cumbersome Zeppelin "gasbags" offered greater long-range capability but remained highly vulnerable to ground fire. Parachutes were considered "unheroic" and were reserved for tethered spotter balloon personnel. Of critical value to a German divisional commander was his artillery brigade. 32 His two regiments each had two eighteen-gun battalions, for a total of seventy-two tubes. Three of the battalions fired fifty-four flat-trajectory 77mm FK 96 n.A. cannons with an optimal range of eighty-four hundred meters. Though lighter and hence more mobile than the French 75mm FK M97, the German Modified Field Gun 96 lacked the range, accuracy, and rate of fire of the deadly French soixante-quinze. But the division's fourth artillery battalion possessed the 105mm Field Howitzer 98/09, a high-trajectory, high-explosive gun without equal in Europe. It could fire over hills and trenches to a range of up to sixty-three hundred meters. After the turn of the century, German operational doctrine ceased to emphasize the artillery's role as suppressing its counterpart and stressed instead the support of infantry in the field. This increasing mechanization of the armed forces and their heavy reliance on the so-called machines of war dictated the creation of special technical corps. By 1914, the German army had formed thirty-seven pioneer or engineer battalions.33 Designed to operate as a "modern technical force," these units specialized in demolition, building pontoon bridges, employing searchlights for night fighting, and firing crude "flame tubes" (the forerunners of modern flamethrowers) against an entrenched enemy. In their role as combat engineers, they also fired lethal trench mortars that could hurl fifty-kilogram shells 450 meters and destroy all obstacles (wire) for a radius of 12 meters. Additionally, the German military continued to develop its special railroad forces. These grew from eight companies in 1871 to sixty-seven in 1914. Gen. Alfred von Waldersee, himself a future chief of the General Staff, liked to remind staff officers that whenever the Elder Moltke made an important decision, he did so only after first consulting German railway timetables.34 Communications flowed primarily through fifteen battalions of telegraph troops, which had received their autonomy from the corps of pioneers in 1899. Since 1887, a special Military Telegraph School (Militär-Telegraphen Schule) trained personnel in this branch. Field telephones were introduced in 1905, and the first battalion of truckers appeared in 1911. No fewer than twenty-five battalions of special "train troops," each with twelve months' training, expedited the flow of supplies to the armies in

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the field. And sixteen uniform and equipment centers produced up to three thousand pairs of boots per year. 35 Beginning in 1873, the Prussian army possessed an independent medical corps. Since its experiences in the AustroPrussian War and later in the Franco-Prussian War, the army had developed a remarkable system of first aid kits, forward surgery stations, casualty clearing stations, casualty transport, and rear-area military hospitals. During combat, wounded men received first aid from company stretcher bearers, who then spirited the more serious cases to the battalion field station. From there, the critically wounded were evacuated by litter, ambulance, or railroads to field hospitals well behind the front. By 1897 the army had established medical staffs at all divisional levels. The military trained its future doctors at state expense for ten semesters at the Kaiser Wilhelm Academy for Military Medical Education, founded in 1895 in Berlin. It later added about one hundred billets for doctors at other university hospitals throughout Germany. The first forty-four billets for nurses were established in 1907 and sited at the field hospitals. Special field X-ray wagons and crews were introduced in 1909.36 With an army that moved its heavy equipment and supplies largely by horse it is not surprising that the Veterinary Corps received special attention.37 In 1914, for example, First Army moved into the field with 84,000 horses, and its infantry brigades each contained 480 horses. As early as 1892, the Prussian army had created a special "Chief Veterinarian for Horses," and veterinarians were accorded officer rank. In 1910 the army founded a separate veterinary officer corps headed by a veterinary general with the rank of colonel. In 1903 the former Prussian Horse Veterinary School (Rossarztschule) became the Military Veterinary Academy (Militär-Veterinär-Akademie), which supervised the six major blacksmith schools throughout Germany. Veterinary aspirants first served for half a year with the cavalry or the horse-drawn artillery, then six months at the Berlin Blacksmith School, and finally eight months at the Militar-Veterinär-Akademie. Each cavalry regiment, horse-drawn artillery regiment, and telegraph battalion was assigned three veterinarians. Once more, German institutions were transplanted to Chile: the Hanoverian Riding Institute served as the model for the Chilean cavalry, a German officer headed Chile's military veterinary corps, and German blacksmiths taught at Chile's Blacksmith School of Instruction.38 During the first half of the nineteenth century, seventeen royal armories in Prussia, four in Bavaria, and two in Saxony met the army's needs for the most part. But the expansion of the armed forces in the last decade of the

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nineteenth century and in the first decade of the twentieth necessitated more modern equipment and in ever greater quantities. Thus, procurement fell increasingly to about one thousand private purveyors. From 1905 to 1922, for example, civilian firms supplied 72 percent of Prussia's field artillery and 96 percent of the Imperial German Navy's guns and armor plate. There is no question that the Friedrich Alfred Krupp firm at Essen attained premier status in the supply of heavy artillery to the various royal German armies. Using its intimate ties to the court of William II to full advantage and packing the Army Ordnance Research Board with its senior managers and engineers, F. A. Krupp had by 1900 acquired a virtual monopoly in supplying the military with artillery. Indeed, it is not far off the mark to state that the will of Krupp determined artillery decisions in the Prussian army. Wherever a rival appeared, Krupp either secretly bought him out (Hermann Gruson) or publicly defamed him (Heinrich Ehrhardt). By 1913, Krupp's profits had soared to 25 million marks per year, and the fortune of Krupp heiress Bertha Krupp had reached 283 million marks. After the turn of the century don Emilio Körner escorted Chile's armaments buyers, including Adm. Lindor PérezGacitúa, Gen. Estanislao del Canto, and Col. Jorge Boonen Rivera, through Krupp's vast military-industrial empire. 39 There they witnessed Germany's greatest industrial undertaking. More than eighty thousand workers toiled for Krupp at Essen, Ammen, and Magdeburg in its 18 rolling plants, 53 Martin furnaces, 180 steam hammers, 430 steam boilers, 550 steam engines, and 1,000 cranesas well as in its 1,000 iron ore mines. Krupp's works consumed more gas than the city of Essen and as much electric power as Greater Berlin. Its shop railway lines sufficed to connect Frankfurt to Munich, its telephone lines Strassburg to Königsberg.40 At the three artillery ranges at Meppen, Dülmen, and Tangerhütte, Krupp's twenty-four thousand gunnery employees showed the Chileans the newest and heaviest gunstest fired at the rate of 40,800 rounds per year. At the sprawling Germania shipyards in Kiel, Krupp showed off his latest constructions of battleships, cruisers, and submarines, often to the dismay of the secretive head of the navy, Adm. Alfred von Tirpitz. But the greatest show was always reserved for Essen, where Emil Körner and his Chileans saw an almost endless array of the tools of the military trade: guns, gun shields, gun barrels, projectiles, fuses, and the like. Not surprisingly, Prussia-Germany's immense military effort devoured vast amounts of money: 25.918 billion marks for the army and 6.589 billion for the navy between 1872 and 1914. Put differently, where annual expenditures on the armed forces stood at 330 million marks per year between 1872 and 1888, that figure soared to 948 million between 1907 and 1914. Of these

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948 million marks, 110 million went to purchasing artillery and small arms and 425 million to buying horses, food, and fodder as well as paying for personnel. 41 Every recruit and gun, every training facility and testing ground, was firmly embedded in the imperial budget and paid for by Parliament. On the eve of the Great War, the German federal armies could field 860,000 superbly trained, well-armed, and tested officers, noncommissioned officers, and enlisted men. It was this model that Körner hoped to ''export" to Chile when he left for Santiago in 1885. Thirty years later, Körner recorded that he was well pleased with his reform work in Chile. He had reorganized the Escuela Militar along the lines of the cadet school at Lichterfelde. He had patterned the Academia Guerra and the Escuela de Clases on other Prussian models. Chile, moreover, had enacted South America's first general conscription law, also along German lines. More than forty German officers had served as instructors in Chile in the 1890s, and no fewer than 150 Chilean officers had been sent to Germany for military training.42 Chile's army by 1910 consisted of 1,054 officers and four divisions of 17,044 men. One-half of Chile's draft-eligible males (11,200) had entered the armed forces on their twenty-first birthday. Almost one-third of the country's 100,000 reserves had received military training to be deployed in the field. And all of these reforms had followed "literally translated German field manuals and regulations." The Chilean army's arsenal consisted of German-made Mauser rifles and Krupp artillery. Its uniforms had been tailored after those of Prussia. Officers, noncommissioned officers, and technical personnel had been trained and organized by Germans. Körner sincerely believed that he had successfully "exported" the Prussian-German military system to Chile. The entire country, Körner proudly concluded, was secure in the knowledge that it was "on the right path" in its military development.43 Don Emilio was not a lone voice in the wilderness. A 191314 Prussian General Staff assessment of South American military establishments described Chile as an "orderly state," one with "vast German influence due to the successful, long-standing [German] military mission" under General Körner. Chile's army had been wholly "trained according to German regulations." It was the "only army in South America with sufficient peacetime cadres." The General Staff's overall verdict was unusually glowing: "Most powerful state of the Pacific. Army the best in South America. Numerically inferior to the Argentine army, but qualitatively . . . still superior; unquestionably superior to the armies of Peru and Bolivia. Capable of offensive

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operations." 44 To Berlin, Buenos Aires' army alone in South America merited the same imprimatur, "capable of offensive operations." In March 1914 Adm. Prince Henry, Kaiser William II's brother, reported his emotions after attending Chile's Independence Day celebrations: "The parade itself one can term a miniature copy of the parade on the Tempelhofer Field." The uniforms were German, as were the parade steps, weapons, sabers, and music. "The Chilean can be described . . . as the Prussian of South America. . . . I could not resist a certain feeling of pride that our often ridiculed parade drill has become part and parcel of [this] military-thinking nation." Not only had Chile faithfully copied the Prussian military system, but, more important, it had infused in its ranks "the spirit of the PrussianGerman military organization." Put differently, the Chilean army had become the ''school of the nation" (Volkserziehungsmittel).45 The Chilean army is an example of what the American historian David B. Ralston has termed the "importing" by the "extra-European" world of European armies. Indeed, Ralston sees the process of "Europeanizing military reform" as so thorough and complete that its result is "little different from what would have happened if a country had been subjected to outright conquest by the peoples of Europe."46 To be sure, contemporary sources trumpeted, and subsequent historians cited, Chile's adoption of German institutions, regulations, weapons, and uniforms as proof that Emil Körner and a cadre of successive germanófilos had successfully transplanted the Prussian-German military system on to Chilean soil. We suggest that a detailed analysis of the Chilean experience will indicate that Körner's reforms were at best superficial. Furthermore, we believe that the same analysis will show that they failed through a combination of greed, corruption, and an inability to recognize that cultural and political factors militated against the wholesale adoption of foreign institutions.

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2 Chile's Old Army Other than sharing a desire to protect their frontiers and the existing social order, the Chilean and German armies had little in common. Indeed, Chile's military rarely commanded the respect that its German colleagues enjoyed. Staffed by society's castoffs, poorly armed, unequipped, and commanded by partially educated officers, it nonetheless managed to protect the motherland, thanks to its troops' fortitude and their enemies' mistakes. Eventually, it became clear that the army could no longer trust to good fortune; it must change if it meant to meet the challenges of its increasingly hostile neighbors. As we shall see, this desire to import the European army led Chile to throw in its lot with Germany and its paladin, Emilio Körner, who became the principal architect of its renovation. With the exception of the Philippine Islands, Chile was Spain's most distant colony. It was also one of its most unruly. Madrid's army may have occupied Chile, but Spain could not conquer it. By mastering the art of riding horses, the local Mapuche Indians, called the Araucanians by the Spaniards, managed to reoccupy much of the land they had earlier abandoned. And for the next three hundred years, the Indians, dug in along the Bío-Bío River, tenaciously held on to the south. Not content with simply surviving, they periodically raided across this river of history, ravaging the European-mestizo settlements and killing their inhabitants. This state of intermittent but brutal conflict led a Spanish chronicler to describe Chile as "a land of war," a feeling that grew over the centuries until even foreigners began to repeat it. 1 Eventually, a myth slowly took form. Chileans were the fusion of two tribes: the Spanish conquistador, many of whom supposedly were German mercenaries in the service of Spain, and the Araucanian woman. The combination produced an individual supposedly ill

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suited for any enterprise that did not include killing. Chileans, in short, had become a "people who were soldiers by nature." 2 Certainly, the Chileans had countless chances to practice their martial skill. The border skirmishes with the Indians; the battles for independence that, at one particularly vicious phase, became known as the "war to the death"; and the internal conflicts, in which Liberals and Conservatives tried to gain ascendancy over their brethren, all gave Chileans ample opportunity to master the art of mayhem. By 1830, however, the Conservatives triumphed and managed to fashion enough of a consensus to bring order, if not peace, to the nation. The creation of a republic, in name only, in 1830 ushered in a period of domestic calm in which Chileans generally refrained from internecine slaughter. Although this benefited the Chileans, their neighbors were not quite so fortunate. Within six years of the establishment of conservative government, Chile went to war against the newly created Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation. For our purposes, it was not the struggle's causes but its outcome that merits attention. The first expedition against the forces of the confederation's leader, the Bolivian marshal Andrés Santa Cruz, failed miserably to achieve its objective: their enemies encircled the Chilean forces, quickly subduing them. The defeated Chilean commander, Adm. Manuel Blanco Encalada, signed a peace treaty and returned home. Once safely back in Chile, the government created by Diego Portales, the nation's éminence grise and de facto ruler, repudiated Blanco Encalada's agreement and sent north another army, this time under Gen. Manuel Bulnes. Selecting a general to lead land forces proved more felicitous than the experiment with naval officers. Bulnes took advantage of the political infighting that erupted between the supposed Bolivian and Peruvian allies and defeated the forces of Santa Cruz at the Battle of Yungay in 1839. After the conflict with Santa Cruz, Chile did not have to fight an external enemy on land for another fifty years. In 1851 and 1859 serious civil strife roiled the nation, but happily these episodes proved to be short lived. In both cases, the regular army triumphed, but not without some difficulty. The insurgents, for example, defeated the putative professionals at the Battle of Los Loros in 1859. But in the end the big battalions put the rebels to flight. In the 1860s the tiny Chilean fleet engaged Spain's with lamentable consequences. Madrid lost two vessels, but it also ruthlessly bombarded the port of Valparaíso, inflicting substantial damage on its facilities. Chile learned its lesson. The Moneda built substantial coastal defenses to protect

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the city and, in the 1870s, acquired two ironclad warships, the Blanco Encalada (indicating that the navy at least had forgiven the admiral's foibles of the 1830s) and the Cochrane, which was named for the Scottish naval commander who led Chile's navy during the war for independence. Historically, Chile's professional army remained quite small, composed, in the words of a foreign observer, of "dark skinned, semi-Indians . . . ignorant and savage, who have recently demonstrated that they can fight like demons, kill, plunder and burn with a ferocity that baffles history to furnish a parallel" and commanded by "Spanish type" officers. 3 It was a bare-bones military consisting entirely of combat arms and lacking such frills as a quartermaster or medical corps. The country theoretically possessed a military college, the Escuela Militar, but economic shortfalls sometimes curtailed its efforts. The combination of the decay in the academic standards and disciplinethe cadets riotedforced the army to close the school in November 1876.4 Given the Chilean army's small size and lack of infrastructure, perhaps it was just as well that it did not have to face a foreign foe. The absence of an external enemy did not mean that Chile escaped war: the Araucanians still menaced its southern frontier. In the late 1870s, "people traveling even along the line of forts, and strangers especially, [had to] seek the protection of an escort, as the spirit of evil might tempt some of the Indians to attack a traveling party for the sake of plunder."5 Although the Indian wars kept the Chilean army on its toes, it did not adequately prepare the officer corps to direct a European style of conflict. Just such a struggle did finally erupt. Between 1879 and 1884, Chile fought the War of the Pacific, a protracted campaign against Peru and Bolivia. Santiago defeated its enemies, but its victory was at best inelegant and at worst maladroit. The ill-prepared and undermanned Chilean army entered this conflict without a quartermaster, signal, transportation, ordnance, or medical corps, all of which it had to improvise, largely with civilian assistance. Nor did the more traditional, if not retrograde, combat arms distinguish themselves. One would be hard pressed to blame the troops. Composed of the "immoral and drunken, [and] habituated to the discipline of the whip," the poorly armed army was commanded by an assortment of well-intentioned but ill-prepared generals. Among them was the physically frail and mentally impaired Justo Arteaga Alemparte, who happily had enough wit to resign before fatally damaging his command. His ultramontane successor, Erasmo Escala, seemed to devote more energy to ensuring that his men fulfilled their religious obligations than pursuing the enemy, but he

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managed to conquer Tarapacá, although not without committing some gaffes. 6 Even the ultimate victor, Manuel Baquedano, the general who captured Lima, appeared severely limited. He invariably preferred the frontal assault over the envelopment, a predilection that unnecessarily consumed the lives of his nation's youth. Not without reason, then, did one observer affirm that Chile triumphed in the War of the Pacific, "albeit with grief and [only] by means of Araucanian assaults."7 Santiago's occupation of Lima, the enemy capital, in early 1881 did not end the bloodshed. Chile had to fight a savage war of attrition in the Peruvian highlands. It also had to deal with the Araucanians, who took advantage of the War of the Pacific to assault settlements at the southern end of the nation's Central Valley. The Indian rebellion ended in 1882; Lima capitulated in 1883. Bolivia reluctantly followed suit the following year. When the battlefield smoke had cleared, it became apparent that Chile won the War of the Pacific not because its military was good but because its adversaries were not. Still, at least in the eyes of its former enemies, and perhaps in those of many of its citizens, Chile had become the Prussia of the Pacific. Progressive elements in the Chilean officer corps, however, recognized that their army needed serious revamping because, in the words of one of its leaders, it was "two centuries behind" in matters of tactics, training, and supply.8 Thus, in the early 1880s, Chile's president, Domingo Santa María, acting at the behest of various army commanders agreed to hire foreign advisors to modernize his military. Given the outcome of the recent Franco-Prussian War, Santa María turned not to Paris but to Potsdam, to that "most perfect element of war that exists," the Prussian army. In 1885 he hired a German captain of artillery and instructor at the Prussian Artillery and Engineering School, Emil Körner, to supervise the job of modernizing the army.9 Emil Körner Bernhard Emil Körner was born on 10 October 1846, the son of retired Capt. Louis Körner and Alwine Körner, on a small manorial estate at Wegwitz just outside Merseburg, Saxony, on the Saale River. After completing high school at the Pietist Frankesche Stiftung at Halle, Körner taught school. But the outbreak of the Austro-Prussian War in 866 changed his life's direction. In August, Körner joined the Fourth Field Artillery Regiment at Magdeburg, where as an officer aspirant he made social and professional contacts that were to last him to the First World War. One year later, Körner was commissioned second lieutenant and was accepted for study at the War School at Hanover, the ancestral home of the English royal family

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and just annexed to Prussia by Prime Minister Otto von Bismarck. Young Körner enjoyed his studies and from October 1869 to June 1870 attended the combined Artillery and Engineer School at Berlin-Charlottenburg. He participated in the Franco-Prussian War and on 1 September 1870 was wounded at the Battle of Sedan, where Prussia crushed the imperial armies of Napoleon III. Having received the Iron Cross, Second Class, Körner gained momentary fame on 27 December when his artillery battery fired the first salvo against Mont Avron during the siege of Paris. Thereafter, Körner completed his courses at Berlin and joined the newly created Magdeburg Fourth Field Artillery Division at Erfurt. In October 1873, shortly before turning twenty-five, Körner was selected for three years of intensive study at the Prussian War Academy. Again, he reveled in his courses, alternating theoretical learning in Berlin with duty assignments to infantry (1874) and cavalry (1875) units. In the fall of 1876, Körner, now a first lieutenant, successfully completed the arduous staff ride, graduating third in a distinguished class behind Paul von Hindenburg and Jakob Meckel. He quickly appreciated that military studies were the key to success. In 187778 he took advantage of two tours of duty with the General Staff to visit Spain, Italy, Morocco, and Russia and the following year served as instructor at the Prussian Artillery School outside Berlin. Promoted to the rank of captain in 1880, Körner returned to the Artillery and Engineering School in August 1881 as an instructor for tactics and military history. He remained there for four years, an unusually long assignment. In fact, Körner must have realized by 1885 that his career was approaching its end. Halfway through the ten years required for promotion he undoubtedly understood that he, like his father, would not turn the "major's corner." Without noble ancestors, influential family ties, or independent wealth, he had little prospect for advancement beyond the rank of captain. In the 1880s, the General Staff was still stocked mainly with nobles; flag officers were selected from elite cavalry and infantry regiments, not from the plebeian artillery; and Saxon officers were hardly predestined for the fast track to the highest posts in the Prussian army. Travel abroad had whetted Körner's appetite for overseas duty, and he almost jumped at the chance to join Meckel, who was en route to Japan to reorganize its army. At the same time, attempts by Gen. Emilio Sotomayor of the Chilean Military School to recruit a German captain to serve as military instructor in Santiago foundered on the low salary (4,000 marks) and the rank (major) offered. But when Chile's envoy to Berlin, Guillermo Matta, agreed to double the pay and raise the grade to lieutenant colonel, Kaiser William II became interested and, with the aid of his military cabinet,

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selected Körner. 10 After lengthy negotiations, the latter agreed to terms in August 1885. His contract was for five years, and he was expected to teach artillery and infantry tactics, military history, and cartography. In addition to an annual stipend of 8,000 marks (to be paid in Chilean gold), Körner received a residence and a maid as well as his passage.11 He set sail for Santiago in September 1885, using the voyage to study Spanish. Thus began a career that would span more than a quarter century of service in Chile. William II had taken an interest in Chile ever since that country had defeated the more populous Peru and Bolivia in the War of the Pacific. "I adore the Chileans," the kaiser once noted on a cable sent from his envoy in Santiago.12 Undoubtedly, more practical concerns also motivated him. First, a Prussian officer in Santiago could keep the monarch posted on developments in that part of the world. Second, a man on the spot could push German arms sales and military instructors, initially to Chile and perhaps later to other South American states as well. And, finally, a military instructor could use his influence to energetically press the case for German-Chilean trade.13 Not only had a number of Hamburg merchant houses established branch offices in Valparaíso, but Hamburg shipping lines, like F. Laeisz and Kosmos, transported Chile's major export, nitrates (salitre), from the northern pampa to German farms. From the start, then, Captain Körner appreciated that his appointment included tasks that went far beyond the narrow parameters of a military instructor. Don Emilio's Chile The country that recruited Körner differed radically from his beloved Germany. Chile possessed but an embryonic industrial sector and derived most of its revenue from the sale of mineral products: nitrates prised from the northern pampas as well as copper and, to a lesser extent, silver extracted from its mountains in the Norte Chico. Though Chile had a rich agricultural base, ownership of the land remained the perquisite of a small elite. Most of the agrarian workforce, which meant a majority of the nation, were inquilinos, peons tethered to the farm not because they loved their rustic life but because they legally could not leave. In short, the inquilino occupied the no man's land between the slave and the freedman: the debt peon. If, in the 1880s, Germans were highly educated and healthy, the Chileans were the opposite. Only 29 percent were literate, most were illegitimate, and Chileans were so plagued with diseases, many congenital, that their death rate even as late as 1930 was more than twice that of Germany.14 The state tried to alleviate the scourge of some of the more ubiquitous afflic-

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tions, such as smallpox, by sending vaccinators into the nation. But such projects, as well as many other public health measures, foundered because of a bizarre alliance: the Catholic Conservatives opposed such policies because they contravened God's will; the Liberals because it allowed the state to intervene in a citizen's life. Thus, Chileans perished in wholesale lots from childhood ailments, like diphtheria, as well as the diseases of the mature, such as syphilis, tuberculosis, respiratory afflictions, and alcoholism, many of which were the sequela of squalid living conditions and poverty. In 1889, three years after Körner arrived, a Chilean scientist described the difference between the death rates of Chile's poor and its wealthy as "greater than the majority of the European nations, excepting Ireland." 15 Although a stranger in an apparently stranger environment, Körner nonetheless discovered a few familiar faces. By 1885, some seven thousand Germans, including his future wife, resided in Chile, its largest group of European-born foreigners. They had begun their migration in the 1840s at the behest of the Chilean government, which hoped that they would settle the virgin south. Santiago realized this dream. By 1874 some four thousand Germans resided in Chile, mainly, but not exclusively, along the southern frontier. Eventually, the south became a German enclave where its skilled immigrants replicated much of their old life by creating a variety of cultural institutions: Germanlanguage schools, newspapers, breweries, and churches. They also transplanted to Chile a unique German institution: the Vereine, clubs that catered to numerous interestsfrom singing, bowling, and shooting to satisfying the immigrants' need to socialize with fellow countrymen. In addition, there were a series of mutual aid societies and burial societies to buffer the immigrant against the harsh realities of Chilean life.16 By the late nineteenth century, the Germans had started the move from the confines of their small enclave into the mainstream of Chile's social, political, and economic life. Abraham König, for example, won a seat in the legislature; others held posts in the civil service. Körner, perhaps to his surprise, would discover that he was not the first German to serve in Chile's army. Men like the Nordenflichts, Reytes, and Stuvens had fought with distinction during the War of the Pacific. One, Otto von Moltke, German born and educated, had served his military apprenticeship in the Franco-Prussian War, where he earned a commission and the Iron Cross. Moltke, who emigrated with his brother to Chile in 1876, enlisted in the army at the very onset of the War of the Pacific and served until January 1881, when he perished in the final assault of Lima. If names are an indication, some of these GermansMajors Fredes, Wolleter, Bisivinger; Captains Meyer,

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Wolleter, Meyerholtz; and Lieutenants Dinator, Marks, and Boernerremained on active service. 17 This list does not include those who still held commissions in the National Guard. Besides Germanic names, the Chilean army shared another similarity to Körner's beloved Prussian military. Just as the Junker landowners dominated the Prussian army, so also did a small area of Chile, namely, Concepción and the Frontier, provide a disproportionate number (some 34 percent) of the army's officer corps. This fact should not cause surprise: for centuries the southerners had had to protect themselves, and the nation, against an Indian invasion. Inevitably, a warrior culture took root in the south that flourished well into the republic. Another 31 percent of the officers came from Santiago, where the presence of so many troops may have convinced upwardly mobile youths that the officer corps offered a career. Two other regions, Aconcagua and Valparaíso, were also home to various military garrisons, particularly the infantry and coastal artillery, and Colchagua, which had a long tradition of militia service and became a center for recruitment in wartime, contributed some 18 percent of the officers. Thus, Chile, like Prussia, had a military caste. Comparing Chile to Prussia, however, had its limits. Prussia's army appeared rationally structured according to a logical military progressive hierarchybeginning with the basic military building block, the platoon and the company, and followed, in order, by the battalion, the regiment, the brigade, the division, and eventually, the army corps. In marked contrast, Chile's did not. Indeed, Körner commanded a linguistic and organizational nightmare: the army consisted of two artillery regiments, each containing two brigades. An artillery battery had six guns and six munitions carts pulled by mules. Horse-drawn artillery was rare and, where it existed, often had to be hauled by cavalry mounts.18 A battalion of engineers was three brigades. There were eight battalions of infantry, each containing six companies. These companies, in turn, were divided into two mitades, which consisted of two cuartas that contained two escuadras. The training of the recruits became the purview of a special unit, the Reemplazos. No war plans existed to combine these formations into brigades or divisions. Mixed-arms formations were unknown. The army's fifteen corps were loosely bundled into a General Inspectorate (Inspección Jeneral del Ejército) that consisted of thirteen officers headed by a colonel who together acted as a bridge between the army and the War Ministry. The latter was staffed solely with civilians and thus, in Körner's view, was incapable of providing competent, long-term leadership. The army wore French-style uniforms, down to the red trousers and the

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"excess" of gold buttons, cords and stripes, and covers. Marching tempo varied greatly according to French regulations. Regular infantry carried the Comblain rifle in peacetime, saving its small store of Gras M74 and M79 rifles for war. The militia sported an assortment of Minié, Beaumont, Peabody, Spencer, Winchester, Remington, Bomsmueller, and Kropatschek rifles. The cavalry carried the Winchester carbine M/80 as well as the French saber M/67. The regular army's field artillery had 7.5 and 8.7cm Krupp M/79 guns and the mountain artillery 6 and 7.5cm Krupp M/80 pieces. The National Guard had to do with Grieve guns captured from the Peruvians in the War of the Pacific as well as a host of Armstrong, Blackley, Vavasseur, and White tubes. To complicate matters, the coastal artillery consisted of a plethora of ancient muzzle-loading Spanish cannons and Parrot, Rodman, and Armstrong guns, mostly taken from deactivated warships. Chile's military was not only an eclectic, if not bizarre, organization, but when Körner arrived it was shrinking in size. During the War of the Pacific, the military fielded up to 50,000 men. But after the fall of Lima the army began to thin its ranks. By 1883 it numbered but 24,000. Within one year it fell to 7,000, and by 1885 it dropped to 5,541 men, a decline of some 40 percent. (The army was still twice as large as it was in 1878.) By 1886, it would contract yet again. 19 The official figures dramatically understate the army's true size. In 1889, for example, after factoring in the low rate of reenlistment and the high one of desertion, the number of enlisted men actually serving was not 5,885, as authorized by an 1888 law, but only 2,957. The army's inspector general feared that if as many men retired, received medical discharges, or simply deserted in 1889 as had in 1888, the number of troops under arms would fall to 2,481.20 Happily, the officer's fears did not materialize: of the 5,230 enlisted men serving in December 1889, 902 received discharges and 931 deserted, leaving the army with a complement of 3,370. Although smaller, the army seemed to have more, not fewer, responsibilities. A substantial portiontwo artillery brigades, two and a half infantry battalions, and one cavalry regimentguarded the capital and manned the heavy coastal batteries protecting Valparaíso. If the primary task of these troops was to maintain calm in the nation's political and commercial nerve centers, the remainder of the army faced more formidable tasks. More than a third of the troops, namely, two artillery brigades, two and a half infantry battalions, and two cavalry squadrons, garrisoned the recently conquered provinces of Antofagasta and Tarapacá. They also occupied Tacna farther to the north, although theoretically this duty would end when

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a plebiscite, set for the 1890s, determined the area's ultimate status. (The plebiscite never occurred. The issue, which became known as the Tacna-Arica Dispute, festered for decades, periodically threatening to push Chile and Peru into war. The problem was finally resolved, through diplomacy, at the end of the 1920s.) Stationing so many units on its northern frontier had a certain logic: the Chileans feared that Lima and La Paz might launch a revanchist war. They also had to ensure that the nitrate miners, many of whom were Peruvians and Bolivians, would tolerate, however ungraciously, Chilean sovereignty and the presence of so many of its citizens. And, finally, the army had to guarantee that the saliteras, whose revenues provided the government with more than half its ordinary income, could continue to operate unhindered. Approximately 40 percent of the militarythree infantry battalions, three cavalry squadrons, and all engineer unitsbecame the Army of the South, to whom fell the onerous duty of occupying Araucania. Control of this region was relatively new and still somewhat tenuous. The south had always been a hotbed of discontent. The Indians, who constantly menaced the southern frontier, had rebelled twice, in 1881 and 1882. Indeed, only after the War of the Pacific had wound down, freeing Santiago to transfer its well-armed troops from the northern war zone to the Indian frontier, did Chile manage finally to pacify the Araucanians. Protecting the lives and property of the European and Chilean colonists as well as the workers pouring into the region became the Army of the South's primary responsibility. Just as important, it had to keep the Indians acquiescent, if not pacified. The army not only had to police the south but build its infrastructure as well. To fulfill this mission, the high command had transferred all of its military engineers to Araucania, where they constructed roads, public buildings, and bridges and strung telegraph lines. The combination of civic action programs and maintaining public order in such a vast area forced the Army of the South to spread itself so thinat one time, it consisted of some thirty-nine independent unitsthat discipline and morale eroded. 21 Behind the army, too far behind according to some, stood the National Guard. The militia had a long history in Chile. It had contributed some 53,500 officers and men to fight the War of the Pacific, soldiers who received their country's thanks and a paltry bonus of three months' salary as a reward for years of active service. Often denigrated if not mockedalthough the minister of war insisted that they were the equal of regular line unitsthe Guard remained an essential backstop. By 1885 it still numbered some 48,000 men, spread out across the country in an assortment of regiments,

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brigades, battalions, and even companies. Though mainly consisting of infantry units, each important port possessed its own Guard artillery contingent. The Guard's cavalry policed the rural areas, particularly the south. If the militia's reputation remained in doubt, so did its future. By law, all able-bodied men had to serve in the Guard. In fact, only the fewthe unluckydid. The authorities recognized that they needed the militia as much, if not more, to ''maintain the security of the republic" as to fight a foreign enemy, but no one could figure out how to staff it. Certainly, the authorities had a dilemma: they wanted all citizens to serve but feared the repercussions of forcing the artisan or the professional into service when the nation's economy needed their labor as much as the army. 22 In the end the authorities accepted the status quothe notion that only the poor and friendless would fill the Guard's ranks. The Officer Corps Commanding, or perhaps more accurately running herd, on this unhappy combination of professional soldiers and militia was the task of the army's officer corps. In Chile's case, never have so many led so few because although the number of troops declined by 45 percent, the complement of officers did not. On the contrary, proportionately the ratio of officers to enlisted men, which was 1:6.77 in 1884, increased to 1:4.84 in 1890.23 This figure, moreover, does not reflect the fact that men may have deserted, retired, or left the army. (It is interesting to note for comparison's sake that in 1890 the ratio of officers to enlisted personnel in the United States was 1:11.63.) Actually, the ratio of officers to enlisted men does not accurately reflect Chile's situation. Few of the bloated officer corps actually worked as soldiers. By 1890 only 384 served with line units. The largest contingent, 197, supposedly trained the National Guard, while another sixty were "disponible," that is, doing nothing while awaiting orders to do something.24 Since there were no technical servicesthe army abolished both its quartermaster and medical corps following the War of the Pacificmost of the officers performed distinctly nonmilitary tasks: five labored as civil administrators, forty-three as policemen, and five as aides either to the congress or president. For many of its senior officers, the Chilean army had become an olive drab sinecure. The minister of war acknowledged this fact but concluded "it is not right to discharge a large number of the country's servants who had fought in a war that, while long and painful for them, was glorious and fruitful for the

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republic." 25 Besides, he plaintively noted, because there was no place for these warriors to go they had to remain ensconced in the army. Although the 1885 officer corps was 250 percent larger than its 1878 counterpart, the prewar regular contingent constituted a distinct minority: seven years later, only 275 men on the 1878 list remained on active service. Of the original 401, 36 had either died in action or succumbed to disease, while another 73 had perished from natural causes. Others simply retired. But though decimated, the "old guard" still ran the new army: all of the generals, colonels, and lieutenant colonels had served prior to 1879. Those who received commissions during the War of the Pacific made their presence felt only further down the military hierarchy. Thus, although the newcomers outnumbered the prewar officers, in 1885 at least it seemed that they would have to wait for an excruciatingly slow-moving promotion system, or their superiors' premature death, to rise in rank. Thanks to the ravages of old age and a variety of epidemicsranging from the perennial smallpox to the newer choleradeath methodically thinned the ranks of the officer corps. Despite these inroads, the "old guard" nonetheless dominated the 1890 army, particularly on the upper levels. The minister of war admitted that the officers' register was too thick but considered the surplus as a necessary supplement to pick up the slack for "the tired, the sick, and for those who might be incapable of combat."26 Though bloodied in battle, few of "the tired [and] the sick" enjoyed the benefits of a formal military education: only 34 percent of the army's leaders had graduated from the Escuela Militar, Chile's Military Academy. As late as 1886, four of the army's nine Jenerales de División and Jenerales de Brigada had achieved their high ranks without passing through the Military School. Perhaps the most notable example of this phenomenon was Gen. Manuel Baquedano, who, at age twelve, entered the army as a lieutenant, and eventually became a Jeneral de División after directing the capture of Lima.27 Baquedano's story was not so unusual. Approximately 38 percent of his brother officers came from the enlisted ranks. Approximately 28 percent entered the military directly from civilian society. Evidently low social status, let alone a lack of education, did not inhibit a man from seeking a commission, although apparently such an individual could not rise beyond a certain rank. Indeed, one scholar estimated that some 30 percent of the officers were of "modest social origin," a vague term that conceals more than it reveals. Doubtless the presence of such men of common birth in the officer corps appalled Körner, whose own career had foundered on Prussian social prejudices. But not the Chileans. In one case, Juan José San Martín, the son of a peasant who began his career as a "soldado raso"the Chilean

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equivalent to a GIrose to the post of lieutenant colonel. Whether he could have gone further remains moot: he succumbed to wounds received at the Battle of Arica in 1880. 28 Graduating from the Escuela Militar did not necessarily confer much on its graduate except, and even this is not clear, a certain social cachet. Obviously, the Military School's entrance requirementsthe candidate had to be legitimate, literate, and the son of law-abiding parentsdo not appear particularly demanding. (Even these rules were flexible: Chile was a land of miracles, where a postpartum marriage eradicated the taint of being born on the wrong side of the blanket.) Nor did the Escuela provide such a splendid education since its curriculum was dated, its staff mediocre, and the discipline abysmal.29 Since many officers did not attend the Military School, they had to acquire their martial skills on the battlefield, not in the classroom. And in this respect, the Chilean army had few rivals for gaining active service experience: the wars for independence, the internecine struggles of the 1820s, the Peruvian-Bolivian campaign of the mid-1830s, the civil wars of 1851 and 1859, the War of the Pacific, and the constant bloodletting on the Indian frontier, all gave the army ample opportunity to learn the lessons of war. Unlike their European counterparts, Chilean commanders had to master two separate styles of combat. Fighting the Araucanians forced them to learn how to wage a "war of extermination," a barbarous struggle, utterly devoid of humanity, where neither side expected or gave any quarter.30 (Perhaps it was in the forests of the south that the Chilean army acquired its practice of cutting the throats of the enemy wounded and captives, a habit that justifiably terrorized its Peruvian-Bolivian foes in the War of the Pacific.) Those who had to conduct a more conventional conflict had a few modern sources of information. The cavalry followed the old Spanish regulations of 1807: it rarely maneuvered in the field, fired its carbines from horseback, or practiced combat rider to rider. Though the Chilean and his horse made a "natural pair," the cavalry lacked doctrine: reconnaissance was beyond its capabilities and long-distance scouting was eschewed. Officers and mounts were housed in separate quarters, with the horses farmed out to pastures for months on end. Artillery also trained according to antiquated Spanish regulations. There existed no formal firing ranges. Liveammunition practices rarely occurred on a regular basis. Most guns were unlimbered only within earshot of their garrisons. Firing in different terrain and from reverse slopes was unknown. At the best of times, gunners happily abandoned their weapons and, car-

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bines in hand, joined infantry charges. The engineers, who required the most training, were the army's most technologically backward. 31 The infantry seemed the most modern of the combat arms: it followed the tenets of an 1865 manual, written by Col. José María Silva Chavez, which he had cribbed from an 1862 French text.32 (Perhaps it was just as well that Silva Chavez relied on Paris rather than his own experiences to teach tactics: he commanded the loyalist army that was defeated by the rebel forces in the 1859 Civil War.) To be sure, military exercises seemed impressive at first sight, with crisp formations displaying their well-honed skills with bayonets, rifles, and volley fire, and wheeling in tight formation "much as in the days of Frederick the Great."33 Commands were by trumpet, with the result that exercises degenerated into loud futility. Moreover, there was no real combat training, no sense of advancing and firing in extended columns of riflemen at battalion strength, and no target practice either standing, kneeling, or lying down. Men fired their rifles on the run and from the hip. Formal maneuvers were reserved for the parade ground or the garrison square. No attempt was made to adjust movement to terrain. Chilean infantry, which considered marksmanship training effeminate, preferred instead the mass bayonet assault. Predictably, Körner found the Chilean officer corps to be of poor quality in terms of both social composition and formal military training. Few officers, he discovered, had any ambitions "beyond collecting their pay at the first of every month."34 Even fewer contemplated upgrading their military skills through either study or practical experience in the field. Körner's evaluation, while harsh, did not seem inconsistent with other contemporary accounts. A few years earlier, Theodore B. M. Mason, a U.S. Navy officer, observed that "The officers, not enjoying the advantages of a technical education and possessing but limited knowledge of military operations beyond barrack-yard evolutions, were relatively not as efficient as the men. The tactics and manual were modeled on those of the Spanish for muzzle-loading weapons, and were not adapted to the use of modern fire-arms."35 Körner had to compensate for more than lack of training. Paradoxically, Chile's triumph over Peru caused logistical problems. Santiago's troops had captured enormous numbers of small arms as well as 150 cannons and 25 machine guns. Though it supposedly had enough weapons to equip eighty thousand infantrymen, plus artillery and cavalry units, the government had to refurbish these weapons and build arsenals to store them. Additionally, since the small arms were often of different manufacture or caliber than those normally employed by the Chilean armywhich already possessed a

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bewildering variety of rifles or carbinesit complicated the procurement of ammunition. 36 The regime had already begun to standardize and modernize equipment: President José Manuel Balmaceda, Santa María's successor, had purchased some magazine-fed Austrian Mannlicher rifles, which, ironically, arrived just in time to destroy the government that had ordered them. Körner would change the nation's arms supplier. Rather than purchase from the effete Austrians, the army ordered large quantities of stolid German products from Ludwig Loewe's small arms to Krupp's artillery pieces. He also established an arms factory to make Chile self-sufficient in ammunition and certain types of artillery shells. Acquiring equipment was easy; getting the general officers to accept new training manuals, recently translated from German, proved more complicated. Indeed, were it not for Balmaceda's intervention, Körner might not have been able to overcome the resistance to innovation of the army's highest-ranking officers.37 Finally, in Körner's view not the least vexing problem confronting the army was its time-honored practice of relying on the ubiquitous female followers (la camarada) for food, drink, laundry, and horizontal refreshment. Apart from the obvious moral implications of the camaradaría, last practiced in Europe during the Thirty Years' War (161848), the system had created a highly unreliable layer of middlemen who supplied the army inspectorates with goods purchased from local merchants. The military could not control purchasing, process, dates of delivery, or quality. Körner's Initial Reforms Not surprisingly, then, Emil Körner set out with Teutonic thoroughness to revamp the existing and to introduce the new.38 Chileans did not need Körner to remind them that they had to modernize. Indeed, even before he arrived, the military had begun to reform itself. A cavalry officer had started to prepare a new text for his branch, and a committee of officers, under the direction of the inspector general, began comparing the tactics of France, Spain, and Chile in order to incorporate the best into the army. As part of its desire for reform, progressive elements in the military established the Círculo Militar, a technical society that sought to foment esprit de corps as well as disseminate professional knowledge among the officer corps. (As part of this same program, all the officers of Santiago's garrison had to learn how to fence, clearly an essential skill in the age of the rapid-fire rifle and the machine gun.) By 1886 the Círculo Militar, which had attracted one hundred members and was modestly described as the army's "most educated and intelligent," started to publish the Revista Militar as part of its plan to

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spread the new military gospel. 39 Clearly the army was in the process of reconstituting itself when don Emilio Körner arrived. Chile's venerable Escuela Militar, South America's oldest, became the first institution to feel don Emilio's healing touch. This should come as no surprise: Körner's original appointment was as instructor of education and subdirector of the Military School. Körner hoped to jettison the Escuela Militar's curriculum, which was based upon that of France's Military Academy at St. Cyr and the École Polytechnique at Paris, in favor of Germany's Kadetten-Anstalt at Berlin-Lichterfelde. But Körner quickly recognized that Santiago was not Berlin. Since many of the Escuela Militar's graduates preferred the university or the civil service to the military, Körner had no choice but to keep the Military School's four-year curriculum as general as possible so it would remain equivalent to the six-year course of instruction at the Instituto Nacional, Chile's premier secular secondary school. Thus, only in their fourth and final year did Chile's future officers take a single course in military drawing. After successfully completing their oral examinations, officers were assigned directly to the infantry. Those wishing to join the cavalry had to study for an additional six months, those choosing the artillery an extra year, and those (few) who selected the corps of engineers two years. Determined to root out "this leftover from the French system," Körner introduced a single fifth year for all service branches. He, moreover, included in the quinto año formal work in physics and chemistry as well as specific military courses on combined-arms tactics, ballistics, fortifications, geodesy, and cartography. Unfortunately, the lack of maneuvers, staff rides, and war games prevented the students from acquiring practical experience. Changing the Escuela Militar's curriculum did not help when it was taught by a faculty that in many cases did not even possess a basic knowledge of military science. The graduating examinations consisted mainly of cadets regurgitating classroom material. Körner was determined to upgrade the level of education by engaging additional German instructors. He also managed to substitute the "theater" of Chilean fencing and exercising with regular practice that included striking with sabers, thrusting with bayonets, firing with live ammunition, and practical work with field guns.40 As part of his effort "to extirpate French [military] influence," Körner in 1890 presented the National Congress with a plan to create a Chilean "General Staff" from among the graduates of the Military Academy. As the first step of this process, in September 1886 he persuaded the government to establish an Academia de Guerra for the brightest and best junior officers. Opened on 12 July 1887, under the command of Brig. Gen. Marco A.

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Arriagada, the Military Academy faithfully mirrored the Prussian Kriegsakademie. German manuals and textbooks were translated into Spanish. The curriculum was set for two years, with a third year made available to the best students. Chilean academy applicants, like those in Germany, were to have served on active duty for at least three years and thus hold the rank of first lieutenant or captain when they sought admission. The Military Academy in Santiago, like the one in Berlin, required an entrance examination. Standards were set so high that less than 5 percent of active officers gained admission in any given year. Körner's expectations outstripped the Chilean reality. Many of the first class of fifteen students were so ill prepared that they required remedial training in mathematics before going on to more advanced courses. 41 Instruction replicated that offered at Berlin: military history, staff work, tactics, ballistics, fortifications, military science, military drawing and geography, hygiene, military law, and physics as well as chemistry. Mathematics and general history were options. Lectures went for twenty-eight hours per week for the first two years and twenty-four in the advanced third year. Körner set class size at fifteen and in 1890 encouraged five of the Academia's first threeyear graduates to further their studies in Germany. Don Emilio seemed determined "to replace the prevailing revolutionary spirit in the officer corps with the German sense of duty."42 To this end, he set out to teach Chilean officers European etiquette and hygienedown to instructing them on "how to dress and how to behave" in civilian as well as military society. In an attempt to foster military élan and esprit de corps, Körner established officer clubs in the major garrisons, complete with library, billiard parlor, restaurant, and social room. He did not neglect the lower ranks, creating the Escuela de Clases to train NCOs. Indeed, Körner convinced the government of the need to reopen the Noncommissioned Officer School (Escuela de Clases or Escuela de Suboficiales) in San Bernardo, arguing that the noncommissioned officer had to master the same body of knowledge as a candidate seeking entry to the Military School. The course lasted for two years and the school annually graduated 100 to 150 NCOs. But the very success of the Noncommissioned Officer School proved to be its undoing. By setting education standards equal to those demanded of officer candidates, the school undermined the prestige of the officer corps in the eyes of Chile's oligarchy, which supplied many of the nation's officers. These elites thus forced the government to close the Escuela de Clases. Only an acute shortage of NCOs prompted Santiago to reopen it in 1908. Prodigious though Körner's efforts were, a great deal still remained to be

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done. Even the most patriotic had to admit, wrote one general, "that the state of the army in general was acknowledged to be 50 or more years behind the time in respect to the most advanced armies of that period." 43 The 1891 Revolution Within years of Körner's arrival, Chile would endure its last great domestic upheaval, the 1891 Revolution. A squabble between President Balmaceda and the National Congress over who should run the republic became so acute that the legislators, calling themselves the Congressionalists (Congresionalistas), rebelled. This insurgency, not surprisingly called the 1891 Revolution, differed from the traditional Latin American cuartelazo because it began at sea. On 7 January the powerful Chilean fleet anchored in Valparaíso's harbor declared for the Congressionalist cause. Balmaceda could do little but fume. Although the government had earlier ordered two cruisers, the Errázuriz and the Pinto, they were awaiting final touches in their French shipyards before they could sail for Chile. Balmaceda could only muster two torpedo boats, the Lynch and Condell, which were en route to Chile when the revolution erupted, plus the armed transport Imperial. These vessels could hardly challenge the Congressional armada. With little to stop them, the rebel squadron ranged up and down Chile's coast, capturing a score of vessels, some of which carried supplies for the loyalist army. Other units began to blockade Chile's north. Körner should have stayed out of the conflicthe was, after all, a foreign national. He was also an employee of the government, which, at the onset of the revolution, offered him the post of commander of the harbor fortifications of Coronel, a southern coal-mining town. After consulting with the German embassy, don Emilio rejected Balmaceda's offer, fearing that this act could "compromise" his neutrality. Curiously, Körner subsequently chose to betray Balmaceda: he secretly boarded a vessel where he joined the rebel forces, arriving in Iquique in May. The German ambassador, Felix Baron von Gutschmid, "sharply criticized" Körner's breach of contract as well as faith and formally apologized to the Chilean Foreign Ministry for this "embarrassing episode."44 Körner's motivations remain hazy. Certainly, he declined to discuss it in any of his numerous writings, apart from the simple statement that Balmaceda "had become a dictator."45 Apparently personal, not ideological, reasons pushed Körner into the rebel camp: the German officer had befriended his subordinate, Jorge Boonen Rivera, who became one of the leaders of the

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rebel army. 46 Curiously, another far more intimate relationship may also have influenced his decision. Körner had married the daughter of the German honorary consul stationed in Santiago, a woman described as "a Chilian [sic] lady strongly imbued with opposition ideas."47 In the process, he acquired a new sister-in-law who, in turn, had wed Francisco Puelma, another of the rebellion's more important leaders. Hence, personal reasons, as well as perhaps a desire to ensure domestic tranquility, encouraged him to depart clandestinely for the rebel stronghold of Iquique, where he became secretary-general of the Congressionalist army. Körner's decision to flee north greatly distressed Baron von Gutschmid, who believed that Körner had betrayed the Chilean government he served. Even the kaiser criticized Körner's actions. Victory invariably has a way of smoothing aggrieved feelings: following the defeat of government forces, the kaiser pardoned Körner, awarding him the Order of the Crown (Kronenorden). On a more unofficial level, the German Foreign Office began calling him the Chilean Moltke.48 The Loyalist Reaction In early January 1891, following the outbreak of the revolution, Balmaceda put on a war footing his fifty-sevenhundred-man regular army of eight infantry battalions, three cavalry regiments, two field artillery regiments, and one engineer battalion. Mobilization meant doubling the complement of each infantry battalion to twelve hundred troops and adding a squadron to the cavalry units. Balmaceda would subsequently create two new brigades of artillery as well as two more infantry battalions, the Chorrillos and the Lautaro, the Ninth and Tenth Infantry Regiments of the line. The enlarged loyalist army was grouped into seven divisions and dispersed throughout the nation. Balmaceda also mobilized his National Guard. Officially, the militia numbered fifty thousand men, but, in fact, it was only about half its authorized size. By the end of the revolution the government had some forty thousand men under arms, commanded by a mixture of Military Academy cadets, sergeants, or poorly trained civilians; mainly garrisoning the larger cities; and doing what armies invariable do best: drill and wait.49 The government, anxious to find the bodies to flesh out the regular army and militia contingents, tried to entice volunteers by offering an enlistment bonus of thirty pesos.50 When that method failed, the army resorted to other ploys. Maurice Hervey, a British correspondent for London's Times, watched recruiters plying men with drink until they enlisted.51 Tired of

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ploys and recognizing that the prospect of fighting a civil war would make most Chileans reluctant warriors, Santiago fell back on the same technique that it employed during the War of the Pacific: the press-gang. Once empowered, these recruiters, whose brutal tactics inspired as much fear as contracting smallpox and cholera, fanned out across the country. "Everywhere" noted Fanor Velasco, "the recruiters pass, like locust, laying waste and leaving dead and deserted the work sites animated by the peons." Of those unfortunates caught in the army's web, the ones who suffered the most were the individuals who opposed the government as well as their inquilinos. The intendant of Linares boasted that his agents had raided the fundo, or large farm, that belonged to a government critic. They seized his horses and impressed his peons so that "Today all are in the barracks, ready to kill and to die in defense of the central government." 52 "Ready to kill" they may have been but whom remains unclear. Troops recruited by such methods proved hesitant if not indifferent soldiers, more willing to murder or betray those who impressed them than the press-gang's foes. Once on the battlefield, the reluctant troops' passive/aggressive behavior fatally wounded Balmaceda's cause. At Arica, for example, the men of the Batallón Quillota either refused to fight or deserted en masse, while the supposedly loyal men of the Fourth Infantry Regiment tried to rebel. Not surprisingly, one British eyewitness would later attribute the collapse of Balmaceda's army to the "weakness of morale, the result of public revulsion" to the government's recruiting methods.53 The Revolution's First Stages After the rebel navy fled Valparaíso, the rebellion settled into a strangely asymmetrical state: Balmaceda's forces controlled a large army but, without a fleet, they could not attack their enemies. The rebels conversely had the strong navy but to advance their cause had only approximately 120 men, who formed a naval battalion that eventually became the Second Constitutional Regiment. Thus, while the rebels could remain out of reach of the loyalists, they could not inflict a telling blow on Balmaceda, particularly when his capital was located more than one hundred miles inland. At first glance, the heavily outnumbered rebels appeared doomed. In fact, however, the disparity in troops was not so crucial. At the onset of the war, most of the loyalist army was concentrated either in the Central Valley or the south; only fourteen hundred men (two infantry battalions plus an artillery regiment and a cavalry squadron) garrisoned Antofagasta, Tacna, or Iquique. Balmaceda's mobilization of the National Guard and the flesh-

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ing out of the regular army did not substantially alter this military balance of power. Without a fleet, the Moneda had to disperse its troops throughout the nation, in part to protect against a surprise attack, which could come anywhere, and to ensure that another rebellion would not erupt. The insurgents had their own problems. Before they could strike south, they needed a safe haven where they could raise, equip, and train an army. In search of this promised land, the Congressionalists, led by Col. Estanislao del Canto, attacked the lightly defended north. They occupied Coquimbo and La Serena and convinced some men of the supposedly loyal garrison as well as civilians to join the insurgents. The rebels then proceeded to Ovalle, where they won more converts and captured a store of government weapons. A Balmacedista counterattack, however, forced the rebels to retreat first to Coquimbo and then to take to the seas again in order to escape annihilation. On 19 January another rebel contingent landed at Pisagua, which the rebels not only easily captured but again successfully enlisted most of the supposedly loyal garrison. A Balmacedista counterattack, however, forced the rebels to flee Pisagua. Although defeated, the Congressional forces rallied and by the end of January had captured three cities in the nitrate littoral: Huanillos, Tocopilla, and the important center of Taltal. The Congressionalists then launched a second attempt to retake Pisagua, which they did on 6 February. Some three hundred loyalist troops, led by Col. Eulogio Robles, managed to elude the Congressional navy and reached Iquique, the area's largest city and the commercial entrepôt of the nitrate trade. Robles hoped to recapture Pisagua, but he was defeated on 15 February by a much larger force at San Francisco. Although put to flight, Robles managed to stop the pursuing enemy at Huara after being reinforced by some six hundred additional troops. But Robles had committed a fatal mistake: in his desire to recapture Pisagua he had taken most of Iquique's garrison, leaving the port virtually defenseless. The insurgents capitalized on Robles's blunder and launched a sea invasion that occupied the port. Fearful of being stranded in the north, Robles sent a detachment of troops under Col. José María Soto to retake Iquique. Soto's men valiantly attacked, but they could not dislodge the rebels, who took advantage of supporting naval gunfire to retain control of the city. After hours of fruitless fighting, on 19 February the local British naval officer arranged a truce that called for Soto's forces to retire and surrender their arms and for the rebels to retain control of Iquique. The Congressionalist offensive continued. Isolated Balmaceda units, cut off from the south and thus without means of resupply, either capitulated or

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fled across the border. A few fought on but to no avail. By early April the rebels controlled most of the north from Copiapó to the Peruvian frontier. The insurgents had finally found a home. Building an Army Capturing the nitrate-rich province proved crucial to the insurgency's success. By dominating the north, which produced most of the world's salitre, the Congressionalists could earn enough revenue to finance their struggle. Equally important, seizing the north gave the rebels access to the manpower of the nitrate pampas, which had a population of over one hundred thousand. Many of this area's seventy-five hundred miners, who had suffered when the Balmaceda government brutally suppressed an 1890 strike, hated the Santiago government even before the revolution began. Their antagonism increased when the Congressionalist blockade of Iquique shut down the salitreras, causing widespread unemployment and a rise in food prices. Ironically, the workers blamed their plight not on the rebels but on Balmaceda. Indeed, the government so feared widespread looting and the breakdown of order that it decided to abandon Iquique to the rebels. 54 Not surprisingly, many of these miners eagerly enlisted in the Congressionalist cause. To entice those not residing in Iquique, the revolutionary Junta also created recruiting commissions. These organizations wisely refrained from employing the draconian methods used by the Balmaceda government. The rebels, on the contrary, took care not to kill their economic golden goose: recruiters could take no more than 15 percent of any salitrera's workforce and could seek conscripts only in certain clearly defined areas. Those who enlisted had the right to receive their civilian back pay as well as return passage to their place of residence.55 Similar laws empowered the recruiters to enlist men working in the mining centers of Huantajaya and Santa Rosa, again with the stipulation that they received their back pay as part of the inducement for enlisting. Officers for the revolutionary army generally came from a more elevated sector of society than those laboring in the salitreras. Many were former Balmacedista officers who defected because they resented the president's supposed mistreatment of certain commanders. (Prior to the outbreak of the revolution, Balmaceda had ordered the army's officers to sign a loyalty oath, jailing those who refused. Thanks to the intercession of the supreme court these were released, but many still resented the president's highhanded actions.) Not unexpectedly, these men moved effortlessly from the

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ranks of the Balmaceda army to those of the rebels. At least two officers, Maj. José Echeverría and Maj. Manuel Aguirre, not only defected but took their units' funds with them. 56 The central government could not stanch the hemorrhage of defections. Regular officers continued to desert weeks, if not months, after the revolution began. Still, because the insurgents could not attract the entire regular officer corps, the rebel army had to find alternative sources for officers. Occasionally, they commissioned a senior sergeant like Isías Tagle. But most Congressionalist officers were simply civilians who either received a commission directly or who endured some preliminary training in the Columna de Aspirantes (a cadet corps) before becoming lieutenants.57 More than a few were men who had served in the War of the Pacific, either in the regular army or the militia, or who still possessed a National Guard commission. One of these was Patricio Larraín, who held the rank of colonel in the militia and who would later became a general in the postrevolutionary army. The result was that the officers of the Congressionalist army were an eclectic mix of ex-cadets of the Escuela Militar, a beached midshipman from the Escuela Naval, and a fair number of foreigners from Russia, Britain, the United States, Ireland, Spain, Denmark, or Argentina. Not all of these new soldiers found military life congenial: the authorities discharged Capt. Amador Navarro Amor for ''lacking military spirit" and a brother officer, Capt. Marcos Valenzuela, for "bad conduct."58 In May, the rebels satisfied another need when a merchant ship delivered some five thousand Gras rifles plus ammunition. Before the first shipment of small arms arrived, the Congressionalists obtained their weapons and ammunition by buying them from scavengers who took the weapons of the Balmacedista troops killed in the Battle of San Francisco.59 More significant, the rebels also received some cartridges for their rapid-fire Mannlicher rifles, weapons they had captured early in the revolution but could not use because they lacked bullets. Another ship subsequently brought an additional ten thousand Mannlichers, ammunition, over one thousand carbines, and twenty machine gunsoriginally intended for the Balmaceda government. These small arms provided enough weapons for the rebel army. Although they solved their need for manpower and weapons, neither side demonstrated any particular expertise when it came to providing supplies or medical services. The Balmaceda government organized an Intendencia Jeneral Ejército (General Army Intendancy) in 1889, but it did not function as a true quartermaster corps. The Intendencia purchased and distributed food that the troops or their camp followers prepared. When the Intenden-

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cia could not buy food, it turned over the job of feeding the men to sutlers who became military caterers. Apparently, other officers received a per diem allowance that ballooned as one rose in the military hierarchy; clearly, the army high command believed that an officer's appetite increased with rank. On more than one occasion, Balmaceda's forces seized food to supply their men. Ironically, subsequent ministers of war would be compensating the victims of these requisitioning parties years after the fighting ended. 60 The rebel army also used sutlers to feed the troops. Sometimes it had to purchase supplies from a nearby nitrate company or railway. It even imported medical supplies from Peru. But, unlike Balmaceda's army, some rebel officers lived in Iquique's Hotel 4 de Julio, Francia e Inglaterra, or Oriental and dined in restaurants rather than endure the uncertain luxury of camp life with their men.61 Happily for the rebels, the Iquique area also possessed a host of individuals or businesses that could, if needed, fashion wheels for artillery, service military equipment, or provide personal services. Indeed, the rebels relied on civilians to build barracks, send telegrams, and transport men and material. The military even hired a local funeral home to bury those who died both on and off the battlefield. (José Ramón Núñez, who agreed to supervise the men hired to work on the burial squads, also had the duty to collect the dead troops' weapons and ammunition.)62 Santiago had organized a medical service in June 1889 that, among its various goals, hoped to treat troops in army infirmaries rather than civilian hospitalsa practice that consumed the troop's health and the state's resources. In truth, the medical service, like the supply corps, appeared more a fantasy than reality. (Even the minister of war José Velásquez admitted that the Balmacedista medical corps suffered "from a lack of unity and from defects that were essential to remedy.")63 All in all, as one officer subsequently observed, the army provided food, munitions, and medical support, much as it had in the War of the Pacific. The rebels created their own Servicio Sanitario del Ejército (Army Sanitary Service) that cared for the wounded, picking them up from the battlefield and transporting them to the hospital.64 Although facing a well-equipped and highly motivated enemy, Balmaceda appeared so confident that the British correspondent Hervey would warn him that "these armed miners, inferior as they are in numbers to your large army, are being trained by a German expert, a well-known strategist, and they are, or soon will be, provided with repeating rifles. Now, one regiment, thus armed and thus led, is worth three regiments equipped with your fusils Gras or Martini Henry. You have not a single general who under-

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stands modern tactics; your Peruvian War veterans are out of date." 65 His remarks proved prescient, if not prophetic. The Revolution's Final Stages Thanks to Balmaceda's hubris or lack of naval resources, the rebels could organize themselves without pressure. By early May five months after the revolution began, the insurgent army at last took its final form. In addition to a General Staff, the army consisted of three brigades each containing all the combat arms. There was also an engineer battalion.66 By late winter the rebels went on the offensive. On 20 August del Canto's forces, some nine thousand men, landed at Quintero, near Valparaíso. The insurgents quickly moved inland to the south, generally remaining within the protective range of their fleet's guns. The defenders were not only outnumberedthey could muster only six thousand troopsbut outgunned, lacking rapid-fire rifles and machine guns. The Balmacedista commander, Gen. Orozimbo Barbosa, had occupied the 100- to 150-foot-high bluffs at Concón, overlooking the Aconcagua River, which the rebel units had to ford before driving on Valparaíso. Just before noon, Körner's men, supported by the navy's big guns as well as a special machine gun unit, crossed the river and launched two attacks on the loyalist position: one on Barbosa's center and another on his left flank. Fording a body of water that sometimes reached their necks proved a difficult task for the rebels. But the insurgent forces made it across the river, ably supported by the naval gunfire of the Esmeralda, "which was now shelling this [the enemy] position, with great accuracy."67 Once on the other side, the infantry, joined by the cavalry, broke through Barbosa's position, putting his artillery to flight and unleashing a stampede that various infantry units joined. Only the exhaustion of his mounts prevented del Canto's cavalry from destroying the remnants of the government troops. Although Barbosa had escaped, the same could not be said for his troops: some seventeen hundred men died or suffered wounds and fifteen hundred surrendered; the rebels sustained only nine hundred casualties. Balmaceda responded immediately, sending fifty-seven hundred reinforcements by train from Concepción to Valparaíso to dig in on the high ground and stop the enemy from taking the port. In the interim, the rebels had advanced toward Reñaca where they rested and waited for additional stores of ammunition for their Mannlichers. Initially del Canto had planned to attack Viña del Mar, a small town near Valparaíso, to neutralize the forts

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that protected the port. The arrival of additional government troops, however, forced the rebels to revise their strategy. Rather than strike Valparaíso through Viña del Mar, del Canto force marched his men from Reñaca southeast to Quilpue. After a brief stop, the insurgents advanced southwest until they encountered the road that extended east from the shores of the Pacific Ocean to the capital. They then marched through the night northwest toward Placilla, a vital road head that controlled the principal passageways from the coast and was perhaps the best way to attack Valparaíso from the rear. Only sixty-five hundred government soldiers stood between them and the port. Barbosa's troops held the high ridges that ran perpendicular to and overlooked the valley and the approaches to the road leading to Valparaíso. His artillery had taken up two positions while the cavalry, as well as some twenty-three hundred men of the reserve, remained behind the front line. Barbosa, however, acted as if he were directing an ambush, not an in-depth defense of a position: rather than place his troops along the face of the mountain's ridges, he concentrated most of them on either side of the highway running from the shore inland. Perhaps he believed that the hilly terrain, which was characterized by deep gullies, would funnel the enemy onto the road, where his men could fall upon them. Whatever his motivation, this decision limited the defenders' ability to fire upon their foes and certainly made it difficult to send reinforcements to the right flank. Del Canto planned to take advantage of Barbosa's error: he ordered two brigades to take the positions located west of the main road, cutting the Balmacedista position in two. Having selected the main target, he delegated the responsibility for the plan's fine points to Körner. For all of their vaunted expertise, neither del Canto's nor Körner's tactics demonstrated any particular battlefield brilliance. The Congressional assault began with an artillery bombardment early on 27 August, and then del Canto ordered his First and Second Infantry Brigades to concentrate on the enemy right. They managed to cross the exposed plain but encountered stubborn resistance as they ascended the hill. Because the First Brigade began to stray toward Barbosa's left flank, the Second Brigade, which was the only one to follow the attack plan faithfully, came under the Balmacedistas' concentrated fire. Del Canto therefore ordered the Third Brigade, which had been held back in reserve, to help the Second. Much to his surprise, however, del Canto learned that Körner had already told the Third Brigade to join the assault on the enemy's left, "an alteration in the adopted plan." Without reinforcements, the Second Brigade began to

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falter, until the desperate del Canto ordered his cavalry to charge Barbosa's left flank. The mounted attack overwhelmed the loyalist forces' left and captured their artillery; the Balmacedista reserves, already committed in piecemeal fashion to shore up their right, could not contain the attack. Barbosa's men broke, led by the cavalry and followed quickly by the infantry. 68 When the battle ended, Balmaceda's army had lost 30 percent of its strength, including its two generals who, unlike their subordinates, fought to their grisly deaths. (Apparently, the Congressionalist soldiers also mutilated their bodies; Barbosa's was ceremoniously reburied years later.) Del Canto's and Körner's decision to assault frontally cost the rebels 20 percent dead, wounded, or missing. Clearly, Placilla was not a cakewalk.69 The Revolution's Aftermath Initially del Canto graciously shared his triumphs with Körner. If the German had deviated from the original plan at Placilla, his action did not distress del Canto.70 The "valiant" German had commanded the Congressionalist General Staff and organized and trained the fledging army. Don Emilio's "distinguished services and his abnegated dedication to the constitutional cause," del Canto wrote, had made him "worthy of the noted merits and recommend him to the consideration of the Supreme Government and to the gratitude of the Chileans.'' But even while praising Körner, del Canto made it clear that he alone had devised the successful strategy at Placilla and that he alone commanded the victorious rebel army. By the 1920s, after Körner had died, del Canto's appraisal of his former comrade had became less generous. Körner, he now alleged, deserved little if any credit for the Congressionalist triumph. On the contrary, don Emilio was a latecomer who did not reach Iquique until May, long after the rebel army had been organized. Körner, moreover, had advocated attacking the loyalist army in Coquimbo, a piecemeal strategy that, if implemented, would have prolonged the conflict. Clearly, it was del Canto's brilliant decision to strike at the heartland of Chile, which annihilated the Balmacedista army in two battles, that had won the war. The German officer, del Canto claimed, was not only a deficient strategist but a poor battlefield commander. According to the Chilean, Körner had committed three "extremely grave [tactical] errors": he did not remain at del Canto's side during the battles; he took command of troops without authorization; and he unilaterally altered the plan of attack, thereby costing the Congressionalist army more casualties than expected. Indeed, Körner's "supine ignorance of his duties" and his unauthorized order to send his men

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into a "dangerous battle and without the possibility of success . . . [sacrificed] two thousand victims, at the very minimum, for which only his ambition to command and his ignorance are responsible." If the truth be told, del Canto averred, Körner should have been court-martialed and, since he would doubtless have been found guilty, sentenced to death. The Saxon officer, del Canto continued, did not suffer that fate because the Congressionalist cause had triumphed; because Körner was a foreigner; because del Canto and the Junta bore some responsibility for his mistakes, having put him in a position of responsibility; and because the German, in fairness, had worked with great industry. Thus, in a few decades, Körner's image changed from that of the "illustrious professor" to the intrusive foreigner whose ego and ambition dwarfed his skills. "Please God,'' del Canto concluded, Chile should never again have to trust "a stranger without military experience of any kind, of a deluded criterion and the weak character of one like don Emilio Körner." 71 Körner was not the only one to suffer from del Canto's criticism. General Boonen Rivera, who did not appear in del Canto's original report, also occupied a small place on don Estanislao's blacklist for apparently leading his troops in the wrong direction at Placilla. Doubtless it was del Canto's pique and resentment over not becoming president that motivated these two obviously differing opinions on Boonen Rivera's performance, although del Canto's ego did not suffer as grievously as would Boonen Rivera (regarding which more will be said in chapter 3). Del Canto also resented the fact that the German, not he, had become the army's doyen. Although Körner appeared self-effacing when he spoke to the Chilean newspaper correspondents, he did not refrain from proclaiming his grandeur in the Foreigner's Club in Santiago or to the German press. In both places, his capacity for self-praise seemed limitless. Körner not only came to believe that he was indeed Moltke and Gen. Albrecht von Roon in one, but he clearly managed to convince many European military historians to accept his version of the conflict.72 Neither Moltke nor Roon had to fear that Körner would eclipse them. Unlike his German colleagues, Körner enjoyed certain enormous advantages when waging his battle against the Balmacedistas. First, Generals Barbosa and José Miguel Alcérreca, apparently men of limited intellect, so loathed each other that they refused to coordinate their conduct of the Battle of Placilla. Regrettably, the minister of war, Velásquez, who was incapacitated by a broken leg, could not reconcile the two warring generals. Without some overarching authority, the two commanders became more involved in squabbling with each other than in preparing to fight what

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Barbosa arrogantly called del Canto's "untrained miners." Perhaps it was this same sense of misplaced confidence that led Balmaceda's generals to disobey the president's explicit instructions not to initiate a battle with the Congressionalists unless they could muster at least fourteen thousand men. The two generals' "densest ignorance and the lack of commonest military precautions displayed by the government troops" led Barbosa and Alcérreca to weaken their forces on their flanks in order to reinforce the center, thereby allowing del Canto's troops to envelop them. 73 Not only were Barbosa and Alcérreca confused, but they commanded an army in which 66 percent of the troops had been press-ganged. Predictably, such men, including fully half of the supposedly loyalist army at Concón, took advantage of the fog of war to defect to the Congressionalists. One regiment did more than simply desert: after killing their officers, the deserters opened fire on their former comrades. Even the regulars wavered. An American naval officer who saw the attack claimed that some of Barbosa's units spontaneously deserted, opening up the way to del Canto's troops.74 Their officers apparently also funked, leaving the few men who remained to fight on under the command of noncommissioned officers.75 Throughout the revolution, the Balmaceda government had to deal with a fifth column. Its enemies had spiked the guns of its forts in Valparaíso, thus allowing the fleet to escape; pro-Congressional forces sabotaged the manufacture of munitions; and various officers, including the commander of the Valparaíso garrison, covertly aided the insurgents.76 Eventually, even Balmaceda's military leaders came to understand that they were trying to prop up a moribund regime. During the Battle of Placilla, Barbosa informed Julio Bañados Espinosa, "I am going, Mr. Minister, to seek the bullet which will kill me."77(He almost predicted his fate: he did die, not at the hands of a rifleman but from multiple stab wounds inflicted by lancers. Alcérreca, who dressed more flamboyantly than he spokehe favored a blue dress uniformsuffered the same fate.) Given the dry rot that eroded the confidence of both officers and men, the defeat of Balmaceda's forces was hardly a surprise. The rebel soldiers had a more tangible advantage than an active fifth column and superior morale: they carried the rapid-fire, magazine-loaded Mannlicher rifle, which according to two U.S. naval observers, so "terrorized and caused the utmost confusion in the ranks of the new Dictatorial army" that the loyalist troops concluded that the weapons were some form of divine punishment.78 The Mannlicher also fired smokeless bullets. The deadly combination meant that the Congressionalists could outshoot their opposition without revealing their own positions. Even Körner uncharac-

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teristically acknowledged the superiority of the Austrian-made rifle, praising it for being a superior weapon whose ammunition could penetrate more deeply without inflicting a grievous injury on those it wounded. 79 Though he praised the rifle, the German studiously understated the seminal importance of the naval artillery, which rained shrapnel upon the hapless government troops. In one case, a single shell annihilated some two hundred loyalist soldiers at the Battle of Concón. Although Placilla was more distant from the coast, apparently naval artillery played a role there as well. Similarly, the fleet provided a machine gun unit that poured "a most destructive fire on the troops . . . causing them [the Balmacedistas] to fall back in confusion." Körner mentioned the existence of these elements, but he certainly did not praise them as fulsomely as the Balmacedista colonel Arturo Ruiz, who had to endure their deadly effect.80 In truth, the Battle of Placilla should not have enhanced the reputation of Körner. It pitted the Congressionalists, armed with a superior rapid-fire rifle and supported by naval artillery, against an army of poorly equipped, cold, and hungry press-ganged soldiers, commanded by defeatist officers. The Congressionalists' battle tactics, if such they may be called, consisted of a frontal assault and would have foundered if del Canto and Körner had been forced to fight a better armed and led force. Clearly, the insurgents seemed to owe their triumph more to technology and luck than the genius of either the commander or his putative chief of staff. After a point, however, the postmortem becomes superfluous: the rebels, the new order, had triumphed; Chile's regular army, defending the old order, had perished. Thanks to Körner's efforts, the Chilean army quickly became the mirror image of his beloved Prussian armed forces. He restructured its high command and created or reformed the General Staff as well as the institutions that fed into it: the Escuela Militar, the various specialty schools, the Academia de Guerra. He established conscription. And, finally, he purchased the latest military equipment for these citizen soldiers to carry into battle. Thanks to him, Chile seemed to merit the title "the Prussia of the Pacific." Körner could never have implemented such drastic changes without the 1891 Revolution. It was the civil war that transformed a retired company-grade German officer into the head of the Chilean army. To reach these heights, Körner first created and then nurtured the myth that he alone had converted a band of green miners into a crack army, that he alone had devised the winning strategy of attacking Valparaíso, and that he alone had directed the crucial battles of Concón and La Placilla. In short, his victory over a supposedly well-trained and -equipped professional army

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demonstrated that he was the only man qualified to reshape Chile's post-revolutionary military. Adm. Jorge Montt, who became president in 1891, seemed to accept Körner's logic in part because he may not have known enough about land warfare to disagree. Montt, however, also wished to be sure that no military man, such as del Canto, could challenge him politically. Hence, Körner, the foreigner, became the ideal choice to head the army, and he eventually received virtually unlimited power to do whatever he deemed necessary. Regrettably, the Saxon officer would use this authority to enrich himself and German arms manufacturers, to the detriment of Chile and its army.

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3 Körner's Army Immediately after the 1891 revolution, General Körner started to reorganize the Chilean army. This process began slowly in large part because he first had to purge the new military of the old incompetents. Once he achieved this objective, don Emilio began introducing more substantial change: hiring German army officers as instructors, increasing the number of troops, strengthening the General Staff, creating supply organizations, reforming the militia system, and eventually instituting conscription. By 1906 he had drastically restructured the Moneda's military. By the time he had finished, Körner's army not only looked German, it was German "in every sense of the word." 1 Chile had indeed transformed itself into the Prussia of South America. On 31 August 1891 some four thousand victorious revolutionary soldiers, with Col. Emil Körner and Gen. Estanislao del Canto at their head, marched through Santiago. They were greeted by tumultuous ovations. The German ambassador felt overcome by the sight of "these weather-beaten, powerful, squat figures" marching through the capital with the Prussian goose step, led by a Prussian officer. Felix Baron von Gutschmid cabled Berlin the obvious: that Körner's "desertion" could have fatally compromised his military future both in Chile and in Germany. Still, Körner had taken on the task of drilling the Congressionalist army "in its darkest hour,'' had "declined remuneration," and in the eyes of its senior officers had contributed mightily to the victory. He was also personally brave: at the height of the Battle of Concón, he had led from the front at great personal risk. When a Chilean soldier had suggested that he hide from enemy fire, Körner, who had been injured during the battle, shot back: "If you are afraid, my son, then seek cover."2It was the stuff of legends. In November 1891, the new National Congress promoted Körner to the rank of brigadier

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general and appointed him chief of the General Staff. Körner now possessed the power and the authority to reform the Chilean army. This did not pass unnoticed among his fellow Germans. Immediately after the Battle of Concón, Ambassador von Gutschmid reversed his earlier position and enthusiastically cabled Berlin that Körner's contribution to the rebel victory materially enhanced Germany's already stellar military reputation. Gutschmid's statement delighted the kaiser who, unlike William I, had never led his army into battle. 3 At his first meeting with the envoy after the successful conclusion of the civil war, Körner played the role of the courtier to the hilt. "I am today driven by only one thought: Will His Majesty the Kaiser forgive me?" If the kaiser was not so disposed, Gutschmid was. Seeing the advantage to be gained by Körner's recent triumphs, he readily forgave the Saxon's betrayal of Balmaceda: "It should not be overlooked that Körner, thanks to his military-strategic successes, has rendered a superb service to our interests in Chile, and has shored up Germany's prestige and that of its military institutions, wherever this was still needed." Gutschmid also suggested that the kaiser overlook Körner's "slip" in deserting Balmaceda and, further, that he award the Saxon the Order of the Crown (Kronenorden), Third Class, as a sign of that forgiveness. Abandoning all sense of diplomatic decorum, Gutschmid emphasized the significance of the opportunity at hand. "It hardly deserves special comment that our interests [in Chile] thereby would not unappreciably profit." The Foreign Office in Berlin, more circumspect than its envoy in Santiago, struck these comments from the communication. Twenty-four hours later, Gutschmid lauded Körner as "the hero of the day"a comment that the Wilhelmstrasse again deleted from the document. In October, the kaiser officially "forgave" Körner his Chilean indiscretion but still refused the decoration.4 Gutschmid was not Körner's only admirer. In March 1893, his successor, Ernst Heinrich von Treskow, also recommended that William II "forgive" Körner for abandoning his contractual obligation to the Chilean government and that he award the Saxon the Order of the Red Eagle, Second Classa much more prestigious decoration than the one initially suggested by Gutschmid. Körner, in Treskow's eyes, was "still so much a German and Prussian officer" that a decoration by the kaiser would both flatter and commit him to further the Reich's interests in Chile. Körner's "plan to introduce universal conscription," he noted, could especially benefit German industry in the long run. The Wilhelmstrasse softened its earlier stance,

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accepting Treskow's argument that Körner was now a brigadier general and widely regarded in Chile as "Moltke and Roon in one person." 5 The German Instructors Pardoned, praised, and promoted, Körner returned to Germany in 1894, ostensibly to supervise the shipment of Krupp coastal artillery for Valparaíso. He returned in October 1895 with thirty-one German military instructors, selected from among five hundred applicants, whom he ordered to revamp extensively the Chilean military system. Before leaving, twenty-six of these officers were granted an audience with the kaiser, who reminded them of their duty to further German arms exports. William's statement might have shocked the young officers, who had informed Santiago's minister to Berlin that it was "the prospect of war" that attracted them to Chile.6 A Swedish colonel, Wilhelm Ekdahl, became deputy director of the Military Academy under Col. Jorge Boonen Rivera. Maj. Hermann Rogalla von Bieberstein and Capt. Günther von Below reorganized the curriculum of the Military School for Lt. Col. Vicente del Solar, another one of Körner's Chilean minions. Maj. Henry Marcard, Capt. Erich Herrmann, and three other German instructors revitalized the Noncommissioned Officer School. Maj. Friedrich Sipman and several assistants concentrated on the artillery. Capt. Walther Count von Königsmarck as well as Lt. Friedrich Edler von Rogister taught Hanoverian cavalry doctrine. Capt. Walther Bronsart von Schellendorf, the son of the Prussian war minister, began to lay the foundations for a Chilean General Staff. In the field, Lt. Alexander von Jöden drilled the Chacabuco and Carampangue regiments. Other German instructors set up schools of instruction in veterinary science, engineering, surveying, and blacksmithing. Within a short period, Körner boasted that his officers were "unrivaled" in quality and "irreplaceable."7 Conversely, between 1896 and 902, twenty-three Chilean officers studied at the infantry grounds at Spandau, the cavalry school at Hanover, and the artillery range at Jüterbog; the engineers studied at Körner's alma mater at Berlin-Charlottenburg. The number of Chilean officers who traveled to Germany rose to 150 by 1913. The efforts of Körner, his German instructors, and their Chilean colleagues seemed to bear fruit. By 1899 Col. Heinrich von Löbell's Jahresberichte enthusiastically praised the Chilean army. Both the Military School and Military Academy "were modeled on those of Prussia." Infantry regulations were Prussian. The artillery was Prussian. Gunnery practice was ac-

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cording to Prussian custom. Off-duty caps as well as spiked helmets were Prussian. Even the quality of the Chilean soldier approached that of his Prussian counterpart. In a very few years, Körner had supposedly raised the Chilean army to a level "which one has never seen in South America." 8 But a closer examination of the German documents suggests that all was not well within the mission. Some Prussian instructors complained about poor pay, their reduced social status, and their lack of direct influence over Chilean troops; a few simply cracked under the pressure of the work or failed to adapt to the land, its language, and its customs.9 A case in point is the Prussian first lieutenant (and Chilean major) Sigismund von Harbou. He had not adjusted well either to the sea voyage, the Spanish language, local customs, or the work with the Chilean army. At first, General Körner protected Harbou from public criticism by playing "doctor and nurse" to the officer and by making him his special adjutant. Then, late in 1896, Körner had a brainstorm. Hoping that active duty would focus Harbou's mind, don Emilio appointed him commander of the National Guard at Punta Arenas, a port located in the bleak Strait of Magellan. It was a disastrous decision. The National Guard, in the words of Ambassador von Treskow, was never called up in peacetime, "with the exception of 100 to 200 officers enrolled in four- to six-week training courses." When Harbou arrived at his duty station, he discovered that the Guard was so disorganized that he simply could not cure its problems. Unable to cow the Guardsmen, the Prussian soon appeared on the streets of Punta Arenas wearing his dress uniform and threatening civilians with his saber.10 Anxious to prevent Harbou from further compromising the training mission, Körner first placed him under military guard, then ordered him restrained, next tried informally confining him on the German steamer Luxor, and finally committed him to an insane asylum. Once he learned that he would return to Germany, however, Harbou quickly recovered his sanity, arriving home with 3,500 marks in gold, the equivalent of eighteen months' salary.11 Ironically, for years Harbou and his family still pestered German diplomats in Berlin and Santiago, demanding more money from the Chilean government. Harbou's might have been an isolated case, but other problems beset the mission. Initially, these were financial. On 11 September 1895 the German officers appealed to General Körner for a significant increase in pay. Concurrently, they complained to the German embassy in Santiago that Körner had misled them in Berlin by suggesting that they could live "according to our social status" on $200 per month. But five weeks of Santiago's hectic social life had forced the Germans to attend numerous balls, banquets, and

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dinners, necessitating both gala service uniforms and civilian suits. Although the Chilean government paid for their room and board, the officers had certain additional personal expenses: membership in the Kasino, the German officers' club ($161); upholding a standard consistent with the honor of a Prussian officer ($100); and maintaining a mount ($50). Because in Chile the instructors received no benefits for pensions, uniforms, Kasino subsidies, or per diem, they claimed that they had suffered a 32.5 percent reduction in their net salary, a loss that they blamed squarely on Körner. 12 Their bleating displeased don Emilio. He not only refused to ask the Chilean government for the requested increase in pay but threatened not to renew the instructors' contracts. The incensed German officers therefore went over don Emilio's head and elected a five-member executive to appeal their case to the German embassy. With Ambassador von Treskow temporarily absent, the panic-stricken embassy personnel cabled the Wilhelmstrasse, "Major General Körner refuses to upgrade [salaries] of all the Prussian officers under his command. Latter request mediation by the embassy. Salary inadequate. Körner assured the opposite in Berlin. . . . Officer crisis for past 30 days. Request instruction."13 But Berlin refused to get involved in what it considered to be a private matter. Nor did Treskow, the scion of an ancient Prussian military clan, sympathize with the instructors. In January 1896 he officially chastised them for their behavior, informing the Foreign Office that the instructors received their salaries in gold and that the Chilean government had granted them an additional $100 a month in pay. What especially outraged Treskow was that the government had for months paid "to house the officers in the finest local hotel"; had "covered their expenses for foreign wines, cigars, fruit, even for guests"; and had built for them "new, roomy barracks in Santiago." Tired of remonstrances, Treskow dared to suggest that the use of German military instructors in Chile be "radically reduced," especially in light of the fact that the Chilean government had recently "illegally and unloyally'' canceled the contracts of "forty to fifty German teachers."14 The frustrated officers turned on each other. Earlier, en route to Chile, they had formed a "closed fraternity" (geschlossene Korporation) to uphold and, if necessary, enforce the standards of the German officer corps. With little else to do, the officers would seize upon even the most trivial social slight to start an argument. The Prussian major Gilbert O'Grady, for example, was soon deemed socially "unqualified" to belong to the club. Maj. Albrecht Kellermeister von der Lund did not receive a notice to renew his membership. These exclusionary practices prompted two of the mission's most emi-

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nent members, Bronsart von Schellendorf and Count von Königsmarck, to quit the geschlossene Korporation, whereupon several of the senior instructors (Below, Bieberstein, Marcard, and Hans Count von der SchulenburgWolfsburg) dissolved the organization. This, in turn, prompted a majority of twenty-one to appeal what it considered the senior instructors' peremptory action to the Military Cabinet in Berlin. Already beset with routine personnel matters the Military Cabinet had neither the patience nor the time for such picayune issues, but custom dictated that it had to act. An 1896 investigation revealed that the social conflicts in Santiago involved "marital disputes," verbal insults, and even a case in which one officer, Kellermeister von der Lund, had been judged "incapable of rendering satisfaction," that is, to duel. 15 Much as the Military Cabinet might have wished it could not stop the formal request for imperial adjudication. But if the officers expected relief from the kaiser they were disappointed. On 12 November 1896 William II decreed that he did not recognize the "closed fraternity" and that his government had never requested the formation of such a body. Furthermore, the monarch reminded the malcontents that future service in the Prussian army would require a formal petition for reinstatementa veiled threat that continued bickering in Santiago might prevent them from returning to service in Prussia. To demonstrate his pique, William II twice refused to decorate the German instructors serving in Chile.16 Not even a goodwill gesture on the part of the Chilean government could mollify Körner's disgruntled officers. In September 1897 Santiago struck twenty special gold medals to honor the German instructors. Ambassador von Treskow immediately noted that while Fritz Baron von Wrangel, Hugo Schneevoigt, Thilo Count von BrockdorffAhlefeld, and Ernst Roth had been left off the list, it did include Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, who had served for only a few months, and even the neurasthenic Harbou. Körner had deleted the four officers from the list for opposing him in the Korporation brouhaha. For a third time, the matter landed at the court in Berlin. Although William II agreed to the Chilean request to award the medals, he nevertheless refused to rule on the matter of the four omitted officers. The monarch, however, removed Rogalla von Bieberstein and Edward Bansa from the list because they were under investigation for financial misdealings.17 In Treskow's opinion, the sordid affair further diminished the prestige of the Germans serving in Chile. In August 1897 Foreign Secretary Bernhard von Bülow reviewed the matter of the "closed fraternity." He ruled against his ambassador at Santiago; the contracts of six of the thirty-one instructors could be renewed.

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Bülow declined to downsize future German missions to Chile out of fear that this could prompt Santiago not only to turn to other nations for instructors but also to curtail "the purchase of war materials in Germany." The kaiser eventually approved Bülow's wishes. 18 These various disputes enormously complicated Treskow's job. Prior to the arrival of the Military Mission, the diplomat noted, Santiago considered "the Catholic, republican, Latin, lovable French, whose language and literature the educated Chileans know superficially and whose capital they visit," as preferred guests. Conversely, the "largely Protestant, monarchical, economically superior, Germanic . . . gringos were and remained hated interlopers." The military instructors certainly did not enhance Berlin's reputation. On the contrary, Treskow observed, these selfaggrandizing "modern soldiers of fortune" who thrived on "street riots, plunder, overthrows, agitation, revolution, [and] treason" had complicated his diplomatic mission and tainted Germany's reputation. Körner also aroused Treskow's ire. He had violated his officer's oath by betraying Balmaceda and had become, in the process, a common salesman for German weapons. And, the envoy caustically noted, lest Berlin be fooled into thinking that Chile purchased "Krupp guns and Mauser rifles out of love for Germany" only "utterly empty coffers" forced Santiago to turn to German arms merchants and the banks that stood behind them.19 The second contingent of German officers also provoked division. Körner had persuaded President Pedro Montt to recruit senior Prussian staff officers as technical advisors. After interminable wrangling over rank and salary, in April 1908 the Prussian General Staff released Maj. Viktor von Hartrott for work in Chile at the rank of colonel and at the princely salary of 28,000 marks per yearthat is, 10,000 marks more than that paid Chile's highest-ranking general. In December Capt. Hans Mohs, a Württemberg artillery specialist with the General Staff, joined Hartrott. In June 1909 Kaiser William II seconded Maj. G. von Ruffer of Queen Victoria of Prussia's Own Second Hussars for service in Chile.20 Ruffer proved to be a poor choice. No sooner had he arrived in Chile in August than he boarded the first ship back to Europe. Ruffer admonished Ambassador Hans Baron von und zu Bodman that he had had no idea when he signed on "that Chile was prone to earthquakes and that Santiago, which for weeks had been in the grips of a smallpox epidemic, had such extraordinarily poor sanitation facilities." Ruffer remonstrated that he could subject neither his wife nor his children to such hazards. Nor could he "endure a lengthy separation from his family" Bodman and Hartrott pleaded with Ruffer to remain at least for a year because his sudden departure would

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hardly "further German interests" in Chile. To no avail. Ruffer instead insisted that Santiago pay him the full cost of his return journey (7,000 marks) as well as half a year's salary (5,000) and related expenses (742). Bodman was aghast at the demandsespecially since Ruffer's "service" to Chile had consisted solely of "visitations to local military installations and invitations to various banquets held in his honor"! 21 The Wilhelmstrasse, no doubt remembering the sordid affair of the "closed fraternity" in the 1890s, declined to become involved in what it considered to be "a personal affair."22 Bodman saved the day by informing President Montt that while Ruffer was returning to Europe on special holiday leave an officer of equal rank would take his place. This time the choice turned out to be superb. In 1910 Capt. Hans Edler von Kiesling of the Bavarian Fifteenth Infantry Regiment arrived in Chile, where he worked until the outbreak of the First World War and returned in 1924. The Post-1891 Chilean Army The Chilean army seemed as riven with dissent as its German instructors. Del Canto, for example, believed that Adm. Jorge Montt had cheated him of the presidency, a post he deserved first for devising the winning strategy and then for leading the army to triumph in the field. Concluding that they had joined the conspiracy to prevent him from becoming president, del Canto turned on Körner and his protégé Boonen Rivera. A foreign observer would later argue that del Canto's enormous popularity had prevented him from winning the Moneda: Chile's political elites, fearing that they could not control the victorious general, gave the Moneda to Montt because they considered him more malleable. Whatever the reason, del Canto did not conceal his pique and proclaimed his dislike of Körner and Boonen Rivera. Sometimes his complaints bordered on insubordination. In what became known as "the generals' tea," he urged his brother officers to force the government to dismiss Körner. But when the new president, Federico Errázuriz, learned of del Canto's plotting, it was del Canto, not the German, who lost his job.23 Forced retirement did not stop del Canto's carping. He subsequently alleged that Boonen Rivera's slack attitude and failure to obey orders had almost cost the Congressionalists the Battle of Placilla. When the Santiago paper La Tarde published this tale, Boonen Rivera challenged del Canto to a duel, an almost suicidal act given the fact that the more senior officer was one of the best pistol shots in Chile. Del Canto, however, refused to give Boonen

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Rivera either an explanation or satisfaction. The matter might have gone away, but President Errázuriz gratuitously complained that del Canto's refusal to duel soiled the collective reputation of the Chilean officer corps. Once informed of his remark, del Canto, of course, felt duty bound to give Boonen Rivera his satisfaction. Meeting just inside Argentine territory, both duelists fired at the same time. Boonen Rivera's shot missed, but del Canto's almost cleaved his opponent's skull. Happily, he managed to survive. 24 Del Canto's victory accomplished nothing; he remained on the army's retirement list while Boonen Rivera rose to become first head of the General Staff and then the army's inspector general. His victories at Placilla and Concón, and now the eclipse of del Canto, gave Körner the power to remake the military. But even with his enhanced authority, the task of reforming an armydescribed by one minister of war as an ill-trained and untutored "conglomeration of men"remained formidable. The Saxon nonetheless began decisively: with one decree, that of 4 September 1891, Körner eradicated the "old army," which later some nostalgically called "los viejos tercios."25 Theoretically, Chile now had a new military composed exclusively of the victorious rebels. In fact, what had transpired was a shell game. Although Körner used some of the revolutionary units as the nucleus of the new regular formations, many of the new army's officers as well as much, if not most, of the rank and file came from the old. The revolutionary Junta, claiming that it could not in good faith punish those enlisted men who had simply followed orders, offered Balmaceda's troops, and particularly War of the Pacific veterans, a chance to reenlist. It extended similar hospitality to some ex-Balmacedista officers as well. Thus, two infantry battalions of Körner's army, the Fourth and Fifth, consisted of men drawn from the rebel Chañaral, Mapio, Iquique, Antofogasta, Tarapacá, and Atacama regiments plus former regulars. Körner performed similar tricks with the cavalry (so much for the disappearance of the "viejos tercios.") To fill any remaining vacancies, the high command began a recruiting drive, offering an enlistment bonus of $30 for those with military experience and $20 for the novices.26 Ironically, some of the victorious soldiers also found themselves back among civilian society. Decrees of late September and October abolished eight rebel infantry battalions and four cavalry squadrons while authorizing that each veteran receive a bonus of three months pay plus an additional $5 before boarding the troopships taking them home. Among those so generously compensated was Lorenza Ocampo de Pizarro of the Chañaral, the

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Fifth Line Infantry Regiment. An ex-cantineraa combination of nurse, cook, and provider of other unspecified personal servicesshe received the benefits of a noncommissioned officer. 27 Sorting out the fate of the victorious officers proved to be more complicated. Any commissioned rebel who wished to remain in the military had to inform the Estado Mayor of his intentions. Those who had not completed their officers' training could enroll in a special course being offered at the newly reopened Escuela Militar. Anyone who was unqualified for that class could join the engineer corps with the salary of a first sergeant, where they could study for admission to the Escuela Militar. Should they fail the entrance examination they would have to leave the army.28 In one sense, the civil war battlefields and the post-war politically motivated purges accomplished what the promotion system and the minister of war could not: slashing the officer corps. But, though smaller, in its composition the post-1891 officer corps, particularly at the higher ranks, did not differ radically from its predecessor. In short, not even the bloodbaths of Concón and Placilla relaxed the "old guard's" monopoly on the army's most senior ranks. However, the War of the Pacific veterans and the post-1884 generation who turned their coats did finally reach the field-grade ranks while the revolutionary cadres predominated only at the company-grade level. (Many of the revolutionary officers were not complete novices: they had held National Guard or regular army commissions during the War of the Pacific.) In short, the leaders of the post-1891 army came largely from within the ranks of the old regular forces. Dealing with Balmacedista officers proved even more complex. Those who had survived the battlefield and eluded the partisan lynch mobs or rump courts-martial, quickly fled the marginally less sanguine hostility of the victors. President Montt divided these men into two groups: the generals and colonels, whose fate it consigned to military tribunals, and the junior officers, most of whom it amnestied.29 This relatively generous legislation did not pacify the new government's old foes. Twice, in 1892 and 1893, disgruntled Balmacedista officers tried to overthrow the Montt regime. Although the regular army quashed the rebels, the Moneda realized it had to mollify the disgruntled loyalists if it wanted domestic peace. Consequently, in February 1893 the administration pardoned most of those senior officers not included in the 1891 amnesty. This same legislation also granted qualified Balmacedista officers the opportunity to resume their military career while awarding pensions to those who could not. (Ironically, some of the loyalists who did not return to the army actually received additional service time toward their pension.)30

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Page 69 Table 1 Origins of 1892 Army Leadership

Rank Divisional Gens. Brigadier Gens. Colonels Lt. Colonels Majors Captains Lieutenants

Old Guard

War of Pacific Veterans

Rebels Total 6

6 5 8

1 9

1

27

30

8

32

10

43

6

24

19

107

1

5

61

4

9

2d Lts. Totals

Post-1884

100

12

108

13

98

55

370

6 18 73 93 156 123 111 586

Note: For this analysis, we have divided the Chilean officer corps into four groups: the first, the "old guard," consisted of men who were commissioned prior to the 1879 war; the new guard, those who entered the army during the War of the Pacific and remained; the post- 1884 genera-tion, those who enlisted in the army between 1884 and 1890; and the Revolutionaries, officers who were commissioned for service in the 1891 revolution and who elected to make the army a career. Source: MG, 1892. Those remaining officers fell into one of three categories: active duty, those serving with troops as aides, heads of comandancias, attachés, on committees, on the General Staff, or with various military educational institutions; the passive, those in Comandancias de Armas, Cuerpos e Inválidos, or attached to these groups; and, finally, the disponible, officers who did not fit into the other categories. These classes constituted crucial distinctions. Active service officers earned 100 percent of their salaries plus per diem expenses for food; the passive received only 75 percent and the disponible half pay. 31 Ironically, a group of Congressionalist officers joined their former enemies in involuntary retirement. Such a purge was neither unexpected nor unreasonable. The minister of war admitted that many officers had been promoted on the basis of verbal orders. More than a few of the assimilated Balmacedista officers were former sergeants who had received battlefield commissions from their unit commander without meeting any specific criteria. Since some of the men possessed too little knowledge to command the untutored troops commended to their care, they would have to leave. Some 350 men thus abandoned the army as a consequence of pensioning off the Balmacedistas as well as the normal retirement process.32 As part of a program to end "the stationary and almost vegetative state of the officer and soldier," the Moneda gave 343 officers a year's salary before

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throwing them onto the street. The Montt government offered the infamous "disponibles" the choice of finding a permanent berth in the regular army within a year or accepting severance pay plus a grant of land in the region south of the Rio Imperial. The pruning of the officer corps did not end. In 1895, fifteen lieutenant colonels and nineteen majors, many of them from the "old guard," either had to demonstrate their worth or face separation. By the time the administrative bloodbath ended, the army had lost close to 450 officers. 33 In one sense, the 1891 revolution and the postwar purges rejuvenated the officer corps. Before the civil war, most of the army's senior officers were not simply old; they verged on the decrepit. In 1890, for example, five of the nine generals and nine of the twenty-six colonels had been on active duty for forty years or more (four had served more than fifty years). One officer, obviously someone of great merit, remained a second lieutenant after forty-seven years of service. Forced discharges provided only temporary relief. The failure to enact an adequate retirement law and a voracious inflation forced officers to stay on active duty as long as they could. Although the 1895 legislation granted generous pensions to a few retirees, most did not enjoy such benefits. As with most pensions, remuneration increased with time served. (Premature retirementsfrom disability, inefficiency, or suspensionreduced benefits.) Generally, one had to serve forty years, which sometimes included the years at the Escuela Militar, before receiving a pension equivalent of a full salary.34 Consequently, a company-grade officer could not progress until his superiors, not always his betters, died in harness or retired. (The fact that seniority counted more than merit in the promotion process exacerbated the problem.) For a few fortunate officers, the 1891 revolution short-circuited the otherwise arduously slow promotion process. The 1892 army had eighteen colonels, three of whom had served as majors and one as a captain in the old army. This pattern of accelerated advancement repeated itself, with increasing frequency, down the promotion ladder. Of the seventy-three lieutenant colonels, eighteen had served as captains and eleven as majors. In one case, Alberto Arriagada leaped from the rank of sublieutenant to lieutenant colonel. Few of these newly minted officers remained in the army. As table 2 demonstrates, only a few of those commissioned during the revolution survived a decade. Indeed, as early as 1894 there were 45 percent fewer officers than just prior to the revolution. These manpower changes do not represent a wholesale dismissal of the most senior but rather an across-the-board reduction in manpower at all levels of the officer corps.

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Page 71 Table 2 The Composition of the Chilean Army, 18831920 Authorized Year

Officers

1883 1884 1885 1886 1887 1888 1889 1890 1891 1892 1893 1894 1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904

Serving Officers

EM 1,023

12,909

944

12,410

1,001

7,100

942

5,547

902

5,547

941

5,385

943

5,385

938

5,385

Draftees

RA Cadre

Civil War 623

586

6,000

623

562

6,000

623

526

6,000

623

514

6,000

623

568

9,000

623

603

9,000

915

732

9,000

915

884

9,313

915

848

5,885

915

894

17,385

11,500

915

870

17,905

11,500

915

842

9,052

4,000

915

815

11,100

6,170

5,885 6,405 5,042 4,930

1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 1918 1919 1920

782

728

11,100

6,160

782

692

13,389

6,700

782

662

14,300

6,700

802

NA

13,482

6,822

802

617

14,200

7,330

825

621

14,681

7,330

825

676

17,904

7,540

1,273

747

17,044

9,860

1,273

796

13,824

9,000

1,273

834

15,587

9,000

1,273

905

17,283

9,000

1,273

936

17,283

9,000

1,273

NA

5,778

9,000

1,273

998

18,826

9,000

1,273

1,128

18,826

9,802

1,273

1,171

20,991

9,084

4,940 6,689 7,600 6,660 6,870 7,351 10,364 7,184 4,824 6,587 8,283 8,283 6,778 9,826 9,024 11,907

Note: Calculating the strength of the officer corps involves some difficulties. The Chilean congress set the size of the armed forces on a yearly basis. For reasons that are utterly incomprehensible, while this legislation listed how many officers it would authorize, it did not do so for the army. Normally, the army published an escafalón that indicated each officer and his rank. In some years, however, the Memoria did not appear, and on other occasions it appeared but did not include the officers' register. When this occurred, we have used other sources, such as the Sinopsis Estadistica for the relevant years. Unfortunately, these sources do not provide a source for their figures. Hence, we cite them but with some reluctance because they may not always agree with the figures of other sources. In 1916, for example, the U.S. military attaché listed the number of officers as 834, substantially less than the Estadístíca's tally (C. L. Corbin, Santiago, 25 June 1916, "Peace & War Strength of the Chilian," WCD, 649812). There were, in addition, administrative, staff, and veterinary officers.

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Beginning in the late 1890s, tension with Argentina forced the government to expand the size of the army by half and increase the number of men who would command it. Indeed, by 1902, when war with Buenos Aires seemed imminent, the army numbered some seventeen thousand men, the largest it had been since the War of the Pacific. The resolution of an outstanding border dispute with Argentina, however, caused a second contraction: in October 1904 the Moneda almost halved the regular forces. 35 (The forcibly retired officers received their normal pension plus a bonus of a year's salary.) The combination of these reductions and the passage of time meant that less than 15 percent of the "Army of the Centenary" could trace its origins to the 1891 revolution. Although there were approximately 15 percent fewer officers in 1905, apparently even that was too many. Minister of War Ascancio Bascuñan became distressed when he discovered that thirty of these officers were serving him as adjutants. Concluding that their "only purpose [was] drawing a salary," he tried to reassign just three of themonly to discover that neither he nor the inspector general could find them a place in the army. Worse, Bascuñan learned that he could not retire the supernumerary officers because it was considered unseemly for them to go looking for jobs. A disgusted Bascuñan suggested firing 130 officers, thereby saving the nation $300,000, but to no avail.36 The army did try to occupy these superfluous officers. Some it assigned as aides-de-camp to the congress or the president. Others, presumably the most competent, received overseas postings to serve with foreign armies or on technical missions. A few won appointments to the sacrosanct Academia de Guerra, the War Academy. Eventually, the problem of entertaining the unneeded officers became moot when Körner's restructuring of the army required more officers. The Changing Structure of the Chilean Army As don Emilio reshaped the officer corps, it became only a matter of time before he focused on the composition of the army's contingents. Initially, Körner's new model army did not differ substantially from its predecessor: eight battalions of infantry, three squadrons of cavalry, three regiments of artillery, and one regiment of engineers. When the possibility of war with Argentina seemed imminent, the army expanded to ten infantry battalions, eight cavalry squadrons, and five artillery regiments. (This does not include the Coastal Artillery Regiment.) To facilitate the mobilization process and

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to coordinate it with the passage of the conscription law of 1900, the nation was organized into five military districts (subsequently reduced to four in 1902). 37 Clearly, Körner's first creation did not please him because he recast it twice in 1903. His first creation, that of March 1903, consisted of ten infantry battalions, five cavalry regiments plus a presidential escort, five artillery regiments, and five groups of engineers. In October, Körner reshuffled the army into twelve infantry battalions, five regiments of cavalry and five of artillery, four companies of engineers, and one company of communications.38 In January 1906 Körner changed the army yet again. Now the military consisted of thirteen infantry battalions, six regiments of cavalry, five regiments of artillery, four companies of engineers, and one company of signal troops.39 Curiously, the 1906 plan was as organizationally confused as the one of the late nineteenth century: four of the infantry's thirteen battalions, three of the cavalry's regiments, and two of the artillery's five regiments contained a different number of troops than other units that belonged to the same combat arm. This structure must not have pleased don Emilio because within five months it was reconfigured to consist of fourteen regiments of infantry, six regiments of cavalry, and five regiments of artillery. (The infantry still retained the battalion, but it became part of and subordinate to the regiment.) Whereas both plans allocated one engineer company per division, the May reorganization encompassed two changes: it assigned one supply company to each of the four military divisions and it established two machine gun companies.40 The 1906 effort seemed to mark the onset of Körner's ''Prussianization" of the army. Henceforth, Chile's military zones became divisions, with one army division assigned to each. The first extended from the Peruvian border to Coquimbo; the second embraced the region from Coquimbo south to San Felipe, encompassing Chile's capital, Santiago, and its principal seaport, Valparaíso; the third consisted of the section that included Concepción, Chile's third-largest city, as well as the heavily fortified naval base at Talcahuano; and the fourth included the entire territory south to and including the Strait of Magellan, the vital waterway that connected Chile to the economies on the North Atlantic.41 Körner called for each army division to contain two infantry brigades, one of artillery and one of cavalry, as well as a divisional general staff and medical section. In addition, every division would have two machine gun companies, a machine gun group, a mountain artillery group, a battalion of engineers, and one of supply. Thanks to the

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newest reorganization, Körner had standardized some of the combat arms. No longer did infantry battalions or cavalry squadrons, for example, contain more or fewer troops than another unit in the same branch. 42 Standardizing the size of units was not an easy task, and in some cases some branches of the army did not lend themselves to uniformity. By 1909 the engineer units contained companies that performed the specialized task of bridge building, and hence they were not the same size as the standard engineer contingent. Of all the combat arms, however, the artillery proved the most complicated because it consisted of three separate types of batteries: mounted, horse-drawn, and mountain. The arrival of the new 7.5cm Krupp cannons only complicated the situation because it necessitated the creation of two different types of gun batteries, those firing the 7.5cm L/13 rigid and those the 7.5cm L/13 divisible gun. The 1911 reorganization of the army, however, resolved this problem by creating two types of artillery contingents: the regiment and the smaller grupo.43 Ironically, as the combat arms struggled to become more standardized, the technical services seemed to evolve into more complex organizations. The supply companies, for example, consisted of three different-sized units, each performing a specific mission: drayage, loading, and storage. The Railroad Battalion, established in 1906 so the military could utilize the trains, originally contained but two companies. Within three years, it added a communications company, and in 1914 the railroad battalion became a regiment consisting of two battalions: the first controlled movement, traffic, material, and tracción, and the second consisted of three construction companies.44 In that same year, both the engineering and the supply companies became battalions. Although the embrace of new technology perhaps complicated the army's tables of organization, it also permitted it to modernize. Two companies of the Telegraph Battalion, created in 1911, provided telegraph service; the others dealt with radiotelegraph and telephone and optical instruments. A year later, the units received their optical, phone, and radiotelegraph equipment from Germany. Modernization did not end with the telegraph. By 1911 the army's Second Division contained a Grupo de Aeronáuta, which comprised Chile's embryonic air force and a balloon section, and the Grupo de Iluminación, which provided two types of searchlight support, one for the field and the other for mountain units.45 Despite the appearance of modernity, certain flaws remained: various divisions either lacked key units or suffered from manpower deficiencies. In 1911, for example, the cavalry squadrons assigned to the Third and Fourth Divisions had fewer men than the equivalent units in the First and Second

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Divisions. Engineer battalions assigned to the Third and Fourth Divisions not only lacked horse-drawn companies, but their complement of men was not the same as their counterparts in the First and Third Divisions. A year later, the Third and Fourth Divisions still did not possess the authorized number of machine gun contingents, cavalry, and artillery regiments or groups. Their supply and engineering units, moreover, lacked the requisite number of troops. 46 The reasons for these problems are unclear. Certainly, the creation of new combat or technical units, which often began by cannibalizing troops from other units, meant that few units were at their authorized strength.47 A lack of funding may also have contributed to the lack of manpower and hence to the organizational problems. Changes occurred following the First World War when the army convened a special committee to study the conflict so as to integrate its lessons.48 Although the military retained the same organization as its immediate predecessor, it did reconfigure the staffing. The infantry still constituted the majority of the troops, some ten thousand, while the cavalry and artillery numbered only about half as much. The supply and communications contingents now numbered some eighteen hundred men because of the expansion of the railroad unit into a regiment (four companies of construction and units dedicated to traffic and movement control as well as material and traction). The Telegraph Battalion remained the same, but there was now an aviation company as well. The General Staff and the Administration of the Army Körner also experimented with the army's command structure. As a Kriegsakademie graduate and a former General Staff officer, it should come as no surprise that Körner would also turn his attention to its most senior institutions. Chile already had a General Staff, or at least what passed for one. Earlier in the nation's history, and most recently during the War of the Pacific, it had functioned sporadically although not particularly efficiently. Thus, in May 1891, it was not difficult for Körner to resurrect the General Staff in time to participate in the civil war, where it directed all of the rebel army's units and provided for its supply, transportation, and medical services.49 Within weeks of the Battle of Concón, Körner had reorganized the General Staff into three separate sections, all supervised by the Plano Mayor (the General Staff's staff): Organization, which consisted of the inspectors general of each of the combat arms; Instruction, which supervised the

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army's various educational institutions; and, finally, Statistics, which oversaw mapmaking and the army's library. 50 Another version of the General Staff appeared in late 1892. This time it consisted of a Plano Mayor ruled by the "Jefe del Estado Mayor Jeneral" (Chief of the Supreme General Staff). In addition to its staff the latest model had four sections: Organization, which in conjunction with the inspectors general of each of the combat arms, supervised the army's various components, wrote regulations, and prepared maneuvers; Instruction, which supervised the War Academy, the Escuela Militar, the Noncommissioned Officer School (La Escuela de Clases), the Shooting School (Escuela Militar de Tiro), and Scientific Works (Trabajos Cientificos), which had two sections and an annex. The first dedicated itself to statistics, strategy, and military operations; the second to geography, topography, and cartography; while the annex dealt with secret military data. Finally, there was Administration, which kept the documents on all the army's units and maintained personnel files. The 1892 General Staff reorganization lasted less than a year before it too was replaced. The newest version, in addition to its Plano Mayor, had expanded into five sections. The tasks of Organization and Instruction remained the same, but there was now a Sección Técnica, which supervised works such as buildings and the drawing up of maps. Administration supervised documentation for the army's various units and maintained its archives, and the fifth section, Fortification, oversaw the building of emplaced defenses.51 The General Staff was not the only military institution to undergo numerous changes. Körner also supervised the reform of the Parque y Maestranza (depots and workshops), whose two sections fixed weapons, manufactured ammunition, mended uniforms and equipment, and stored the equipment, as well as the Servicio Sanitario, which was the medical service. In February 1892 the high command formally adopted the Intendencia Jeneral, a supply organization spawned by the civil war, as part of its permanent structure. The army also created a rough equivalent to a finance and adjutant general corps when, in 1892, it created positions for contadores, accountants, who also had to manage the paperwork. In 1893, the army established a military hospital to provide medical care for the troops. The military also established a factory in 1894 to produce smokeless powder, explosives, gun cotton, and sulfuric acid as well as to repair weapons. At the same time, it acquired equipment to manufacture small arms and artillery ammunition. The results proved somewhat uneven: the factory blew up twice.52 Körner never seemed to tire of playing with the General Staff. In 1895

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and 1896, he added sections for recruiting, providing horses, and inspecting the National Guard. He also created an Office of Statistics and News, which apparently gathered intelligence. 53 Between 1900 and 1903, the army made numerous changes and modifications to the General Staff. In addition to creating a Plano Mayor, the army created four Inspecciones de Armas, which oversaw each of the combat arms, as well as one for mounts and another for veterinary and blacksmithing. Another section, Injenieros y Fortificaciones, dealt with such matters as the army's archives and Territorial Guard; control of equipment; and oversight of the army's factories and foundries, military education and justice, and the nation's military zones. Other organizations dealt with such items as communications, military sanitation, information, maneuvers, transportation, recruitment, and mapmaking. Eventually, the army concluded that it had to restructure the General Staff completely rather than, as it had done, make piecemeal reforms. During 1903, Körner and his followers turned their attention to other parts of the army's high command. Henceforth, the minister of war, who was responsible solely to the president, controlled twelve separate entities: the Subsecretary, the Department of Personnel, the General Department of War (which dealt with the military registry, the combat arms, forts, and horses), Education (which directed the Escuela Militar and the War Academy), Administration, the General Staff, the seventh section (which controlled the military zones), and the Comandancias Jenerales de Armas (which dealt with regulations). The remaining four entities included promotions, military medicine, the army's factories and workshops, and its arsenals.54 Körner's penchant for change seemed to be contagious. In 1906 Gen. Patricio Larraín Alcalde and the then minister of war, Gen. Salvador Vergara, reorganized the high command yet again. Their reason was simple: they insisted that Chile's army "conform to the model that the German army, in all its different branches, followed."55 Because the new plan called for the Ministry of War to contain only seven sections, one might think that its structure had become more streamlined. This was not so. The Subsecretaria or Central Department contained two sections and the Administrative Section five. The Departamento Jeneral de Guerra's five subsections dealt with the army's rules, regulations, tactics, recruitment for educational institutions, and staffing. Personnel controlled promotions and assignments. Administration directed accounting, investment of funds, food, clothing, and housing, while the Department of Military Justice and Compensation's two sections wrote codes and regulations dealing with punishment, military

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penal institutions, and pension issues. The Sección de Remonta (Cavalry Section) purchased and allocated horses as well as stimulated the production of mounts for the army. The Departamento de Sanidad provided medical service in hospitals and infirmaries. 56 Existing apart from the Ministry of War, and thus not under its direct control, were four other institutions: the inspector general, of which more later; the Comandancias en Jefes de Divisions, which was composed of the heads of the General Staff; Ayudantia, Auditoría, Intendencia, Arsenal, Sanidad, and Veterinaria, which provided education to the troops in these respective areas; and the three sections of the Dirección de Material de Guerra, which still regulated the army's factories and workshops, the arsenals, the technical institutions, the military museum, and the supply units. The same regulations that granted autonomy to these groups liberated the General Staff from the supervision of the inspector general, making it a coequal of the other autonomous institutions. The new General Staff consisted of five sections. The Central, Intelligence, Transport, Cartography, and History Departments still retained the mission of preparing war plans, maneuvers, instructional trips, and histories. They also oversaw the War Academy and the railroad troops. The last of the four autonomous institutions in the Chilean army was the inspector general, a post resurrected from the dustbin of history. Established to "harmonize" the various organizations that operated under the aegis of the minister of war, the inspector general's power seemed boundless: he commanded all the officers and departments established by the army's 1903 Organic Code and he headed the Military Council, which was composed of the heads of the departments of Personnel, Jeneral de Guerra, and Administración Militar; of the General Staff; and of any of the divisions that might be stationed in the capital. As commander of this organization, the inspector general would control the preparation of the budget; the purchase of supplies; and the acquisition, transformation, and construction of armaments and matérial. He would oversee promotions and assignments; elaborate projects for national defense; and supervise maneuvers, the writing of regulations, and the creation or reorganization of new organizations. The inspector general also acted as the minister of war's surrogate, enjoying the power to request information in his name. Through his hands passed all the reports that eventually arrived at the minister's desk.57 Officially, the president and his minister of war stood atop this pyramid of power. But since the inspector general directed the General Staff and the country's four military divisions, he became "virtually the [army's] commander in chief."58 Not surprisingly, the first inspector general to wield this

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power was Emil Körner, who would occupy this post from 1904 until his retirement in 1910. The army reorganization of 1906 marked a sea change in Chile's military history. If nothing else, the minister of war gushed, the reforms, "based as much as possible on the German model," guaranteed that "the army's services are organized, correspond entirely to the true needs of the institution." Just as certainly, the 1906 reforms also benefited Körner by ensuring that he would enjoy enormous power. 59 Anxious to obtain a steady flow of skilled officers, in 1892 the army reopened the Escuela Militar and Academia de Guerra. But in the postrevolutionary years, the Academy of War functioned more like a remedial school than an institution to train General Staff officers. Its new student body generally consisted of revolutionaries, who though they had achieved a high rank, needed more training to remain in the army. Curiously, the new director was not a professional officer but Patricio Larraín, a former National Guard colonel. After 1895, the War Academy may have returned to its original mission, but it also became a hotbed of foreign influence. A large contingent of foreign, mainly German, officers took over the faculty. Predictably, the study of German received equal billing with French. Another educational institution was created. The Cavalry School (Escuela de Aplicación de Caballería) consisted of two sections: one designed to teach riding and the other, the School of Veterinary and Blacksmiths, to provide technical support.60 The army had earlier tried to increase the level of efficiency of the enlisted ranks. Immediately after the revolution it reopened the Escuela de Classes, created in 1887, to train non-coms. In 1896 the school received its first contingent of German military instructors, who restructured the curriculum so it prepared men for service in a specific combat arm. The army decided in 1903 to close the school, although it would reopen in 1906 with a new name, the Escuela de Suboficiales (the Non-Commissioned Officer School). The army's other educational experiments fared poorly. A 1906 regulation authorized a School of Application of Shooting and Gymnastics as well as a School for Artillery and Engineers. These training institutes either spluttered into oblivion or died aborning. The Escuela de Tiro y Jimnasio did not appear to begin functioning until 1911, five years after its creation. When it could not find a site in Santiagoa bizarre stipulation since its mandate required firing artillery pieces, not a practice normally recommended for densely populated urban areasthe school moved to San Bernardo where the Escuela de Clases also functioned. When the army discovered that there was still no place for the students to fire their big guns, the minister of war returned their artillery pieces to the Escuela de Clases,

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from whence they had come, leaving the Escuela de Tiro y Jimnasio with students but no weapons. To remedy this deficiency, the army purchased a large fundo, El Culenar, in 1911 as well as German-made machinery to pull the targets. 61 As we shall see later, El Culenar never fulfilled its promise, and the school did not begin to function until much later. The artillery officers were not the only ones to suffer from educational malnutrition. Engineer and infantry officers also had no access to formal education other than what they received at the Escuela Militar; by attending division-sponsored seminars; or, for the very few, by attending the War Academy. Ironically, a nation whose post office could barely deliver the mail founded an air force, establishing a School of Military Aviation on 7 February 1913.62 This institution continued to operate, although some of its graduates did not always fare so well. One hapless officer, a Lt. Alejandro Bello, took off from his airdrome never to return. His feat, or fate, was later immortalized in the phrase "more lost than Lieutenant Bello." In one of those curious turns of fate, the army's modernization aggravated its manpower problems. The creation of additional combat units and the founding of technical companies stretched the regular army's manpower resources too thinly; to staff the new units the military had to cannibalize cadre from existing formations. Even updating equipment caused difficulties. The arrival of the Krupp artillery batteries, for example, required the regulars to undergo extra training to master their new guns. Additionally, the more modern weapons required larger gun crews and hence also sapped a unit's strength.63 Faced with constant manpower shortages, the army had to discover new sources of recruits, which it did in an old institution: the National Guard. The National Guard and the Reserves The militia had been one of Chile's most enduring, albeit despised, institutions. The 1833 Constitution required all males to enlist in its formations. This mandate translated into an organization in which the poor spent their Sundays drilling under the watchful eye of the local officer, generally a member of the local elite who possessed more social cachet than military skills. The National Guard performed a variety of nonmilitary services. Its efforts often ensured the triumph of the government's candidates at election time; it maintained the social order, particularly in the countryside; and, last, it provided partially prepared troops in time of war. It was the militia, for example, that did a large portion of the fighting in the War of the Pacific. Yet even the Guard's most enthusiastic supporters recognized that its battle-

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field performance lacked finesse. Thus in 1888 it had been completely reconstituted by the Moneda. The new Guard resembled the old in the sense that it consisted of the three combat arms. Tarapacá, Santiago, and Valparaíso all contained artillery regiments; eleven port cities also provided a home to an artillery brigade. Perhaps because they did not require so much equipment, infantry formations were the most numerous: the largest provincial cities had one; Santiago had two. Spread out over some twenty cities and twenty-four subdelegations were an assortment of battalions and brigades. 64 Since it never managed to field more than twenty-two thousand men, the Guard could never satisfy the government's most minimal expectations. Indeed, the supposedly reorganized Guard seemed a mirror image of its predecessor: poorly clothed, wretchedly housed, and equipped with a variety of ancient small arms and an eclectic combination of sometimes obsolete field pieces.65 Dissatisfied with the Guard, the government restructured it yet again in 1893. Henceforth, the militia consisted of three components: the Active Guard, composed of twenty-year-old men; the Passive Guard, males between twenty-one and thirty; and the Sedentary Guard, bachelors over thirty. Presumably, this system created a manpower pool of some 474,688 men who could, in case of war, be called to the colors.66 Unlike its predecessor, the new Guard required those individuals selected for service to train for three months with a local unit of the regular army. Upon completion of this course, the guardsmen would return to their local community where, as members of the Passive Guard, they could fritter away their Sundays and holidays drilling. The authorities invariably praised these exercises, insisting that they provided a healthy alternative for those miscreants who would otherwise dedicate themselves "to drink, gambling, or other immoral vices so common in our lower classes."67 This opinion invariably reflected the view of the local, often leisured, gentry, not of those who actually had to waste their only day of rest performing mind-numbing drills. Theoretically, members of the Passive Guard might have to serve an additional month per year with the regular army to maintain their military skills. Sedentary guardsmen could not be mobilized unless it were for an emergency. Should that occur, they, and indeed all militiamen, would serve with the local area's regular army units, which had originally trained many of them. Since the local militia generally had more vacancies than volunteers, the authorities held a lottery to select those luckless few who were to be guests of the state for three months. The new Guard's list of exemptions was extremely generous: members of the legislature or municipal government;

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civil servants; the clergy; physicians; only sons of fatherless households; and those who managed the country's mines, factories, or fundos did not have to serve. If, by some odd chance, a married man and widower became ensnared in the system, he could avoid active duty by providing a substitute who would serve as his proxy. 68 In short, the Guard shared only one similarity with the regular army: it too consisted of the unfortunate or impoverished. From the Moneda's perspective, the Guard's restructuring achieved two purposes: it allowed the government to train three classes of men per year, thereby dramatically increasing the army's manpower pool by some 18,000; and, by forcing men to serve with a regular army unit for three months, the new system supposedly improved the militia's level of proficiency. At its high point, the reconstituted National Guard presumably numbered 45,342 men, about 45 percent of whom served in various company-sized infantry units. (This figure is somewhat misleading; it is unlikely that all these men received three months' required military training. Doubtless most had been mobilized when Chile almost went to war with Argentina in 1898 and then were discharged once that crisis had passed.) In addition, there were 2,040 reserve officers, overwhelmingly second lieutenants, and 2,857 cadets.69 The new National Guard functioned as imperfectly as the old: men easily avoided service because the authorities lacked the wit or the will to force them to register. Equipped and clothed with the cast-offs of previous wars, housed in a variety of improvised if not truly squalid buildings, and imperfectly led, the Guard failed when it had to meet its first test. In 1898, facing the possibility of a war with Argentina, the Moneda called up some 60,000 Guardsmen. It also began training some 850 reserve subalterns, many at the newly created Instituto Militar de Aplicación.70 Some Panglossian officers praised the 1898 mobilization. The performance of Ñuble's militiamen so enthused the commander of the Batallón Pudeto that he gushed that the experience "is a cause of legitimate pride for the province . . . which can boast when describing its virile and enthusiastic youth, dedicated to the cause of national defense." He may have been the only happy one: the Memoria de Guerra dryly observed that the 1898 experience painfully exposed some flaws that the army had to address and could have avoided.71 In fairness, the Guard was not the only one at fault. The 1898 mobilization stumbled in part because the army's supply service could not satisfy the troops' needs. Its medical service lacked sufficient personnel, and its lack of planning forced the mobilized guardsmen to live in some of the most bizarre locationsa school in Rancagua, on the archbishop's property in Talca, in a mill in Chillán, or in a decrepit fire station in Llanquihue.72

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The Draft The flawed 1898 mobilization may have given Körner the excuse he needed to junk the militia in favor of a German system of conscription. Theoretically, by guaranteeing a steady flow of manpower ''to resist future emergencies" the draft would satisfy "the first and most important need of the army": providing soldiers while simultaneously creating a pool of trained troops who could, in an emergency, support the regular troops. 73 Conscription also served a social agenda. For the first time, the nation's rich and poor would share a common experience, and the wealthy conscript would learn to appreciate the virtues of his humble comrade. Conversely, the workers would witness the affluent subordinating themselves to the same rule of law as the lower orders.74 In short, it would be a democratic experience in what had always been an undemocratic country. Many newspapers and political leaders initially supported Körner's plan, praising the "truly civilizing effect" of a draft that converted untutored and unaware rustics into literate and nationalist citizens. Enrique Mac-Iver likened the conscription of ten thousand men to the opening of ten thousand schools in which, according to others, men would learn discipline as well as acquire military skills. Consequently, the draft marked "an important epoch in the development of the republic's military institutions." Members of the army also championed the conscription, seeing it as a way to inculcate the virtues of hard work, morality, and temperance and provide an antidote to the spreading virus of socialism and pacifism. Additionally, it would create a reserve of approximately four hundred thousand men.75 Thus what General Boonen Rivera described as a "reform of enormous transcendence," became law in 1900.76 The new legislation, which encompassed all males between the age of twenty and forty-five, created a mechanism for inducting men into the army while simultaneously creating a standing reserve. Like the National Guard law, conscription legislation excluded many: physicians, pharmacists, teachers, police, most civil servants, and, of course, all elected officials. Although the new measure did not exempt the owners of factories or haciendas, it did create another generous loophole. The physically unfit or the only adult son who was his family's sole financial support did not have to serve. To ensure compliance, twenty-year-old men faced either jail or a fine if they did not register for the draft at the civil registry office, failed to present themselves for service, or changed their residence without informing the authorities. Not all who registered actually served. Each municipality held a lottery to select enough men to meet its quota plus an additional 20 percent to replace

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those who did not or could not comply with the law. Anyone drafted served a year before passing first into the First Reserve for nine years and finally into the Second Reserve, where he remained until the age of forty-five. In the case of a national emergency, the president could extend a recruit's tour of duty for an additional three months. The happy few who escaped active duty entered directly into the First and Second Reserve. The law also empowered the president to recall, on an annual basis, the First Reserve for thirty days of additional training; those who never served might be liable for ninety days of instruction. Extending this period of training or mobilizing the Second Reserve required the Council of State's approval. 77 In 1901 the army also created a series of warehouses that would store the equipment and uniforms of each conscript after he was released from active duty and where a reservist, if mobilized, could return to pick up his equipment. Körner's Reforms Examined Körner's germanisación del ejército aroused the opposition of many senior officers. They resented Körner's heavyhanded methods, his arrogance, his vindictiveness, and his bias in favor of the Prussian instructors. Thus, in 1902, when Körner attempted to revise the 1838 Ordenanza Jeneral del Ejército, which still included instructions on how to load and prime flintlocks, he met a stonewall of resistance from what he derisively called "gaucho generals." All he could achieve were minor revisions in the infantry regulations in "gymnastics, fencing, firing, and riding." Körner even failed in his attempt to increase the standard length of the "goose step" from sixty-five to seventy-five centimeters, while concurrently reducing the paso doble from 140 to 112 steps per minute.78 Conversely, Körner complained that his "Young Turks" all too often copied the letter rather than the spirit of the Prussian military system. When Indalicio Téllez, a German-trained artillery officer, inspected a regiment in Chile's north, he saw a pile of horse dung in the middle of the garrison that was precisely fifty centimeters high. When Téllez inquired why the pile was made to this exact dimension, the regimental commander shot back: "This procedure has been taken word for word from translated German army regulations, and, my friend, we have more confidence in what the Germans say than in what Chileans might say about this." The commander did allow that he had not the slightest idea why the German regulations called for a fifty-centimeter heap of horse dung.79 Körner's problems with the gauchos and the "Turks" paled before those he would have with the hated civilian politicians. When, in 1902, a series of

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diplomatic agreements with Argentina reduced the likelihood of hostilities, President Germán Riesco Errázuriz decided to curb government spending. And because the sons of even the wealthiest families expected to work for the state the government dared not reduce the funding of the civilian sector. Clearly, the armed forces would have to bear most of the budgetary cuts. Relations between the chief of the General Staff and the president reached their nadir in the summer of 1902. In July the general informed Ambassador Siegfried Count Castell von Rüdenhausen of his "distress" concerning the government's intentions. "Everyone is now up for sale; and they all drink when conducting their business. Thus both months and one's health are wasted." Körner became so infuriated by the size of the expected budget cuts that he refused Riesco's offer to sit on the commission appointed to downsize the army. The general fought back, conjuring up visions of external threats and using the visit of an Argentine peace mission to remind the nation of its need to be vigilantbut to no avail. Despite Körner's dire predictions of a war, the regular army was reduced to 5,052 men and the annual contingent of recruits to 4,000. This was not all: in November the German envoy transmitted to Berlin the scale of the Chilean reforms. The army would dissolve the National Military Council (junta consultiva de guerra) as well as the inspectorates (inspecciónes de armas), whose duties were to be transferred to the War Ministry, while releasing a number of German instructors. 80 Körner became livid, describing as "impossible and ridiculous" Riesco's tinkering with his beloved army as well as his unwanted intrusion into military matters. The president dared to place a civilian, "who abandons his writing desk or store counter for 2 to 3 months in order to play war minister," in a position normally reserved for the "German Emperor and King of Prussia." Körner's contempt for supposed superiors, the civilian war ministers, dripped from his poisonous pen: ''He brings with him no preparation for the job; nor can he gather any knowledge while in office because politics will kill him. But he is supposed to command. Naturally, he does not wish to do so in wartime. But in peacetime he commands, that is, he changes all that exists; otherwise, no one will notice that he is the minister." Körner openly expressed his disgust at what he termed the disorganization and threatened to leave the army to dedicate his remaining days to his pet "colonization" schemes in the south.81 By 1903 Körner decided that the only way to fight reform was to undermine it. To circumvent the government's planned manpower cuts, Körner resorted to subterfuge. He transformed all the cavalry formations that did not serve as recruitment units into police forces ("gendarmeries"): "In the

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cavalry I have already put every fourth squadron into service in this form, and they are doing a superb job. In this way, the Ministry of the Interior has to pay for them; but I supervise their service and have them available in case of war." By performing the same trick with the infantry, Körner estimated that he could easily add "1 or 2 gendarmerie companies to every infantry battalion and every cavalry squadron." Artillery and engineer formations would undertake all formal (and legal) training of recruits. While sabotaging Riesco from within, General Körner appealed to the public and congress in hopes of stopping the president's various reforms. Should these efforts fail, don Emilio had one trump left: "Those officers promoted over the past 10 years and more than half of all older officers form a phalanx of Prussian training and outlook" that, he believed, would stand by him in a showdown with the president. Riesco, whom Körner described as "the tool of unsavory elements," eventually backed down. Rather than risk open confrontation with the national hero, he postponed the planned reforms until after the election. On 9 January 1903, President Riesco even permitted Körner to join his wife and son en route to Europe, where don Emilio could spend two years on a "special mission." Rumors circulated throughout Europe's capitals that Körner was on a buying spree and that he would visit Krupp in Germany, Bofors in Sweden, and Vickers in Britain. Not surprisingly, the German Foreign Office quickly agreed "in the interest of contracts for German industry" to consider don Emilio's request for an audience with the kaiser and to join former colleagues at Fourth Army Corps Command (Magdeburg) for the annual army maneuvers. 82 Riesco's attempts at reform, although unsuccessful, indicated that Santiago no longer depended so heavily on the goodwill and support of Emil Körner. The fact that Körner, obviously acting on behalf of the kaiser, bypassed the Chilean embassy in Berlin to order a "12- to 13-thousand-ton armored warship" directly from Krupp, did not endear don Emilio to the Chilean government. For though Krupp was perfectly willing to build the vessel "on speculation," the Wilhelmstrasse declined "on political grounds" to "serve as a cover for Chilean shipbuilding." The German navy, for its part, was willing only to dump two elderly armored vessels, Preussen and Friedrich der Grosse, for cash.83 In one fell swoop, Körner's attempted secretive ''diplomacy" had embarrassed the kaiser, the Foreign Office, and the German ambassador to Santiago; disappointed Krupp; and antagonized Riesco. Disenchantment with Körner even contaminated the army. In March 1904 General Boonen Rivera confided to Ambassador von Reichenau that Körner had made "two critical mistakes" that undermined his authority. First, he "had wanted to do everything by himself and had not allowed

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anyone to rise up beside him; thereby he offended the vanity of many of the older officers." And, second, Körner elevated the Prussian instructors to a higher social and military level, although "vast social and military differences divided them and [although] some had not lived up to their elevated status." In the process, the chief of the General Staff had lost the trust of many Chilean junior officers. 84 Don Emilio's Reforms Reconsidered Under Körner, the Chilean army had become a Potemkin village. The high command might boast that the army consisted of eight brigades, but many of these existed only in the minds of the most optimistic: there were no Third and Fourth Artillery Brigades nor a Fourth Cavalry Brigade. The Eighth Infantry Brigade did not come into being until 1909. The Third and Fourth Divisions did not possess the requisite machine gun formations; they also needed an additional cavalry regiment, and both lacked artillery regiments or grupos. Finally, rather than have an engineer battalion and a supply battalion, they only had companies.85 The Chilean army suffered from another serious problem: it had been assigned more missions than it could legitimately be expected to achieve. Theoretically, the military's sole function was to defend the nation's borders. In Chile's case, the army also had a series of distinctly nonmilitary tasks: combating bandits, protecting the railroads, preventing fighting between railroad workers, guarding jails, patrolling the coal mines of Arauco on payday, maintaining order during elections (and some would suspect rigging them as well), and enforcing sanitary cordons.86 Another more serious issue developed. Beginning in the early twentieth century, labor unrest, especially in the salitreras, became more common and increasingly more violent. The First Brigade, for example, had to detach a squadron of cavalry to keep order in Antofagasta, and it could not discharge the conscripts called up for the previous year "owing to the labor unrest in the north." These tasks obviously distracted the troops from their military training and deprived the army of manpower. It also caused stress among the enlisted personnel, for whom killing strikers was an unpleasant task. (It is interesting to note that when the army had to crush a strike of nitrate workers in Iquique, some enlisted men apparently refused to fire on the demonstrators. It was the two machine gun crews from the cruiser Esmeralda that inflicted most of the two thousand deaths. It was to avoid such problems that one newspaper urged the army to imitate the German system, which made sure that men did not serve where they lived.) The far

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north was not the only social hot spot: the army also had to send troops to Cautín and Los Anjeles, Valparaíso, as well as the capital. 87 In some cases, ensuring domestic order became the very reason for creating certain formations. The army, for example, had to form special rural units, like the Batallón de Infantería Magallanes, to end the apparently endemic unrest of the Patagonian region. Because the far south was so large, the government eventually converted the Batallón Magallanes into a cavalry regiment, Caballería Húsares No. 2 Manuel Rodríguez.88 Since it lacked both horses and training, the new unit could not fulfill its mission. And the army continued to carry the infantry battalion on its active list, although its principal mission was maintaining order. As part of its mission to maintain internal order, the army also created the Regimiento Jendarmes in 1903, which consisted of a staff and four squadrons of three officers and twenty enlisted personnel. Later in the year, it was restructured, its complement was increased slightly, and it was transferred to the authority of the minister of the interior. (If Körner had lived long enough, he would have seen it as some black Reichswehr, but it still had to keep the peace.) Three years later the Regimiento Jendarmes became the Regimiento Carabineros, and again its complement increased.89 But despite the fact that the organization remained under the authority of another ministry, it still drew its officers from the ranks of the regular army. Diverting military units to perform nonmilitary tasks offended the officer corps because few nations' armies consider "the role of pursuing bandits" to be their responsibility. The officers were not the only ones. In 1911, the press complained that Enrique Phillips, after having served as military attaché to Great Britain, would remain in Europe to study police organization; moreover, upon returning to Chile he would be posted to a police unit. "Our army lack[s] officers," El Diario Illustrado lamented, "and instead of bringing them to the place where they are most urgently needed, they are left in the Old World studying police science. . . . What is happening here has neither head nor feet."90 Professional officers also acted as advisors to the Guardia Territorial, an organization that the government created to protect the border with Argentina. Though staffed in part by professional soldiers, it did not belong to the regular army.91 Similarly, army officers commanded the forts guarding Talcauano and Valparaíso even after the coastal artillery became part of the Ministry of the Navy. Chile also assumed a "civilizing mission" by educating cadets from eleven Latin American nations at its military schools and sending missions to another six. Training foreign officers and their armies doubtless enhanced

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1. Chilean Military Mission to Ecuador, 1901. The Chilean officers are wearing the Pickelhaube helmet (spiked): third from left and sixth from right. Courtesy of Gen. Roberto Arancibia Clavel. Chile's military reputation among its hemispheric neighbors and perhaps won it diplomatic allies. For example, an Ecuadorian, Jorge Cabrera, praised Chile's army and expressed gratitude for the training it provided his nation's military. But these missions seemed to serve Germany's purposes more than Chile's: each nation that followed Santiago's example meant more converts to Prussian military ways and more orders for Loewe and Krupp. And, as the American military attaché noted, purchases of military products were just the thin edge of the wedge. Once these nations purchased weapons, German civilian goods, including capital equipment, invariably followed. Although this policy benefited Germany, it was the Chilean army that paid the price. As El Mercurio complained, when officers remained too long abroad, as they did with El Salvador, the army lost their services. 92 Questioning the German Bewitchment In 1909 Körner issued one of his last reports as inspector general. Don Emilio's news was not cause for joy: with few exceptions, he concluded, Third and Fourth Divisions were poorly trained, poorly fed, poorly housed, poorly equipped, and utterly unkempt, with "open collars, poorly sited ties, drooping belts, pants unsupported by suspenders, helmets askew, . . . dag-

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2. Chilean Military Mission to El Salvador, 1907. Note that the uniforms worn by the Chilean officers resemble those of the German army. Courtesy of Gen. Roberto Arancibia Clavel. gers in an irregular position, and even, although happily only in a few cases, seams coming apart and buttons missing." 93 Reports from the commanders of First and Second Divisions indicated serious deficiencies in those units as well. Clearly, Körner's efforts of the preceding twenty-four years, as well as those of his German advisors, had proved less than fruitful. Ironically, even before Körner published this depressing report, some Chileans had begun to complain, not just because the German reforms had not succeeded but because Chile had become Berlin's satellite. Prussian officers were everywhere, teaching at the Academy of War, the Escuela Militar, and the Escuela de Clases and also holding the staff positions or serving with line units. German civilians manned the blacksmithing school, directed the ammunition factory, staffed various civilian educational institutions, and helped administer the railroad. Indeed, they seemed to be everywhere, and not without reason did more than a few Chilean officers come to regard their German instructors like relatives who had overstayed their welcome. Not surprisingly, one of Körner's "Young Turks," Gen. Arístides Pinto Concha, chief of the General Staff, came to believe that the time had come to strike at the heart of "Prussianization" by getting rid of the German

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instructors. First, Pinto Concha peremptorily canceled the contract of Erich Baron von Bischoffshausen, arguing that the colonel had completed his mission to train field officers. Next, in September 1907, Pinto Concha radically reduced the budget of the General Staff's Cartographic and Topographical Section, headed by Col. Felix Deinert. He then sent the German out on an extensive mapping survey of a seven-thousand-foot range of the Andeswithout field tents, wood, corrugated tin for shelter, an adequate supply of mounts, or fodder. After Deinert, not surprisingly, failed to carry out his mission, Pinto Concha suspended him without pay. When the German demanded a face-to-face meeting, the chief of the General Staff showed his disdain by sleeping through the briefing. 94 What should have been easily resolved became a cause célèbre. Körner submitted his resignation, claiming that he could "no longer serve in an army that refused to treat a bearer of its uniform in the manner that such demanded." The German embassy cited Pinto Concha's action as proof "that the numerous Chilean officers who have received some training in our army" were using the affair to rid themselves of German instructors and to usurp their positions. Such "evil spirit" on the part of the Chileans simply manifested their "exaggerated sense of self-assertion" and their "high opinion of their own value and ability after returning from Germany.''95 Berlin responded by denying a decoration for Rear Adm. Lindor Pérez-Gacitúa. Tit for tat, the Chileans announced that they would recall all sixteen officers then training in Germany, or at the very least transfer them to the armies of Austria-Hungary and Italy. Thereupon, Kaiser William II threatened to dismiss all Chileans training in Germany and to suspend relations with Santiago. In the end, the Reich's new ambassador to Chile, Hans Baron von und zu Bodman, managed to cool tempers. Körner withdrew his resignation. Bischoffshausen received monetary compensation for breach of contract. Deinert accepted a formal apology and reinstatement by the war minister. PérezGacitúa got his Order of the Crown, Second Class (and, for good measure, Naval Deputy Secretary Casanova received the Order of the Red Eagle, Second Class). Pinto Concha was relieved as chief of the General Staff for his "base chicanery."96 The German change of heart was dictated by its interest in securing future Chilean arms orders. The Chileans, in turn, agreed to rely on Germany to provide instructors and to train their officers. This experience infuriated many Chileans. El Mercurio, which called the kaiser's coercion a violation of Chilean sovereignty, suggested that if Berlin pressed the point the Moneda could go elsewhere. A feeling grew that the

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era of instituting change solely because "it was German" had begun to abate; the Chileans should take over, beginning with the company grade, and limit the role of the Germans to the higher echelons. In short, as a British diplomat concluded, "the Germanization of the Chilean Army which has perhaps been carried somewhat to excess, and is not in all cases practical, is becoming unpopular with a certain section of the military element." 97 It was not simply that the armed forces had tired of all things Teutonic. Other elements of Chilean society had also become disenchanted with what Eduardo de la Barra called "the German bewitchment." Chile's minister to Paris denounced the blind copying of the German-style uniforms that caused Chilean officers to be mistaken for Prussians by the French, who, not sharing Chile's Germanophilia, not only jeered at them but even threatened their person. It was time, some Chileans argued, to appear less aggressively Germanic. Even a German-Chilean (Chile-Deutsch) believed that the Chileans should make adjustments in their military finery, to abandon the Pickelhaube helmet and the uniform "designed for another race," which made the soldiers of a democracy look like the paladins of an ''absolutist monarchy."98 For others, the issue was not simply that of uniforms but instead involved the very nature of the Prussian reformsthose "skyrockets of frivolous lights," which produced an army of "straw and painted paper . . . with its bombastic nomenclature of . . . fictitious brigades and regiments" that existed only on paper and possessed "less life, [and] less force" than the old army. These critics resented the blind copying of German military regulations"swallows lost among the fogs of a dark winter"that seemed utterly unsuitable to Chile's reality.99 Some questioned whether Prussian military institutions worked in Chile. The supposedly sacred German General Staff, when transferred to Chile, did nothing but "translate German regulations and collect statistical data." Generals Roberto Goñi and José María Bari, for example, admitted that the Chilean General Staff was flawed but attributed this to a lack of experienceeven the Prussians required decades to perfect their systemand of personnel. But why, wondered one newspaper, had the Japanese managed to implement the German reforms in three years while the Chileans, after twenty, had not? The answer, according to El Mercurio, was simple: the Japanese adopted only those institutions or practices that conformed to their national spirit. "To copy everything without . . . discernment is to go too far; it is to fall into a mania." When General Téllez, himself a product of German training, indicated that the Chileans had erred when they made changes without regard to the "resources of the nation, or its population," the depth of the discontent became clear.100

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Don Emilio's Long Goodbye Controversy would taint the supposedly sainted General Körner after he returned to Santiago on 7 September 1904. As had been the case three years earlier, he received a hero's welcome. Don Emilio used the occasion of a festive banquet to appeal shamelessly to his adopted homeland. Not only did he belong "body and soul" to the Chilean army, Körner confided, but he had instructed his sons to consider it as their "sacred duty" to serve the nation that had ''so completely captured his heart." To defuse criticism of his "Prussian" origins, Körner assured his listeners that he regarded himself to be "abroad" whenever he left Chile! Ambassador von Reichenau informed Berlin that he did not know whether Körner's "pathetic protestation" reflected "the general's true feeling" or whether it had been offered "inter pocula as rhetorical embellishment." 101 Apparently Körner still believed that he had become indispensable. He tried everything, including calling in outstanding political favors, to remain in the army past the mandatory retirement age of sixty-three. The general's attempts infuriated newspapers like La Lei, which naively expected him to follow the same rules he had helped draft. But Körner had an ally in President Montt, who also wanted him to remain on active service. One of Montt's ministers even argued that don Emilio fell under the exemption that allowed a general to remain on active duty for an additional three years because he had fought an enemy. Congressman Alfredo Irarrazaval made short shrift of Körner's argument by noting that a civil disturbance did not constitute a war; Körner would simply have to retire just like everyone else. Eventually, the legislature, tired of endless night sessions debating "a matter of personal character," concurred: don Emilio had to retire.102 Armed with a very generous pension, Körner retired to Germany, where he published an analysis of the Chilean army in the Militär-Wochenblatt. His ungracious descriptions of his former charges outraged various legislators. The old Balmacedistas objected to his characterization of pre-1891 officers as undisciplined, drunken, and corrupt. Others resented his remarks about the average Chilean soldier, whose dedication to punctuality, integrity, and, most of all, hygiene, the German had doubted. These remarks were terribly hurtful given that Körner "wore the uniform of the Chilean army and receives from the State a pension in gold . . . equivalent to the salary of a division general on active service and the benefits of the Inspector General of the Army." (Körner subsequently claimed that a bad translation had conveyed a false impression, that he would never denigrate the Chilean army.)103

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Given this situation, perhaps it was just as well that Körner never returned to Chile. In March 1920, "the old and tenacious instructor and reformer of our army" died in Germany. Eight years later, his remains were repatriated and reburied in a Santiago army mausoleum. The general's impact seemed set in concrete, and 1910 may have represented the symbolic high point of this influence: to celebrate Chile's independence, the army had spent a small fortune refurbishing uniforms and even calling up reservists to bulk out its regular formations. The centenary provided the opportunity for the Chilean army to strut its stuff, to show to the world's military attachés gathered in the Parque Cousiño that Chile's army was truly Latin America's finest, capable of holding its own against "any nation in the world." 104 At the appointed hour, the field-gray hordes precisely goose-stepped past the reviewing stand from which watched Chile's old enemies and its new friends, particularly the Germans. We may not know the reaction of the general public, but the head of the German delegation, Gen. Kurt von Pfuel, seemed enormously pleased when he spoke to the press, praising the Chileans for accomplishing so much in so little time. He wrote His Imperial Majesty to express his pride in the appearance of the Prussian surrogates. Two years later, the American military attaché, Capt. Earl Briscoe, would watch a similar independence parade. Like his military colleagues, European as well as American, he too seemed impressed. "Of course," he unkindly noted, "it must be remembered that they are drilled for days for this review and on the 15th of September . . . the entire ceremony was gone thru with [sic] in detail. . . . What they can do in the field," he ungraciously noted, "remains to be seen''105 Briscoe, regrettably, was right. The 1910 centenary parade might have impressed local and foreign observers, but those in the know seemed less enthused. As one officer noted in an editorial published in El Mercurio, the army has no "knapsacks, tents either, less blankets, [and] also there are no uniforms for the reserves . . . the fiasco of the callup of 9,000 men for the centennial festivities is eloquent proof of this. . . . All this means that in case of war there would be a delay of various weeks or perhaps months, and the success of starting the campaign might be in danger."106 The newspaper editorial comments proved sadly accurate. Within ten years, the army would see its manpower problems worsen, its equipment decay, and its already small infrastructure buckle under the weight of too many responsibilities, too few assets, and too many weak leaders. These problems occurred in part because of a lack of commitment by the state, and more particularly by the army, but also because of the very generic problems that can be associated with Körner's ill-fated and unrealistic reforms.

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4 How Körner's Army Failed Emil Körner's reforms, while suitable for Germany, proved drastically inappropriate for Chile. The South American nation lacked the money, the manpower, and the political will to support an enormous military establishment. Even Körner quickly recognized that his plans had gone awry. The failure of conscription, which constituted the bedrock of the new enlarged army, was an early indication that things were not going well. The lack of manpower, however, was not the only problem with Chile's army. There was also no adequate technical infrastructure system. Thus, though the army appeared to be sound, it was, as the passage of the years would reveal, a terribly flawed institution. It is difficult to assess the military skills of a nation that has not fought many wars. Losing a war probably indicates deficiencies, but a victory does not necessarily prove superiority, particularly if the contest is one sided. The Soviet Union's triumph in its 1940 winter conflict with Finland, for example, brought little credit to the Red Army. Consequently, a few cynics may argue that the War of the Pacific revealed more about Peruvian and Bolivian incompetence than Chilean skill. The 1891 Revolution also proves little: the better-equipped Congressionalists, who enjoyed virtual mastery of the seas, won the civil war by defeating a demoralized and outgunned enemy. This victory does not emerge as any great battlefield feat and certainly cannot be attributed to either Estanislao del Canto or Emil Körner, who demonstrated precious few tactical skills. The fact that the Chilean army has not fought anyone since 1891 makes it extremely difficult to assess the quality of its military; the passage of more than a century of peace, like the fog of war, effectively envelops the institution. Trying to penetrate this veil, many scholars have studied the views of foreign military attachés and the odd visiting officer. On the basis of these

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men's remarks, one could conclude that all was well with Chile's army. But, as we shall discover, these observers did not seem willing to look behind the glowing picture they painted. Had they done so, they would have uncovered a less flattering portrait. Contemporary observers of the turn-of-the-century Chilean army found it quite praiseworthy. A U.S. military attaché, Lt. Francis Ruggles, acclaimed the infantry's marching skills, endurance, discipline, and mastery of field and tactical skills. "In general," he noted, "the Chilean infantry is . . . worthy of the name. In training and discipline, in proficiency of drill, in incircling [sic] power and in target practice there is little to be desired." Similarly, he extolled the organization, saddles, armsthe lanceand formations of the Chilean cavalry, which "compares favorably with that of advanced military nations." (He believed, however, that American mounted units were still better, although he urged that the U.S. Army imitate the Chileans by adopting the lance.) 1 Only the artillery seemed deficient, not because its hard-working, often German-trained officers lacked the requisite skill, but because of its "antiquated material.'' The arrival of the new Krupp guns, he indicated, would surely make the artillery the equal of the other combat arms.2 Ruggles was not alone in his enthusiasm. The Pudeto Regiment's good horsemanship and excellent mounts and "the military dash and spirit of the men" of the artillery and infantry similarly impressed Gen. R. S. S. Baden-Powell, who concluded that "The Chilean Army is the equal of the best of the world." (In private, however, he scornfully noted that they were "Exactly like the Germans, nothing but machines, with their silly step. Little original, everything German, even to the uniforms.")3 The Prussian officers, at least those detailed to watch the reviews, also left similarly dazzled. But attachés and the casual visitor, no matter how skilled, could only see so much. Can we find another instrument, other than a war, that facilitates an evaluation of the Chilean army? Maneuvers provide one means of assessing competence. Unfortunately, these exercises rarely occurred in Chile and often for a variety of sometimes picayune reasons. With the exception of First Division, which was located in the vast northern desert, the army had few reservations where it could train or fire its weapons. One government official had suggested permitting the military to requisition civilian-owned land to hold maneuvers, but such ideas, which bordered on heresy in laissez-faire Chile, fell on deaf ears. Thus, commanders had to beg fundo owners to permit them to use their land for war games. But even the most zealous patriot blanched at the prospect of thousands of men, their horses, and especially their artillery

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pieces, literally running roughshod over their farms. And, though the army ordered its men to take precautions, the Moneda had to pay reparations to outraged hacendados. 4 When the military could not woo some landowner, it improvised. The Chillán Infantry Regiment used funds it had saved on food to rent a fundo, where it conducted exercises. Those commanders who neglected to put aside something for a rainy day continued to rely on the uncertain generosity of civilians. Happily, a few charitable souls still stepped forward. In 1917, for example, units of Fourth Division camped out on property owned by two religious orders. Occasionally civilians like Eledoro Yáñez and others still offered their fundos for the army to use during maneuvers.5 Presumably the purchase of a large fundo near Curicó named El Culenar should have resolved the military's need for land, but it did not. Because of the high cost of transporting men and their equipment division commanders preferred not to train outside of their own zones. Even units located near the fundo hesitated to avail themselves of El Culenar's facilities because inadequate rail transport and a lack of bridges made it difficult to move men and their equipment onto the reservation.6 Obtaining access to land only solved a portion of the problems because units often lacked the means to move their men and equipment. The First Division took almost three weeks to assemble its forces, but in the end it could do little because it did not have the funds to move them to a training site. Poor roads and inadequate transport, including too few horses, also prevented the Fourth Division from reaching the maneuver area.7 A transportation alternative existed: Chile possessed an extensive system of railroads, but unfortunately these were often out of bounds to the military. Chile's agrarian interests complained that the army's use of the rail network during harvest time caused them financial hardship. Simply transporting troops to Mulchen for exercises, they noted, would require two hundred railcars, which threatened "to produce almost the complete paralysis of the trains carrying cargo in that zone." And since the hacendados had more friends in the legislaturein fact, landowners tended to control the legislaturethe military's needs had to take a back seat to the farmer. Consequently it took ten hours for the General Staff to cover the 120 kilometers between the capital and Viña del Mar. (Doubtless the officers made the trip in more comfort than their men, who traveled in coaches without seats.) Years later, the military even had to postpone maneuvers because its use of the railways threatened to endanger the harvest; it also had to delay until the army could select a site where it would inflict minimal physical damage.8 In fairness, hacendados do not bear all the responsibility for the military's

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difficulties. Sometimes the head of the state-owned railroad failed to set aside enough rolling stock. In 1905, for example, a newspaper carped that the railroad's inability to provide service during maneuvers made "the army look ridiculous in the eyes of the South American armies who send their envoys to watch these great exercises." Since the army often lacked sufficient wheeled vehicles and horses to supplement or replace the rail system, it fell back on civilians for transport. In 1900 commanders rented civilian vehicles from Pascual Torres to help mobilize the troops. In 1918 the army begged civilians to allow the military to use their cars to convey troops to a training area and parades. In one case, military authorities had to borrow money to pay to transport men sent to put down unrest at the salitrera Alemana. 9 The army never seemed to cease depending on civilians. They provided material to engineers to build a bridge; fundo owners helped the army deliver food and forage during training exercises.10 Civilians apparently unloaded supplies and even manned the telegraph.11 In 1918 El Mercurio published an army request that civilians provide the military with fifty cars to ferry the men of the Regimiento Maipo from their garrison to a training area. Apparently the Santiago garrison had also begged private citizens to lend the army their cars, but the Valparaíso commanders appeared willing to allow the civilians to do the driving.12 (Later, wealthy civilians like Luis Cousiño offered to initiate a fund to buy tanks and even started a contribution drive large enough to pay for two. Soon after, the Italian colony offered to buy a plane for the air force, as did the members of the exclusive Club de la Unión. Apparently supporting the embryonic air force became chic because the Compañía Chilena de Tabacos and the Banco Español also made contributions to that fund.)13 Even though the army had access both to transportation and land it encountered problems mobilizing its reserves. In 1910 Chile celebrated its first centenary of independence. For some, including its German adviser, Maj. Viktor von Hartrott, the festivities would permit Chile's military, swelled by thousands of mobilized reservists, to "prove [by parading through Santiago's streets] once more that the nation possesses an army worthy of such a nation."14 And because the celebrations included the reserves they became not merely a display of national pride but a way to test the army's mobilization system. Hence, the government would call up thousands of former conscripts, issue them new uniforms for the paradelater storing the clothing in Santiago for a future emergencyand allow the world to see what "our culture and what the nation is worth and signifies."15 It did not occur in precisely that way. Reservists, and particularly their officers, did not wish to give up the pleasures of civilian life simply to wow

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the assembled hordes in the capital's Parque Cousiño. Consequently they petitioned the legislature to excuse them from serving. Faced with the combination of the reservists' protests and the high costs of transportation and logistical support, some senators seriously considered canceling the call-up of reservists. Their more zealous colleagues, however, argued that to do so would constitute one of the most "severe blows that our army could suffer." El Mercurio of Valparaíso did not believe that the legislature would refuse to fund the celebration. No real Chilean, it argued, would pass up the chance to demonstrate how the country "can form a true army, with its units complete and with all the elements to support the honor and integrity of the nation." In the end the patriots won; at a cost of a mere $1,726,000, about 9,000 mobilized reservists and 250 of their officers joined the regular army in marking their nation's independence. 16 The marching hosts may have impressed the onlookers and the military attachés, but one officer called the partial mobilization a "failure." Only about 40 percent of those reservists called to serve actually reported for duty. And those who complied with the law quickly had ample cause to regret their patriotism: a newspaper complained that while the reserve officers enjoyed good treatment, the lower ranks received "no mattresses or blankets to cover them, nor clothing, nor services, tents, shoes, etc. In short, there was nothing."17 On the brighter side, if revealing flaws in the existing system is one of the purposes of maneuvers, then Chile's were an unalloyed success. El Mercurio described those of 1905 as a "complete disaster because the units lack some of the elements of mobilization; the sanitary service is deficient; the shoes are inadequate for this type of exercises; the mounted units need horses." Years later the same newspaper noted the same deficiencies. Only a happy accident saved some four to five thousand men from perishing from thirst because an officer had forgotten to include enough pack mules to carry water.18 The fact that this mishap occurred in the arid north indicates the degree of the authorities' almost criminal negligence. These problems sometimes abated, but they did not disappear. Units discovered that some soldiers lacked equipment, which could be "an alarming flaw in case of war," or that the equipment that they did receive proved "simply abominable." They found as well that boots were "true instruments of torture" and that packs did not fit. One officer complained that "It is not humane to demand that our soldiers cover a hundred and more kilometers, subjecting their feet to torture." Firing exercises demonstrated a lack of skill, and the cavalry seemed to indulge in ''a suicidal charge." An inadequate numbers of horses, or simply poor mounts, limited the army's ability to

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supply the men or transport their gear and weapons. The Regiment Maturana, for example, could not bring three of its eight batteries into the field. The supply services seemed the most woebegone. Without sufficient carts, horses, or harnesses, they had to rely on slow-moving oxcarts, not horse-drawn vehicles, to move equipment into the field. 19 Manpower problems curtailed, if not prevented, the army from conducting large-unit maneuvers. In 1913, for example, Second Division had to cancel large-scale exercises because it did not have enough troops. If the men arrived, their officers sometimes did not. Instead of directing regiments or brigades, commanders had to concentrate on squad- and company-level tactics; battalion-strength exercises occurred rarely, if at all. This problem became particularly galling: General Yáñez had to cancel maneuvers for Second Division because its units "are true skeletons, with whom it is not possible to realize any operation" Obviously conditions did not improve. During the 1913 maneuvers officers used flags to represent soldiers "in the regimental and brigade exercises." Things reached such a sorry state in that year that four regiments of infantry, two of cavalry, and two of artillery could muster only one thousand soldiers (the equivalent of a single wartime battalion), two squadrons of horses, and barely two batteries of guns. In addition, there were too few carts to complete a full supply train.20 Although they did not know it, the maneuvers of 1915 were the last large-scale exercises the Chilean army held before 1920. The army's performance proved better than their predecessors. An officer, newly returned from Germany, managed to get the trains running on schedule; some, but not all, of the men even received their rations when they should have. For the first time, the Chilean air force joined in exercises, but its participation proved less felicitous: two aviators, Tucapel Ponce and Emilio Berguño, died while piloting their Breguet on a reconnaissance mission. Still, Tomás Eastman, who witnessed the 1909 German maneuvers, pronounced Chile's experience their equal.21 Although after 1915 large-scale exercises did not occur, individual units did go into the field, and even divisions conducted war games. The Chilean military, acting for the first time without its German advisorswho had returned home for a "real war"performed relatively well. Some elements might have welcomed the decision to cancel large-scale maneuvers. El Mercurio argued that many officers opposed conducting war games because they exposed their flaws. Let us see, noted the paper, if those officers who criticize Joseph Joffre, Paul von Hindenburg, and Sir John French "are capable of commanding eight or nine thousand men in sham

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battles." 22 Clearly the army's most revealing experience occurred in 1920 when the Moneda partially mobilized the reserves. This call-up was not a drill: Bolivia and Peru had supposedly massed thousands of troops on their southern frontier in order to invade Chile. (Some observers, including the U.S. military attaché, believed that Peru and Bolivia did not really constitute a credible threat. Chile's domestic political situation had become overheated, and the Moneda's real fear was not its neighbors but that certain Santiago army units might launch a coup. To get these potentially dangerous elements out of the capital as well as divert the public's attention from the forthcoming presidential election, the Moneda presumably manufactured the international crisis out of whole cloth.) Unaware of the domestic issues involved, war feelings ran high. Santiaguinos paraded through the capital's streets, demanding that the government act. The most patriotic sacked the offices of the Chilean Student Federation (FECH) when its members failed to evince the proper pro-war hysteria. To meet the emergency, Third Division called up 7,500 reservists from the classes of 191318 as well as 195 officers, many of whom it transported to the north. The commander of First Division, which abutted Peru and Bolivia, mobilized another 15,000 troops.23 This episode, which came to be derisively called don Ladislao's War, in honor of the then minister of war, Ladislao Errázuriz, proved right all the naysayers who for years had chronicled the army's deficiencies and predicted disaster. Rather than illustrate the military's prowess, the 1920 mobilization revealed its flaws. Units could not travel north because of a lack of transport; when vessels became available, the authorities crammed men and their mounts onto overcrowded ships, where the horses died because boiling water, apparently created by distillation equipment, scalded them to death. Air force crews either would not, or did not know how to, assemble the Bristol fighters that had arrived in crates.24 One provincial newspaper noted that the troops arrived without their baggage, munitions, or supplies; that upon reaching Arica they found neither food nor accommodation; and that carts had arrived without wheels: "Military tactics establish that an army should be supplied not only with arms and ammunition but also kitchens, hospitals, barracks, etc.; you cannot neglect the troops' hygienic and food conditions. Even today this situation has not been changed, and the troops stationed in Tacna completely lack hygiene and food."25 Units located in the north, which had to overcome fewer logistical and administrative problems, fared no better. "The mobilization of the I Division," noted the U.S. military attaché, "has demonstrated the lack of prepa-

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ration and experience in handling considerable numbers of troops." 26 The years of neglect and the failure to provide equipment and training became starkly clear. War Minister Errázuriz's attempt to downplay the 1920 debacle by pretending it was not a general mobilization of reservists, just a partial call-up, failed. As one legislator concluded, the soldiers went north "without provisions, without weapons, without munitions, and, above all, depressed because they were not going to defend the endangered motherland but to protect the privileges enjoyed for so long." Still, it was not all bad. Although the U.S. military attaché had described the troops, many short-term conscripts, as "mostly of Indian blood with countenances sufficiently villainous to indicate that they could be relied upon for all classes of butchery," they had done their jobs well. It was the higher-ranking officers, one congressman charged, who had failed either by retiring or leaving the country to avoid service in the north. Rather than send formations containing raw conscripts from the Central Valley to the frontier, the army, critics argued, should have fleshed out units in the north with reservists from the local area.27 The politicians questioned the expedition's rationale and eventually concluded that the army's lack of organization and unity produced "disorder and confusion." And not just the civilians appeared appalled. The abortive mobilization forced officers to recognize, as had Carlos Sáez Morales, "that, for a long time, we [in the military] had lived on illusions." Something had gone wrong; it became clear that beneath the impressive facade of goose-stepping precision, the Chilean army suffered from grave defects. People demanded to know how General Körner's "iron German discipline" had failed.28 As we shall see, however, it was not the lack of German "iron discipline'' but Chile's lack of manpower and equipment problems that doomed its army. Failure of the Draft Emil Körner mistakenly believed or naively hoped that a citizen army could replace the National Guard. He was wrong. As El Mercurio observed, conscription was "absolutely deficient," "simply disastrous," "a complete failure," and "a source of injustice and inequality."29 This was not an isolated opinion; men voted with their feet by abstaining from participating in the conscription process. From Magallanes in the south to the salitreras in the far north, fewer than half the eligible males registered for the draft, and, according to military zone commanders, of these only a handfulsometimes

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fewer than 5 percentactually presented themselves for induction. In places like Tarapacá, sometimes no one registered for the draft. One minister of war blamed the low turnout, particularly in the nitrate pampa, on a campaign of "propaganda waged against the war by some and the lack of patriotism of those born in these areas but who prefer the nationality of their parents [i.e., the Peruvians]." Ironically, the minister's florid remarks were not off the mark. Even before its implementation, the leader of the working-class Democratic Party, Malaquías Concha, denounced conscription as a device designed to despoil the lower classes. Luis Emilio Recabarren, who subsequently founded the Chilean Communist Party, urged workers to resist the "immoral, antisocial, and inhumane" draft and denounced the army as the "school where killing and robbing are the only things learned; where the disciples of Onan multiply and sodomy becomes a profession." The Liga de las Sociedades Obreras flayed conscription for violating the precept of "true democracy," calling it a "direct attack on the interests of the working class.'' Another stalwart of the Partido Demócrata claimed that the main purpose of the army, and therefore the draft, was to repress labor, not to defend the motherland. Worse, military service simultaneously deprived the economy of manpower and the drafted workers' families of an income. 30 (That allegation was a gross untruth: the 1900 law stipulated that each recruit should receive the princely salary of ten pesos per month. To demonstrate its sensitivity, the state even refrained from taxing this generous stipend. Later, much later, this salary rose to as much as thirty pesos, barely enough for cigarettes.) To disprove such charges, one officer called for the middle and upper classes to serve in the army as well. If not, he warned, conscription would "in a short time become an object of hatred for the working class." But "real" patriots saw no reason for compromise. Labor's complaints were unmanly whining; if the rich contributed their taxes to defend Chilewhich, in fact, they did notthen the poor could at least donate their "blood," which they did, to protect the motherland.31 The call for all to enlist fell upon deaf ears. Indeed, avoiding conscription rivaled football as a preoccupation of the young; draft dodging became a cottage industry. Fliers advertised the services of those skilled in helping people evade conscription: the professional witness, for example, who falsely testified that the applicant constituted a widowed mother's only means of support or the "shyster lawyer" who for 20 pesos claimed that one had a brother in the army. These tactics became so widespread that one newspaper feared that the government would soon have nine thousand draft exemptions instead of nine thousand conscripts. The affluent or the

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gente decente did not have to lie; they merely hired others to do so for them, such as the physician who wrote medical excuses or the lawyer who filed for a fraudulent exemption. Thanks to these efforts, a minister of war alleged, "Those who serve are only those who wish to do it and those who do not, do not." 32 The minister's conclusion lacked a certain precision. Those caught in the military's net were not the men who wished to serve, but those who could not avoid it: society's rejects, individuals afflicted with what a military surgeon diagnosed as the accumulated ill effects of "alcohol, the conventillo [a squalid tenement in which the urban poor tried to live], and syphilis"in short, the least healthy, the least educated, and the least politically connected, those whom the sons of the important and not so important called "the stupid." General Orizimbo Barbosa, son of the Balmaceda martyr of 1891, summarized the situation: "Obligatory military service has failed in our country.''33 Some officers advocated changing the system. However, their suggestions, which generally called for a minimum of two and, in the case of those assigned to technical units, three years of service, ran against public opinion. A "highranking officer" doubted if Chile could imitate not only European nations, but Argentina, Brazil, and even Peru, by calling up men for two years service: "Only we . . . try to maintain a status quo that is already in fact impossible and absurd."34 The draft might have generated such revulsion because of the barbarous nature of military life. The punishments were savage. For example, a military court sentenced Jorge Urrutia to death for leaving his post in peacetime, and soldiers, twisting "like a snake, [and] weeping with each blow," were lashed up to one hundred times, often to the accompaniment of a military band whose music drowned out their screams.35 As a young lieutenant, Indalicio Téllez watched as one trooper was whipped to death. Even after the Germans presumably abolished floggingevidence suggests they did notthe army still meted out inhumane treatment. Soldiers were punished by being staked out in the desert for twenty-four hours. Rather than endure the abuse, men deserted in such numbers that their units had difficulty functioning; others committed suicide.36 Military life was harsh for those who escaped the lash. Men worked sometimes eleven hours a day to return to substandard housing in such areas as the region from Tacna to Copiapó, which one reporter described as "a vast rotting place." Their food was a "yellowish liquid whose crust, once cut with a large soup spoon," revealed a leadencolored mixture, "in which are mixed potatoes, pieces of meat, a portion of which floats briefly like

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injured victims of a shipwreck." The troops' only solace was the bar and the brothel, both of which decimated the army. (In some areas, more than half the troops were poxed.) Those serving in the far north, which abutted Peru and Bolivia, indulged in a different vice: chewing coca leaves. Apparently so many availed themselves of this pleasure that the minister of war had to issue orders prohibiting its use. 37 Politics also influenced hostility toward the army in general and conscription in particular. Although ostensibly created to defend the nation from foreign aggression, the government used the military to quash domestic outbreaks of labor or political violence. When called upon, the armed forces ruthlessly murdered strikers, and in some cases their families, to quell labor unrest or urban discontent. As Deputy Agustín Correa Bravo lamented, however, the army often lacked the troops to accomplish even that mission. Santiago's garrison, for example, which supposedly consisted of six units with a total of 3,000 to 3,500 men, in fact numbered only 475. These men, Correa warned, could hardly have maintained order if, as had been expected, popular disturbances erupted during the recent May Day celebrations. Even if there were sufficient men available, they sometimes balked at turning on their own class or, as in the case of railroad troops, breaking strikes. Their officers did not feel the same reluctance. On the contrary, the high command commonly used the Batallón de Ferrocarriles to provide transportation during railroad strikes. The authorities also intervened at the more basic level. In 1917, for example, the army ordered cavalry troops to unload railroad cars filled with salitre when strikers refused to do so. In this case, the strikebreaking did not go unpunished: someone planted a dynamite bomb in one of the cars that exploded and killed one conscript, wounding three others.38 The workers' employers came to loathe the draft almost as much as their employees (curiously, since they never had to do their military service). Economic concerns, not humanity, inspired this antipathy. Wealthy farmers particularly hated conscription because it interfered with the harvest, factory owners because it hobbled industry by consuming needed manpower. Thus, the "the administrators of haciendas, heads of offices, commercial houses, factories, fathers of families, etc., gentlemen who, aware of the law's requirements, ignore[d] it" because it deprived them of their economic cannon fodder: the men who worked their fields or tended their lathes. The army, of course, did not agree. As Maj. Alfredo Ewing explained it, military service transformed "the uncultured and crude day laborer" into a citizen with a "character formed and habituated to order and discipline."39

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Oddly, Körner appeared to comprehend why the poor attempted to evade military service. The lower class, he noted, "are ignorant," undisciplined, and infected with wanderlust; they could not understand such elevated concepts as nationalism. Thus their failure to obey the law, while not pleasing, was not totally unexpected. But the refusal of the affluent, the government employees, or the sons of good families did outrage Körner. "In the more civilized nations" the Saxon officer wrote, "it was the educated and those from the best classes of society who, when called up, serve. . . . In Europe . . . the conscript's uniform is a badge of honor that has great value; and [it is] ugly and cause for shame for those who do not wear it." The wealthy clearly resented having to live under the same roof as the "rotos'' (the lower classes). Nevertheless, Körner argued, they should be "the first in setting an example of patriotism" by not undermining the intent of the law. Worse, the failure to induct the affluent, if not reversed, would make the law "an object of hatred for the working class," who are the only ones who serve. 40 Regrettably, that is what came to be. By 1904, one deputy concluded, "For our society's upper-class youth, for the sons of the aristocratic families, this [the draft] law is only a dead letter." Sixteen years later, Tobías Barros, then a young subaltern, concurred, observing that 90 percent of those conscripted were poor: "The rich, with honorable exceptions, believe that this law, noble in principle, necessary, and democratic in its purposes, did not apply to them." Ironically, during the First World War, some of the same social classes that studiously shunned military service in Chile rushed to enlist in the armed forces of their British, French, Italian, or German parents or grandparents to defend a country many had never seen. This loyalty proved more costly than if they had responded to Chile's call to arms: the southern province of Concepción alone lost some 52 of the 102 Franco-Chileans who made the trip to the battlefields of Europe.41 To preserve the draft, if not to make it more credible, conscription's advocates tried to put some teeth into the law by insisting that the authorities keep better records or that indolent officials, the police, and the judicial authorities pursue the errant sunshine soldier and summer patriot. Körner advocated harsher penalties, as did Minister of War Beltrán Mathieu, who suggested that anyone who failed to register for the draft should not receive a government job. Although some urged the police to arrest draft dodgers, they sometimes rued their enthusiasm. In Valparaíso and San Felipe, for example, soldiers dragged suspected draft resisters to the local barracks. Unfortunately, one of those incarcerated had already performed his military service. In San Felipe, authorities arrested not only one Pompeyo Caldera,

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though he had received a draft exemption, but his mother, brothers, and a local municipal official when they attempted to intercede on his behalf. In a reprise of the War of the Pacific, army units sent out recruiters. 42 Frustrated by the judiciary's refusal to enforce the laws, the army repeatedly, and unsuccessfully, sought to gain control of the registration process. It also petitioned the government to reduce the number of exemptions and urged the courts to levy heavy fines, deny business or professional licenses, and disenfranchise anyone who had not served in the army. A few suggested more draconian solutions for scofflaws, namely, forced service in a penal battalion, a longer term of service, or even jail.43 In addition to force, the Moneda also tried persuasion. The authorities entreated Chile's clerical hierarchy and university rectors to encourage the gente decente to obey the draft law. Others suggested accommodation. To pacify the landowner, some deputies wanted to delay the draft so it would not conflict with the harvest; another advocated postponing it until a student had completed his university education. These proposals, even if implemented, could not reverse the situation: men openly resisted the conscription law, knowing full well that they would not suffer. Gustavo Ross Santa María, who ran for the presidency in 1938, was even convicted of evading military service but still managed to avoid punishment. Clearly, the legislature, intent on protecting its own families, watered down any serious measures that might have penalized the draft dodgers.44 Given the draft's notoriety, individuals eventually began to question its rationale. As early as 1907, rumorsmore wistful than realisticcirculated that the government might abolish conscription. A few favored this possibility, not because they opposed the draft, but because they regarded conscription as superfluous. Santiago's La Lei claimed that since the Chilean was a natural soldier, who only needed instruction on how to fire a gun to be a modern warrior, military service, let alone forced military service, was unnecessary. Others saw it as a waste of time but for different reasons. The reserves seemed without military value, they argued; once mobilized, they would be only "armed citizens, but not soldiers who could not resist battle."45 The government eventually modified the draft by staggering the entry of draftees into the army. Beginning in 1911, First and Second Divisions called up their conscripts for one year starting on 1 November; Third and Fourth Divisions did so in May. Although the term of service remained the same, the new proposal ensured that half of the annual levy was partially trained and permitted officers to concentrate on perfecting the skills they had already imparted rather than begin a new training cycle every six months.46 Many politicians and professional officers supported modifying the draft.

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General Yáñez argued that they should increase military service to two years. Twelve months' service prepared men "to pass in review and [to march] in parades of honor," but it was inadequate for imparting information that had to last five to six years or for mastering the newer and more complex equipment. The technical services or combat arms, like the artillery, which required more sophisticated training than the infantry, pressed for a minimum of two years' service. This suggestion would achieve two goals. Since military service "was its own reward" the government could give conscripts a pittance, thereby saving the state money by reducing the number of more highly paid regulars. Additional time in the ranks, moreover, would ensure more capable soldiers. One deputy concurred, noting that the often denigrated Bolivians, Peruvians, and Argentines called up fewer men but kept them longer and hence trained them better. Eventually, the Comisión de Guerra of the Camara de Diputados compromised, recommending that the Moneda increase the term of a draftee's service to eighteen months. 47 By 1920 a congressional committee begrudgingly admitted what everyone knew: the nation considered the draft undemocratic, the wealthy easily avoided service, and the country lacked the will to punish the scofflaws. But rather than abolish conscription, the congress even extended it to the fleet. Still, the legislature attempted to make the registration process more efficient and reduce the number of exemptions.48 Superficially, some considered the draft a success. By 1910, about 63,000 men had received military training. A decade later, the U.S. military attaché estimated that Chile possessed 178,000 reservists. But these numbers were deceiving: the 98,000 reservists who had completed their military service prior to 1911 lacked the skills needed to service the new equipment. And because the government failed to authorize funds for annual training, these older veterans never learned how to use the recently purchased weapons, while their 80,000 younger contemporaries forgot the few military arts they once might have mastered. In 1921 the minister of war alleged that excepting men who had been trained in the past four years, the reserves "utterly lacked military value," a view that was shared by an officer who called the existing system "a house of dreams."49 Finally, assuming that the reserves were of excellent qualitywhich they were notthe government could not easily call them to the colors for a simple reason. Since they did not maintain a registry the minister of war and the army had "no idea how many [reservists] died, emigrated or have been made incapable of military duty; nor could one even estimate the number." The military repeatedly requested legislation to force reservists to register with local authorities, but its efforts proved as futile as its call for draft

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reform. Thus, far from being able to mobilize a large army in a matter of days, one military attaché estimated that six months would elapse before the two hundred thousand reservists could take to the field. 50 Ironically, Chile might have been better off had it retained the National Guard rather than adopt conscription. Whatever its deficienciesand certainly there were manythe commanders of the territorial-based reserve system at least knew its members and where they lived. The Officer Corps Had the army managed to locate and physically control its phantom reservists, it would have discovered another sad truth: there were too few officers to lead them. As table 2 indicates, this problem became particularly acute at the company level, where the conscript was most likely to serve. Indeed, carping about the lack of subalterns became one of the ministers of war's most constant refrains. The situation reached such a point that second lieutenants with almost no experience commanded companies.51 In part, this problem occurred because the Escuela Militar could not graduate men fast enough to replace those lieutenants who resigned. In 1906, for example, although the Escuela turned out nineteen second lieutenants, the army required an additional ninety-six officers. The result was a threadbare army. Thanks to the lack of lieutenants, the army not only failed to organize various infantry regiments, supply technical units, or staff its schools, but in existing regiments, like the Tucapel, "there is not even one officer per company."52 By 1915 the situation had not improved. The army needed some 339 second lieutenants while the Military School graduated but 80. That was a good year: five years later it turned out only 55. The army did organize special short courses, which were sometimes conducted at the Escuela Militar, for either reserve officers or at least high school graduates who wanted a regular army commission, but these devices never managed to fill the vacancies, which became increasingly more common.53 Not only were they few in number, but the quality of the Escuela Militar's graduates certainly seemed unimpressive as well. General Körner might gush that the Military School was "a real model of its type" that required no reforms, but others disagreed. One social critic claimed that it attracted primarily those "with an excessive sense of their own importance and limitless fatuity," young men who possessed but three goals: "to rise rapidly, make good social connections, and marry well." Although it did accept ambitious men like Indalicio Téllez, on the whole the Escuela Militar was

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not an institution for the enterprising though impoverished seeking education and a career. Social connections, not academic qualifications, seemed the most important criterion for admission. Once accepted, students had to endure a harsh physicalofficers might sometimes rouse students from their beds for night marches. But the school was not known for a necessarily demanding intellectual regime. As Carlos Sáez noted, the authorities averaged grades for deportment and academic studies. Consequently, concluded Alberto Muñoz, "The quality of the officers graduated [from the Escuela Militar] leaves something to be desired, in part because few candidates present themselves, and [the school] has let mediocre officers enter the army so that the men will not be without officers." Apparently the situation did not improve, for a 1919 article in the army's Memorial del Ejército Chileno ranked the military colleges of Brazil and Peru superior to those of Chile. 54 Happily, there were also some reserve officers who could, in a pinch, provide assistance. The army had begun the century with twenty-one hundred reserve officers: about half were infantrymen, a quarter cavalry officers, and the remainder either gunners or engineers. These men obtained their commissions in the National Guard before being transferred to the reserves.55 Körner's expansion of the army, however, forced the military to create special courses to train additional reserve officers. For a short time, moreover, the table of organization allocated two slots in regular army combat units for officer cadets. Periodically, the military would call up these men for additional training.56 (It is interesting to note that during the time of tension with Argentina, when the army had to mobilize its reserve officers, large numbers of their brother officers in the regular army applied for retirement.) Unfortunately, too few Chileans yearned to earn a reserve commission. "It is notorious the lack of interest citizens have to be reserve officers," wrote Gen. A. Marin of the First Division. "In 1914 men have volunteered only for mounted units and none for the infantry. This year there are cadets in the Esmeralda [an infantry unit]. The supply battalion does not have a single reserve officer." By 1917 the minister of war noted that there were approximately thirty-two hundred reserve officers, half the number needed, especially in the event of a total national mobilization. Curing this shortage appeared almost insoluble since many regular units either did not, or would not, create officer candidate training programs. Additionally, the cost of winning a reserve commission, and in particular purchasing the requisite uniforms and equipment, made it too expensive for all but the wealthy.57 The military may have had second thoughts about turning to citizen

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officers. The few it produced did not seem to fit in anywhere and, if the reports were true, they never fulfilled their purpose. The army, for example, unsuccessfully tried to use reserve lieutenants to help train draftees. In one case, the authorities characterized some thirty reserve officers who had been called up to participate in maneuvers as so poorly prepared that they bordered on useless. Indeed, the commander of First Division considered reserve officers not as assets but, because of their lack of knowledge and poor attitude, "a hindrance and a disturbing element in discipline." On the other hand, reserve subalterns serving in Tacna were given a good-bye party, complete with a group photo and a champagne toast, to thank them for participating in recent maneuvers. 58 Since NCOs often had to command platoons, normally a position entrusted to an officer, some proposed commissioning sergeants. At one time, a highly motivated enlisted man could move from the Escuela de Clases to the Escuela Militar and then to the commissioned ranks of the regular army. A more senior NCO could also take examinations that would permit him to win a commission directly. This policy apparently ended because, as a "highranking officer" concluded, former enlisted men lacked the requisite culture to be officers. Another argued that their inadequate technical preparation limited them. Presumably their presence would rend the officer corps' social fabric, devaluing them in the eyes of the public. Eventually, the Comisión de Guerra advocated commissioning sergeants who had ten years of experience and a certain level of education. These men, however, could only serve in a logistical post and then could only reach the rank of captain.59 Once young officers graduated from the Military Academy or a supplemental course, most had little incentive to follow a military career that had become "uncertain" and "insecure" and offered "few expectations." The low pay, for example, discouraged even the most patriotic because, as one officer noted, "no matter how great might be our love of the profession, the question of the stomach is decisive; . . . the salary is a question of life or death.'' Being posted to a unit in the far north, such as Tacna, Tarapacá, and Antofagasta, or the south, such as Magallanes, became a cause for lamentation because an officer could barely maintain his family there.60 Although the government eventually authorized special bonuses for those serving in such hardship posts, these sums could never compensate for the inflation. (Between 1906 and 1915, for example, a second lieutenant's salary rose 50 percent while the cost of living rose 65 percent.) Thus, subalterns quickly resigned rather than endure years of bare subsistence while waiting for a promotion. Some argued for increasing the size of the officer corps, but one

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journalist warned that such a step would make Chile's army look like that of a small Central American republic, "where all is insignia; [and] everyone is a general." 61 The army's policy of apportioning rank up to lieutenant colonel according to the branch of the service complicated the promotion process. Since the infantry comprised almost half of the officer corps, its officers presumably had a better chance of finding a vacant slot than their brother officers, even those of the more highly trained artillery and engineer units. The creation of new technical units, like supply, exacerbated the situation because initially the army's table of organization did not adjust for their presence. The problem became complicated because the army sometimes altered the composition of the officer corps or permitted officers to change their branch assignments. In 1910, for example, the government increased the number of positions for majors and lieutenant colonels. Obviously, this compromise failed because the minister of war subsequently allocated four vacancies, originally set aside for the infantry, to the cavalry. This shifting of slots from one branch to another, one writer noted, "violated the law" solely to satisfy the personal ambitions of a few at the cost of dividing the officer corps. This solution proved a short-term fix that resulted in "a general stagnation in the officer corps, and those who are the most capable, those who should succeed the men who spent their life in the service, remain stuck in lower ranks for ten, fifteen, or more years." With seniority the most important qualification, the promotion process became paralyzed. Older officers, fearful of trying to live on an inflation-eroded pension, remained "on active duty," one deputy lamented, "even if they are gaga."62 The army compounded this problem by neglecting to train officers after they graduated from the Escuela Militar. The military, for example, did not organize the engineer and the cavalry schools until 1902 and 1903, respectively. The Escuela de Artilleria did not begin to function until nine years after its founding in 1912; an infantry school did not open until 1924. The result was an inadequately prepared officer corps. Units tried to augment the officers' education with lectures, conferences, tactical trips, and field training. But for a variety of reasons years passed before officers gained any needed practical experience, which could only come from participating in large-unit field exercises.63 Even the vaunted Academia de Guerra failed to live up to its expectations. The institution opened in 1887 with a small staff in rented quarters. The original regulations called for thirty studentsfourteen infantrymen, eight gunners, six cavalrymen, and two sappersbut, in fact, only seventeen matriculated, two of whom did not finish. During the 1891 Civil War,

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which forced the Academy of War's closure, its graduates served both sides, although a majorityfourteen from the class of 1887 and ten of the 1890 contingentremained Balmacedistas. This loyalty caused difficulties for the postrevolutionary army: it could hardly permit former enemies to staff the highest echelons. Conversely, it could ill afford to lose such highly trained men. As it pondered what to do (eventually, some of the former rebels did return) the Academia reopened in 1892. The initial experience proved disappointing. A third of the students of the 189293 cohort failed. The inability to complete the course, however, did not always end the unlucky candidates' careers. Nor apparently, did it limit their opportunities. One of those found academically deficient, Roberto Dávila, later became a general. The Academy of War seemed to enjoy a rather checkered existence. It became a kind of academic nomad, moving from rented house to rented house before finally settling in yet another leased property on Santiago's Avenida de la capital. The Academia's admission criteria changed almost as much as its address. Sometimes it accepted majors before it decided to limit slots to company-grade officers on the premise that more senior men were too old to profit from the classroom experience. Apparently the rules were flexible: although prohibited, the occasional young major still managed to find a place. Unlike the Germans, matriculation at the Chilean Academy of War did not always guarantee graduation. Sometimes the students performed indifferently. Over 40 percent of one class, for example, failed to finish the course. Though that contingent might have been an anomaly, approximately 21 percent of all those entering the Academia between 1892 and 1920 did not graduate in the requisite time. (Failure to finish was not always the result of academic deficiencies. Officers did receive orders for overseas assignments, and sometimes they returned to complete the course.) The high attrition rate must have bewildered the Germans, for whom graduation from the Kriegsakademie was a precondition for promotion to the higher ranks. Apparently the Chilean army did not share this opinion. In 1910, more than twenty years after the Academy of War's opening, a minority of the army's most senior officers, and none of the generals, had attended the Academia. Perhaps education did not matter. Just as there seems to be no correlation between high rank and attendance at the Academy of War, academic achievement did not seem to guarantee success either. Initially, the Academia urged special promotions for the distinguished graduates of each course. But though some of the best students did receive postings to the General Staff, so did others of lesser merit. Similarly, if some

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of the school's most distinguished graduates served in Germany, so did men of lesser academic achievement. Various officers recognized the Academy's flaws. Among these was the fact that it sometimes lacked enough professors. But, as one general observed, Chile, like Prussia before it, needed time before the school would function efficiently. In early 1914, the Academia nationalized its faculty. Henceforth, both the director and subdirector had to have graduated from the Academy. And, eventually, to become "self-sufficient in the matter of military instruction" the army hoped to replace all its German instructors. At the same time, however, the Academia admitted that few of the Chilean military faculty had either mastered the material they had to teach or possessed the skills needed to impart it. But after August 1914 the Chilean army had no choice: the outbreak of the First World War forced all the Germans to return home. 64 The Academy of War underwent another sea change in 1914. The new regulations called for most of the students to spend two years at the Academia. Upon graduation, they would return to their units where they would educate more junior officers, "contributing thus to raising the level of military instruction in the army."65 A group of six, however, would remain for an additional year, and only they would serve on the General Staff. Henceforth, the Academia de Guerra, besides training men for the General Staff, had to provide officers with their first dose of formal education since their graduation from the Escuela Militar. This change should not come as a surprise since, with the exception of the cavalry school, the army had failed to foster specialized training institutes. The attempts to revive the Academia de Guerra as well as other steps could not overcome decades of favoritism, lack of stability, inadequate staffing, and poor training. A newspaper lamented that the minister of war should ensure that the generals could lead their troops and set an "example of strength, activity, and initiative that is required of the high command." Officers could not direct battle from "a litter." Apparently the minister failed: in 1917 retired general Tobías Barros Merino remarked that few of the army's sixteen generals "are capable of going into the field," and the number of "officers who could command troops could be generously counted on the fingers of one hand."66 The Lower Orders Problems also appeared lower down the army's pecking order among the private soldiers. The reasons for their reluctance to join the regular army

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were not difficult to discover: poor food, poor pay, and poor living conditions repelled all but the most unemployable. Besides, military service became increasingly onerous. Soldiers no longer had to guard only the frontier but were now also compelled to maintain order within the country. Not surprisingly, few Chilean men wished to endure the hardships of military life, let alone face the prospect of turning their weapons on their fellow countrymen. The government tried to entice recruits by offering a bonus, but it was too paltry to attract anyone of value. Many of those who did enlist deserted, taking their equipment and their enlistment bonuses with them. Even seasoned regulars bolted, including students at the elite NCO school, because they were attracted by the higher civilian wages and better living conditions. A large number of those who deserted in the north generally fled to the salitreras, both to work and to hide among the teeming masses of the nitrate pampa, where the army's attempts to recapture these feckless soldiers often provoked strikes, if not "uprisings." 67 The noncommissioned ranks became as threadbare as those of the officers who commanded them, and for the same reasons. Sergeants and corporals hesitated to reenlist because of the wretched pay; a common laborer earned more in a month than a sergeant first class. Moreover, unlike the NCO, the peon sometimes ate better and certainly enjoyed more freedom than his military counterpart. The result was that units in the south and north sometimes lacked between 25 and 50 percent of the required NCOs. In 1912 the army had only 55 percent of the noncoms it needed. It did create a NCO school but, like its officer counterpart, this institution failed to provide the needed manpower. An officer observed that the graduate of the NCO school often resigned because service with the line units was so wretched. The government closed the school in 1917, supposedly to save money, but, if we believe one newspaper, politics may also have played a role in this decision. In an attempt to retain these men, Marcial Urrutia called for Santiago to provide a civil service position to each NCO on his discharge from the army, just as Berlin had done. Obviously this suggestion failed to stanch the flood of early retirements. In 1920, one senator calculated that some 102 of First Division's NCOs had quit because of the poor pay and warned that another 150 would not reenlist unless their salaries increased. Enrique Mac-Iver dismissed such allegations. Chile's military budget had doubled since 1917, and what was the result?: "Do we have more of an army, do we have more elements of war, do we have more fortifications, do we have greater security for the international peace of the nation? No, Mr. President. What we have are greater costs and nothing more."68 As we noted earlier, General Körner's decision to expand the number of

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combat units and found new technical services aggravated the army's manpower problems. Staffing the newly created Seventh and Eighth Artillery Regiments, for example, required additional officers and eight hundred NCOs, men who simply did not exist. Thus, rather than being a source of joy, the formation of new units caused havoc. In order to become organized, for example, the O'Higgins Infantry Regiment had to cannibalize ten men from other regiments. The result was units with too few troops to man their weapons. Third Division's artillery units, for example, lacked gun crews. When First Division went on maneuvers, it could only field two full-strength battalions. 69 Updating or adopting equipment caused manpower difficulties as well. The army created two machine gun companies in 1906. By 1912 its table of organization called for the infantry to have some sixteen machine gun companies; in fact, the military had only platoons. The new 7.5cm Krupp field piece, for example, required more time to master than the recruits had months to serve. Worse, the technical units, such as the railroad, engineering, or signal corps, carped that they needed more time to teach barely literate conscripts how to run trains and send messages. Although they never received it, at least they convinced the high command to send the most literate draftees to the signal and railroad battalions.70 The lack of trained leaders, both commissioned and enlisted, crippled the army's efficiency. The cadres had to devote most of their energy to inculcating the basic military and educational skills in men for whom wearing underwear, in the words of Tobías Barros, was a cultural milestone. Poor weather, outbreaks of labor violence or civil unrest, and natural disasters like the 1906 earthquake absorbed limited training time. Just preparing for the annual Independence Day parade consumed two weeks of the recruits' training cycle. The result was that the conscript rarely mastered more technical skills, such as firing an artillery piece, while their superiors' already limited expertise in these areas atrophied. Some artillery officers, for example, did not know how to use their new weapons; infantry leaders could not find their way on the maps.71 As budgets became smaller, so did the opportunity for the army to practice, thus depriving its officers of practical experience, particularly in large-unit exercises. This lack of opportunity, of course, is what caused the problems during the 1920 mobilization. In his heart of hearts, Körner must have recognized that his manpower reforms had largely failed. By adopting a fourdivision system, which looked impressive on paper, he had stretched the Chilean army's administrative structure, material resources, and officer corps beyond their limits. Körner's ideal, of course, had been the recent reorganization of the German army by

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twos: two divisions to an army corps, two brigades to a division, and two regiments to a brigade. The core of that army was the mixed-arms division. Its four regiments, each of slightly more than 3,000 soldiers, boasted three battalions made up of four companies of 250 men each. Thus, a German company corresponded to the paper strength of a Chilean battalion. A German regiment with 3,000 soldiers numerically dwarfed its Chilean counterpart of 480 to 600. Each German division with an artillery brigade of seventy-two tubes was almost equal to the Chilean army's entire arsenal of eighty guns. Put differently, whereas each German artillery regiment had thirty-six guns, its Chilean counterpart had but sixteen. Just before the outbreak of war in 1914, each German division added a thirteenth company with six Maxim machine guns. The Reich maintained an active corps of 29,000 officers to administer, train, and lead a force of 800,000 regular army soldierscompared to about 5,500 in Chile. Not unreasonably, a newspaper commented, "Straw and painted paper, that is today's army with its bombastic nomenclature of divisions, brigades, with more resonant designations than those of two years earlier, but with much less life, less strength in its anemic units." It concluded that the existing Chilean army "is a blueprint of the German military organization that we have neglected to complete." 72 Körner's changes might have worked if the quality of the Chilean draftee were better, if Chileans obeyed the conscription law, and if the government provided the funds to mobilize its reserve components annually. But these things never happened. Don Emilio's attempts at altering the Escuela Militar and creating a War Academy misfired. Fundamentally, by creating a series of undermanned, skeletal units, Körner spread the regular army so thinly that it "exist [ed] in name only," a military that could neither function in peacetime because it lacked the trained cadre, both commissioned and noncommissioned, nor in an emergency because it could not mobilize its reserves. If war erupted, captains would command battalions and sergeants companies. As Gen. José María Bari concluded, "The present organization of the units that form the four divisions is completely defective to fulfill its wartime objective." The Chilean army, he ended, "is a pale image of the German military organization."73 Material Deficiencies Körner's plan aborted in other areas as well. Enlisted men might carp about the food and quarters, but their officers complained about insufficient funding. Although the armed forces consumed at least 10 percent of the nation's annual budget, this sum apparently never satisfied the military's

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Page 118 Table 3 Chilean Military's Share of Annual Budgets (in pesos of 18 pence) Year 1892 1893 1894 1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905

Budget 8,385,859 9,055,367 5,346,200 21,820,098 17,621,410 11,496,024 29,759,070 12,530,889 11,167,833 14,818,765 17,791,420 11,543,834 19,925,751 10,114,365

% 12.4 18.2 11.0 29.4 17.2 16.0 33.3 15.2 12.0 14.3 17.3 12.7 18.1 9.7

Year 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 1918 1919 1920

Budget 13,506,579 12,632,233 12,363,828 15,426,651 20,513,652 20,093,619 25,281,351 25,654,285 21,537,318 19,651,233 23,168,793 32,561,247 37,515,510 28,000,000 47,900,000

% 11.3 10.5 11.5 12.3 12.6 13.2 13.6 15.5 14.0 14.9 15.4 17.7 16.9 15.3 18.4

Sources: Data from MG, Resumen de la hacienda pública desde 1833 hasta 1914 (London, n.d.), Sinopsis estadística de la República de Chile. needs (see table 3). The problem became more pressing in 1910 when the army's equipment began to show the effects of time and overuse. Infantry units complained about rifles malfunctioning; the army possessed too few machine guns. To overcome this deficit and to modernize its weapons, in 191112 the army launched an ambitious rearmament program. The onset of the First World War, of course, aborted any plans. Chile could not obtain material to fabricate uniforms, let alone weapons. By 1919, when because of age the need for new equipment became particularly acute, the economy could not sustain the rearmament program: the postwar collapse of the nitrate market devastated the Chilean treasury, reducing its capacity to purchase new weapons.

In addition to financial resources, the army needed clarity of purpose. The Chilean military concentrated almost exclusively on maintaining the strength of its combat units. The army's engineering corps consisted of but four battalions, each assigned to one of the nation's military divisions. Invariably understaffed, they suffered from the fact that the enlisted conscripts lacked the training to perform their job. Worse, the units had little equipment and suffered from the usual myopia: engineering troops in the north-

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ern desert were entrusted with the task of mastering the art of bridge building in an area with few rivers. Similar problems would afflict the signal and railroad battalions. Military Medicine Equipment deficiencies, however, proved ludicrous when compared to the problems of providing medical care. Traditionally, Chile's army had no medical corps. Units in the south had to make do on their own, and elements stationed in cities generally used civilian institutions. The military only organized its own medical service after the onset of the War of the Pacific, and this organization was staffed and supplied largely by civilian physicians and charities. Once the war ended, the army returned to relying on the uncertain charity of strangers to care for its ill. Charity, of course, could go only so far. Periodic outbreaks of smallpox, typhoid, and even bubonic plague ravaged the troops. 74 Many of these health problems could be attributed to the soldiers' barracks, which had become incubators of disease: men sleeping on the floor or sharing a vermin-infested bed; living quarters without access to plumbing, bathing facilities, or even potable water; dining facilities located next to privies or stables or, in some cases, both. The American military attaché to Chile observed, "It is impossible to overdraw the conditions which exist in these cuartels [sic] in the north. They are conditions from which the American soldier would seek refuge in desertion, and I am inclined to believe that few officers of our service could maintain discipline or a sense of duty in such surroundings."75 The litany of complaints droned on, to no effect. As the minister of war reported, "Today [in 1921] it is as true as it was in earlier years. There is but one barracks that merits that name."76 Theoretically, the military first established a medical corps in June 1889, but, in fact, almost two decades elapsed before it was actually organized and functioning. Initially, the physicians were civilians contracted to work for the army. Doctors did not become part of the army's officer corps until 1912. A year later, a dental corps was founded, but its members were civilians. The budget cuts dictated by the onset of the First World War, which forced a 20 percent reduction in the medical service budget for medications, also abolished the dental service.77 By 1902 the medical corps consisted of forty-one doctors scattered over five military zones, encompassing three thousand miles, and caring for approximately seventeen thousand men. Starting in 1909, physicians began participating in war games. Not surprisingly, many units, particularly those

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stationed in remote areas, still did not have access to a military surgeon. Even regiments like the Temuco and Lautaro, which did include a physician, had to choose between having their doctor accompany them on maneuvers or having him remain in garrison to staff the unit's hospital. With ample reason, the head of the putative medical corps stated, "there is properly speaking no military medical service in our army." 78 Given the military's niggardly salaries, the lack of support, and the dismal career prospects, few doctors seemed willing to serve as military surgeons. Because the army refused to hire additional physicians to care for the increased contingents of draftees, the military's expansion merely taxed already inadequate medical resources. In 1918 the medical staff numbered but thirty-eight physicians, fewer than a decade before, who had to care for approximately twenty thousand officers and men. Some talked about drafting medical students or denying them a license to practice unless they served in the military, but these proposals, like so many others, remained talk.79 Since the army lacked physicians, it should come as no shock that it also lacked facilities to treat men who required hospitalization. Indeed, the military did not begin to establish infirmaries on the unit level until the late nineteenth century. Generally, these were filthy, poorly ventilated makeshift facilities, often located alongside the local mess hall, kitchen, or stables, that did not segregate the contagious from the physically injured or from the general barracks population. Because the army's Hospital Militar did not open until well into the twentieth century, sick soldiers still had to seek a local civilian doctor or hospital for the treatment of serious diseases. And if the local hospital had no funds, as occurred in Tacna, it simply refused to treat the servicemen.80 The paucity of medical personnel included an absence of professionally trained nurses and field medics. The army did not publish information for the training of medics or the regulation of their activities until 1910. The lack of medical personnel proved crucial. Apparently, officers selected the least qualified for these positions. During maneuvers, division commanders impressed members of supply companies, and sometimes bandsmen, into service as stretcher bearers and corpsmen. Often untrained and utilizing obsolete equipment, including some left over from the War of the Pacific, they could provide only the most rudimentary aid. Eventually, division commanders began assembling medical units by using musicians and auxiliaries. These, however, remained at best makeshift solutions. A 1912 Memoria de Guerra called for the creation of a professional corps, staffed by competent and dedicated medics, and the purchase of new ambulances, equipment, personal supplies, and disinfectants.81

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In 1898 the government did, in fact, purchase a large supply of medicines and medical equipment to meet the Argentine war scare. And although it was logical that the army would run out of medicine and that the ambulances and instruments would deteriorate, the Moneda rarely replenished its medical larder. By 1914 Fourth Division had only a limited amount of medicine available. A year later, the army had but one of its authorized thirty-two ambulances. Some units began purchasing medical supplies with money they had saved by economizing on rations. Commanders also complained about the lack of ambulances, stretchers, and medical instruments. In 1915 the army's units went into the field not only without physicians but without such basic items as aspirin and iodine. 82 This problem did not disappear even with the return of peace. During don Ladislao's War, the army had to buy medicine on the open market because it had none stored. Similarly, it had to hire civilian physicians. ''During the course of the entire mobilization," noted the minister of war (not don Ladislao), "reservists of all classes and social condition were . . . exposed to the region's endemic illnesses . . . without having within reach the defensive means of a good sanitary service that could protect them." The Second Division, located in Chile's heartland, complained in 1921 that it lacked "all types of transport and medicines necessary for training and the functioning of that service in the field."83 Venereal disease emerged as one of the military's perennial problems. Certainly, Chile's army seemed to have the reputation as one of the world's most poxed organizations. The commander of an engineer company begged Talca's municipal officials to close down the nearby brothels because so many of his men had contracted social diseases. One newspaper urged the army to form a military counterpart to the Liga de Higiene Social to fight the spread of the pox and the army's other affliction, alcoholism, which affected both "the vitality and tranquillity of the republic." Eventually, the army sent Dr. Ramón Vergara to Europe to study how to prevent and treat venereal disease. Clearly, he did not succeed. As one senior officer noted in a 1924 lecture delivered to the General Staff, "at times, the purchase of large quantities of neosalvarsan can have as much importance as the acquisition of war matériel, from the point of view in which military and social interests are mixed."84 Medical care never became one of the army's priorities. Indeed, year after year, the putative medical service begged not only for more medicine but also ambulances, stretchers, supplies, and instruments. Just as it would in other areas, the army relied on, even expected, the civilian sector to augment its efforts.

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Supply Problems Although not as lethal, a lack of material also plagued the nation's armed forces. Historically, the Chilean army did not possess a professional supply corps. Instead, it relied on civilian provisioners to supply the food, which the men or their camp followers prepared, or cater cooked meals. The War of the Pacific, which involved thousands of men, forced the army to assume the responsibility of provisioning its troops. But, once the conflict ended, the military dismantled the supply corps, returning to the status quo ante bellum. What eventually became the quartermaster corps sprang from a decree issued by the Congressional forces during the 1891 Revolution. In March 1891, the rebel high command, perhaps at the behest of General Körner, organized the Intendencia Jeneral de Ejército, entrusting it with the responsibility of equipping and feeding the insurgents. But the new supply corps, which survived the revolution, still retained the sutlers. It quickly became clear that the Intendencia seemed incapable of overseeing the army's supply requirements. It could not root out the apparently endemic economic abuse inherent in the provisioning system. Moreover, it failed to satisfy the needs of the eighty thousand National Guard troops mobilized during an 1898 war scare, a debacle that one critic blamed on a supply "organization that was inadequate for the normal needs of the army." An 1898 collapse of the peso, which drove some provisioners into bankruptcy, finally forced the army not only to assume direct responsibility for feeding the men but compelled it to consider an alternative. Thus, in 1898, the army created the Intendencia e Comisario Jeneral. 85 The new agency could not cure the old problems. Officers still denounced sutlers, calling them unreliable and accusing them of price gouging. Inflation compromised the quartermaster's mission. Although the army periodically adjusted its per diem allocation for rations, it never matched, centavo for centavo, the real rise in the cost of living.86 Hence, it had to face not merely the problem of supply but of funding. The military tried to compensate for higher food prices by reducing the troops' rations of sugar, substituting bread for meat, and even sending men home so it would not have to pay for their food. But these were clearly stopgap measures. When unexpectedly poor harvests led some sutlers to demand more money, it again called into question whether the army should continue to rely on provisioners or assume the job of feeding the troops.87 Fundamentally, the issue involved a clash between the reformers and the

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advocates of the "laissez faire" army. The former wanted the army, either on an individual unit basis or as a whole, to assume this chore, and the latter accepted the notion that civilians should wag the logistical tail of the military dog. The reformers, who agreed that the sutler system forced the army to depend on dishonest and unreliable civilians, split into two camps. Some advocated permitting individual units to provision themselves. Their opponents characterized this alternative as wasteful and a "violent throwback to the past, toward the military administration of the Middle Ages," when armies lived off the land. The time had come, these forces argued, for the army to create a proper quartermaster corps, one staffed by trained supply officers, which would be independent of division commanders and responsible solely to the all-powerful General Staff. In short, it was a choice between creating a highly centralized bureaucracy and permitting individual units to feed and clothe themselves. Unfortunately, the Intendencia seemed incapable of fulfilling a nationwide supply mission. Even its director loathed the organization he commanded, complaining about its inadequate and ill-trained staff, its lack of direction, and the fact that it seemed "without relation either to the interests or the needs of the institution it is called upon to serve or finance." 88 Whether his judgment carried much weight is debatable, but in 1902 the military replaced the Intendencia with the Departamento de Administración, which would act as a finance as well as a supply corps. In 1906 the army restructured the Departamento by establishing its first supply company, the Compañía de Tren, which it stationed in Limache. By 1909 the military had organized a total of four supply companies, assigning one to each of the army's four divisions. With their personnel drawn, initially at least, from the combat branches, the units were not trained quartermasters. Men from the Húsares and various infantry units, for example, composed the bulk of the Fourth Supply Company. None of the unit commanders had received training in logistics. These companies, moreover, not only had to provide food but also transport and medical assistance. Neither the Departamento de Administración nor the Compañías de Tren fulfilled their missions. In fairness, few organizations couldcertainly not the overworked, understaffed, and under-equipped supply units, "relegated . . . to second place" and saddled with the responsibility of providing transport, medical care, and food. Faced with the alternative of retaining sutlers, permitting individual units to feed themselves, or having the Departmento assume control, the Chilean army fol-

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lowed Jorge Luis Borges's "The Garden of Forking Paths" by doing all three. Units in Second Division, for example, bought food locally, an experiment that proved successful and economical. (The system had built-in incentives: a division could use the money that it saved on rations to improve the barracks' sanitary facilities, purchase extra equipment, or even fund social events; another improved its equipment.) Local control had the advantage of allowing for some innovation in time of need. Faced with higher prices and reduced funding, some units raised cattle in their barracks or baked their own bread; others tried to economize by buying wholesale lots of produce. The Second Division seemed to be the most motivated. It not only fed itself but established a slaughterhouse and bakeries. 89 Unfortunately, no uniform supply policy developed even within a division, let alone for the entire army. Depending on their location, elements of the First Division used both sutlers and their own resources to purchase food. Sometimes, hybrids appeared. During the 1915 maneuvers, sutlers provided rations to depots organized by Third and Fourth Divisions, which then distributed them to individual units.90 Eventually, the problem of supply proved overwhelming. Units that tried to feed themselves had to overcome numerous obstacles. For example, inflation eroded the value of the army's food ration. Prices sometimes rose 50 percent in one year; the government failed to remit the funds in a timely manner. (Officers occasionally had to borrow money from banks to pay the troops or feed them.) The lack of warehouses and personnel limited units' ability to store and distribute what they might have purchased. Even when units had storage facilities, they sometimes did not possess transport. During the 1915 maneuvers, for example, the army discovered that its railroad battalion could not move food from its depots to the troops in the field. In the end, it had to use the state railroad and civilian labor to fulfill the battalion's mission.91 Thus, by 1921, the army had abandoned the experiments and returned to the old system of relying on the provisioners. The defenders of the status quo still argued that the sutlers served a useful function. By assuming the chore of providing a certain quality food at a guaranteed price, they permitted an overburdened army personnel to develop its military skills. Were it not for the sutler, the officersmen trained to be warriorswould be relegated to mere grocers. These arguments may have provided little solace to Third Division when a civilian provisioner, a Señor José Luis Ortega, abandoned his contractual obligations because "it suited him."92 Some argued that this "bad, wrong, [and] immoral" system of provisioning continued because of greed. A cabal of privileged provisioners, acting in

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concert with the bureaucrats in the Departamento de Administración, had created a monopoly that rigged the bidding on army supply contracts. Following the disastrous 1920 mobilization, the matter even became an issue for congressional debate, but to no avail: it remained embedded in the Chilean army. Thus, although some officers still called for the creation of a German-style supply system, one that would train supply personnel as well as provide rations, it never came to pass. Despite valid perceptions that dependence on sutlers prevented the army from fulfilling its basic responsibilities "in time of war," that "wretched system of provisioning"the ubiquitous sutlersurvived. 93 Clothing the men proved almost as vexing as feeding them. In an attempt to foment local industry and provide civilian employment, the army began to purchase domestically made uniforms. Adopting this policy, which created some fourteen thousand jobs, served the civilian sector's needs better than those of the armed forces. Invariably, units received ill-fitting, poorly finished uniforms, imperfectly closed by misaligned button holes and manufactured from material that quickly lost its color and could neither survive the rigors of the field nor the military's voracious laundries. Sizes were so small that shirts split, and cavalrymen dared not mount their horses before mixed company. The army also established factories to produce shoes, uniforms, and such items as underwear. Their products often fell apart.94 Although split pants and rent shirts caused aesthetic difficulties, shoes threatened to inflict serious injuries. Manufactured by prison inmates, who apparently still harbored a grievance against society, the army's boots were according to one source "completely contrary to the shape of the human foot," maiming those poor unfortunates forced to wear them. A few attributed these deficiencies not to the disgruntled convicts but to the shape of the soldiers' feet, supposedly the product of Indian genes, as well as the impact of Chile's land, which made it impossible for a soldier's foot to fit comfortably into a European-style shoe. A more likely cause of the difficulty was that the supply sergeants either issued boots without measuring the soldier's feet or allowed the recruits to select their own.95 Eventually, the state stopped using prison labor and ordered zone commanders to purchase shoes in each military district. This solution seemingly resolved the problem, although complaints still abounded that the boots never lasted as long as the army claimed or demanded. The problems did not lie exclusively in the manufacturing process. The army's high command designed uniforms that, while perfect for Germany, could not satisfy the requirements of the troops serving in Chile's arid north and humid south. And, as often occurs in most armies, summer uniforms

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arrived just in time for winter, not to be replaced by warmer clothes until the onset of summer. Finally, even if the uniforms were appropriate to the season, units did not receive them in sufficient numbers, so men sometimes wore a strictly nonregulation assortment of mismatched clothing. 96 It might be noted that by 1913 the Prussian army's clothing depot produced three thousand pairs of boots per day. Since the high command rarely issued enough uniforms to meet the normal needs of regular army units, it should come as no shock that it rarely took into account the reservists when it came to supply. It became clear that the military would encounter severe problems in case of mobilization. As early as 1903 the Memoria de Guerra noted that "Neither the ex-Intendant General of the Army nor the present Departamento de Administración has obtained the means necessary to organize convoys in case of mobilization." Even after the problems with Argentina abated, the minister of war doubted that they ever would have such means. His remarks proved prophetic. The 1910 centenary, as noted earlier, strained an already fragile supply system almost to the breaking point.97 And the Memorias of 1911, 1915, and 1917 warned that unless the military paid attention to acquiring needed equipment and weapons as well as stockpiling these in regional depots, mobilization would prove a difficult experience, a prediction that don Ladislao's War validated. Units suffered from other vexing shortages: rotting webbing gear as well as too few cots, blankets, mattresses, pillows, knapsacks, tents, canteens, and towels. Some sections had but half of their eating utensils, making one wonder how men ate. These problems continued to bedevil the army which, with the post-1910 onset of bad economic times, became worse.98 War Matériel and Weapons The army had more severe afflictions than ill-fitting uniforms, tight shoes, and too few beds. As late as 1898, the military's arsenals contained at least seven types of rifles, some of them, like the old Miniés, not just worthless but lethal relics of earlier conflicts. Despite their age, the army attempted to use some of the weapons, occasionally with disastrous results. Soldiers firing the old Gras rifles, for example, had them explode in their face. And although the Austrian Mannlichers had served the Congressionalists well, at Körner's urging the government either palmed them off on the local police units or replaced them with, of course, the German Mauser.99 The military also needed heavier weapons. Unlike its small arms, the army purchased all of its artillery from the house of Krupp. But perhaps be-

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cause the government obtained this material piecemeal, its gunners manned nine different models of three different caliber field guns and howitzers. And since the army's tacticians had initially expected to fight a mountain war, the ratio of mountain artillery to field guns was disproportionately high. The new generation of officers subsequently urged the high command to henceforth purchase two Krupp 7.5cm field pieces for each mountain gun it would acquire; howitzers should compose but 10 percent of the artillery's arsenal. 100 Perhaps recalling its difficulty in procuring arms in an emergency, the government obtained equipment to manufacture ammunition for its small arms, artillery, and later its newly acquired machine guns. The project was hampered by the destruction of Santiago's arms factory: in 1894 the powder magazines blew up, not a surprise given the poor security and the fact that the depot used kerosene lamps for illumination. Nevertheless, the project eventually proved successful. By 1899 the German machines, working under the supervision of a German technician, daily fabricated some 150,000 rounds of Mauser ammunition as well as artillery shells. Some of this ammunition sometimes tended to misfire, and the facility, moreover, could not manufacture certain spare parts for the Mausers.101 Although it was a cause for pride, the arsenal could not sate the army's voracious appetite. Not just the infantry but the artillery lamented that they lacked sufficient ammunition for target practice. Other problems surfaced. By 1912 units complained that the ammunition manufactured in 1896 and 1898 had started to misfire. (This may have been more a result of age or faulty storage than because of a flaw in the manufacturing process.)102 The weapons also began to malfunction. As early as 1904 the Húsares and Chacabuco and later the O'Higgins, Caupolicán, Carampangue, and Rancagua complained about defective small arms.103 Clearly the army did not respond to this problem because Second Division reported that its rifles were so old they had become as dangerous to the men firing them as to any potential adversary. Even infantry regiments, which more than any relied on their small arms, encountered problems.104 The cause of the various complaints was diverse: carbonized barrels or poor maintenance which were due to a lack of trained ordnance personnel, cleaning equipment, or tools. Whatever the reason, some infantry units could not hold target practice, and, predictably, they called for a "total change of weapons." Obviously, this did not occur because three years later half of the Llanquihue's rifles still required repairs. The machine gun units also suffered: only 75 percent of the Chacabuco and the Chillán machine guns operated properly.105

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Nor did the artillery escape. Overuse and age effectively spiked the guns of the artillery regiments Arica, Miraflores, Chorillos, Borgoño, and Aldunate. The artillery batteries of Fourth Division begged to replace their 1895 Krupps with a newer model but to no avail. Some suggested retrofitting these weapons, but others argued that it might be cheaper to buy new guns than to try to mend the old. Beginning in 1910 the army replaced these weapons with the more modern Krupp models. As we shall see, however, this decision proved quite controversial, and even these newer weapons suffered from substantial flaws. 106 Transportation Ironically, even if the army had repaired or replaced all of its defective weaponry, it still did not have enough horses or mules to transport the artillery and the men who fired them into battle. Miraflores's howitzer units could not take the field because they lacked the horses to pull their guns; field kitchens could not accompany the troops on maneuvers. Units like the Llanquihue and Chorillos reported that at least 40 to 50 percent of their mounts were useless. As a result, sometimes two to three men shared a horse. Often mounted troops became "dismounted cavalry," in other words, infantry. The creation of new cavalry units, such as the Seventh Regiment, and the formation of horse-drawn field artillery overtaxed already limited resources. Eventually a pecking order developed for receiving horses: the cavalry, not surprisingly, got the cream of the skim milk, the engineers the whey. The Velásquez, for example, received cast-off mounts of units stationed in the south.107 Procuring additional mounts and draft animals would not resolve the Chilean army's problems, which were poor stable conditions, a lack of blacksmiths and veterinarians, and overwork that literally ran the horses into the ground. (The army did not establish a course for blacksmiths until 1903.) Not surprisingly, one unit noted that 60 percent of its horses were either useless or of limited use. Defective or overage riding tackleharnesses, bridles, and saddlesaggravated the problem. One wonders what the supposedly dedicated and superbly trained German instructors, who had all graduated from the Hanoverian cavalry and blacksmithing schools, were doing. We will see that their apparent malfeasance was not an isolated incident. The military attempted to rectify the shortage first by buying horses on the open market and then by establishing a stud farm on the island of La Mocha. The latter program failed because the island lacked the natural

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resources to feed the horses and proved too difficult to reach. Some advocated that the government foment the raising of horses by taxing foreign competition, setting prices for domestic producers, and overseeing regional production. In the interim, the military had to go to the open market to purchase new mounts. This became an increasingly expensive policy when Peru, Santiago's perpetual enemy, began purchasing horses in Chile. 108 Thus the scarcity of animals remained acute. In 1916 the army stated that it needed over three thousand steeds. One officer calculated that if the government wished to put the entire army into the field it would have to requisition almost half the mules in Chile. He did offer an alternative: using more carts would reduce the number of pack animals. Regrettably, the army did not have enough of these. Its inventory consisted of a mélange of two-and fourwheel vehicles, many ideally suited for German, but not Chilean, roads. Faced with these problems, units either restricted their activitiesincluding not holding maneuversor, as in the case of provisioning the men, leased animals or hired private companies to transport their equipment. Indeed, in 1919 the army even admitted that it planned to use the civilian sector to provide livestock in case of emergencies.109 Rafael Poblete, who ironically would die in an automobile accident, urged the army to replace horses with motorized vehicles. He admitted, however, that even if Chile obtained the needed trucks, they could not traverse the country's wretched roads.110 Given the economic situation, moreover, there seemed little possibility that the army could purchase these items. This lack of vehicles continued to plague the army. Repeatedly, Chilean officers regretted their inability to organize transport during maneuvers. In the event of a real emergency, various officers shared El Mercurio's fears that "the absolute lack of elements of transport or equipment . . . might cause worse consequences." To remedy this deficiency, some suggested that the military consider requisitioning, à la Gen. Joseph Gallieni, the nation's cars as well as its horses. In peacetime, the army reacted to its transport problem as it had to its provisioning problem: unable to move its equipment easily, Third Division, for example, simply rented vehicles and mounts from the civilian sector.111 Although the military saw the railway units as serving both the army and the state, particularly in the event of a railroad strike, this branch remained the army department's orphans. They rarely participated in maneuvers with the combat arms, perhaps in part because they lacked rails, locomotives, and tenders. The high command seemed to delight in sending the least qualified to the most demanding technical posts where they lived in wretched condi-

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tions and without adequate clothing. The rail units, in short, existed in name only and were unable to "practice or undertake work that would permit them to prepare their personnel for such an important job." 112 The first signal unit (operating a combination of telephones and telegraphs) did not appear until 1911. Until then, carrier pigeons, signal flags, bicycles, and heliographs constituted the army's principal means of communication. Indeed, the lack of technical equipment became almost a generic affliction. The artillery and cavalry, which needed telephones to direct artillery fire and relay the results of reconnaissance, had few means for communicating. Years of carping achieved nothing. As one officer observed, "Presently the army does not have sufficient telegraphic or telephonic equipment."113 Sadly, instead of using its scant resources to improve its land forces, in 1913 the army decided to organize an air force. This decision did not produce the desired results. Six years after its inception, the new contingent was described as an "an organization in theory only." In violation of their British instructor's orders, pilots commandeered aircraft, in one case flying across the Andes. Another officer, also on an unauthorized junket, crash-landed his plane in a Santiago park. The aviators' lack of discipline and their nonchalant treatment of their equipment led their British instructor to describe them as "aerial chauffeurs" and prompted an American military attaché to doubt that the air force could "play an effective part . . . [in] any struggle of importance"114 Simply put, Chile's army might appear Teutonic, but it was not. Indeed, most of Körner's reforms misfired. The conscription law failed because no one would obey it; the reserve system failed because the army, the state, or both, neglected to implement laws and allocate funds that would allow for the registration and recall of reservists for training; and the supply system failed, either through greed, a lack of trained personnel or will, or simple inertia. Chile's army had to dedicate so much energy to inculcating basic military and civilian skills that it had little time left for more advanced training. Thus its forces were utterly ill prepared to face an emergency, an allegation amply supported by the 1920 mobilization fiasco. Since the army only belatedly acquired the mandate, equipment, and staff to create and man specialized technical and support units, it continued to depend on the civilian sector to provide medical care, transport, and supplies. Körner's reforms aborted because he had blindly mimicked German institutions without first considering if they were appropriate for Chile. As an officer noted, at one time "it was enough for something to be German" for

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the Chilean army to adopt it. 115 Eventually, some questioned this policy: ''The army is modernized; the German regulations do their job; the new uniforms arrive; the whistle replaces the coronet; the German goose step supplants the quick step; we are brought up to date; a transatlantic breeze passed over our army . . . but was that really a moral evolution or was it only from an aesthetic point of view?"116 Chile, of course, was not Germany, and by slavishly aping all things German it ended up with an institution that did not conform to Chile's social conditions, economic resources, or even its culture. At best, Gen. Emil Körner changed the Chilean army's appearance but not its substance. The Chileans might march with panache, but as two British army officers noted, "the object of it is in danger of being forgotten." Estanislao del Canto, grizzled survivor of the Indian campaigns, the War of the Pacific, and the 1891 Revolution, concurred. The Chilean army, he observed, resembled the czarina of Russia: "very pretty, very elegant" but utterly lacking in vigor.117 Unfortunately, we are not so sure that perfecting the army mattered as much to Körner as mastering what became known as "the art of the deal."

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5 The Art of the Deal In the last chapter we noted that the Chilean army's deficiencies resulted from Emil Körner's misguided attempts at modernization. In this one we will investigate the possible reasons for these mistakes. Logic would dictate that a man possessing such vast military knowledge, experience, and supposed goodwill toward Chile should not have committed so many errors. But he did. Worse, he continued to push for certain changes long after it became clear that they would not work. Conscription is a prime example. Constructing a draftee-based military was the keystone of Körner's new model army. After 1900 inductees were supposed to provide the manpower to staff the reserves and the various units that don Emilio created. Within a few years, however, even Körner recognized that conscription had failed. Yet he still persisted: he instituted additional reforms, culminating in his omnibus 1906 reorganization, even after it became clear that the restructuring would fail because the army lacked the troops to man the new units and the officers to lead them. Logically, don Emilio should have aborted his reorganization and instead perhaps concentrated on building a smallbut well-armed and trained purely professional army. But logic was not the only force at work. Körner desperately wished to demonstrate his devotion to Prussia, the same country that, in all likelihood, would not have permitted him to rise past the rank of captain. Denied the possibility of commanding large contingents of German troops, he served instead as the kaiser's auxiliary vanguard, driving the French army out of Chile just as he had driven it into the Paris garrison during the Franco-Prussian War. Those who opened the door to German weapons, technology, and consumer goods also served the fatherland, although clearly not in as exalted a post as the regular army officer. Körner also had a personal agenda: he would guarantee that his children would not have to

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suffer from the lack of resources that hampered his social and professional advancement. Hence, he would use his position to amass enough money so that he would finally enjoy the same high life as his more aristocratic former brother officers while simultaneously assuring his family's security. The Krupp Connection Körner's victories from the 1891 Civil War opened Chile to an invasion of German military hardware. Within a few months of the Congressionalist triumph, the German house of Vorwerk & Co. became the official Chilean representative of Ludwig Loewe in Berlin, which in 1886 had acquired the rifle and pistol factory of Wilhelm and Peter Paul Mauser at Oberndorf. Through Vorwerk & Co., Loewe began to pressure Chile to buy Mauser rifles. Mauser was not the only company that would pester the Moneda. Germany's most prominent weapons manufacturer, Friedrich Alfred Krupp of Essen, recognized that it had to sell abroad if it were to overcome the dreadful effects of the "Great Depression" of 187890. Thus, he would launch an expansion program that eventually targeted Chile. Krupp, who became famous for running his business like a feudal lord, personally directed his Essen-based empire. Paradoxically, though he ferociously fought any government interference in his activities, Krupp nonetheless expected Berlin to help advance his economic interest. And he did not hesitate to request its assistance if, and when, it would enhance his profit margin. Krupp even used the Foreign Office's honors list to cultivate foreign dignitaries and told the Military Cabinet whom it should invite to the annual kaiser maneuvers. Krupp, however, was modest: the government was not to reveal that it was his company that had suggested the granting of the award or invitation. 1 The Wilhelmstrasse could never do enough for the baron of Essen. Krupp routinely complained that the Reich's envoys, with the notable exception of the ambassador to Chile, Felix Baron von Gutschmid, were "too timid" in pushing his products. Berlin's formally clad diplomats, he lamented, refused to attend gunnery trials, which invariably took place on hot, dusty, and distant firing ranges. Nor did they enthusiastically encourage the government to which they were accredited to buy his weapons. Krupp wisely turned to the army, with whom he shared mutual goals, to further his ends. He would invite to Essen any of those officers who were to be posted abroad in order to brief them about his company's relations with that nation. He also carefully educated them on the nature of his latest weapons. To facilitate their mission, Krupp provided the officers with for-

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mal letters of introduction to its agents. Krupp also developed a complex protocol to cultivate potential customers. The company wined and dined foreign officers and local military attachés. As a later Krupp executive, Maj. Arthur Beckmann recalled, the visits to Essen became a critical part of the firm's sales pitch: "Important foreign delegations are to be picked up at the train station. 2 If need be, [taken] by personal train to Meppen" and housed at the Essener Hof, a first-class hotel. Everything was to be done to placate the visitor: "Gratify" Beckmann instructed, "even the smallest wishes. Much depends on this. Other firms do this as well.'' Krupp literally rolled out the red carpet for those foreigners, such as Körner and Jorge Boonen Rivera, who came to Germany to pick up orders. These buyers received the best of treatment: tours of the Rhine, the Harz Mountains, and Berlin. Chilean officers visited Krupp's mansion, the Villa Hügel at Essen-Bredeney, where they dined on Chilean national dishes and consumed its wine. On such occasions, Chilean flags were flown on the grounds of the mansion and were placed at each setting in the dining hall. The national holiday or the president's birthday were formally recognized, and the national anthem was played whenever appropriate. On one such occasion in 1910, a South American military commission traveled on Krupp's special train from Essen to Königswinter, near Bonn, where they were treated to a spectacular fireworks display and the surrounding hills were illuminated in their honor. The delegation was then sailed down the Rhine to Koblenz and back to dine in Königswinter. The giving of gifts supplemented the trips. "Do not be cheap with gift items. . . . Small presents maintain friendships!" Guns, clocks, china, lamps, swords, and even artillery pieces were frequently handed out. Krupp awarded monetary grants to the victims of natural disasters, such as the 1906 earthquake in Chile, as well as to the widows of foreign government officials who had purchased hardware in Essen. Books, albums, gun and ship models, and published manuals and regulations were frequently distributed to foreign academies and museums.3 However, selling artillery, "the art of the deal" encompassed more than moonlit trips down the Rhine. Once in his velvet clutches, the foreigners were dragooned by Krupp into visiting his firing ranges at Essen, Meppen in Lower Saxony, and Tangerhütte near Magdeburg. The presence of external experts required the firm's approval. Pricing was done solely by Krupp. The Essen giant naturally employed a large sales force. Krupp selected its agents from among civilians of "good but not high status," decent but unobtrusive middlemen. Once abroad, an agent was to nurture contacts with German diplomats, military and naval attachés, and local government

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ministers; to host foreign dignitaries if they visited Essen; to cultivate the press so it could be used to Krupp's advantage; and to report all changes in government and military personnel. Furthermore, they were expected to act with calm and moderation at all times; to attend and report on the results of gunnery practices of Krupp's competitors; to help the Wilhelmstrasse rewrite attaché reports; and to "exploit political tensions" so as to stimulate weapons sales. The agent, moreover, had to become friendly with local military leaders and to use those contacts to ensure that only officers "sympathetic to Krupp" became involved in the purchasing of arms. The agent was also to engage in industrial espionage to discover what the competition planned to do so Krupp could meet the challenge by sending out ''highly competitive equipment." As part of his program to ensure secrecy, an agent who quit Krupp's service immediately had to return all documents, price lists, plans, and materials. 4 Krupp found one such ideal salesman early in 1889. Albert Schinzinger, the Freiburg-born Württemberg Army Lieutenant of Artillery, had attended the Prussian War School at Metz as well as the Artillery School in Berlin. Krupp had first heard of Schinzinger while traveling in Egypt. Following an exhaustive background check conducted by the Prussian army and the German Foreign Office, Krupp had signed Schinzinger to a personal services contract in May 1889. Henceforth, the officer agreed to work "exclusively and solely for the firm of Krupp and to act according to its directives." Reminiscent of the age of feudalism, the contract bound Schinzinger "to further [Krupp's] interests always with vigor and in good conscience and to the best of your abilities." The agent, moreover, had "to observe total silence" in all matters pertaining to Krupp practices, prices, and materials. The contract was to run for ten years at a salary of 6,000 marks per annum (equal to the pay of a major), and it could be renegotiated upward in case of service overseas.5 Schinzinger spent May and June 1889 in Essen, learning Krupp's "art of the deal." Armed with a special "diplomatic pass" procured by Krupp, Schinzinger was enjoined to display "tactful behavior" and to make a "confident impression." He had to familiarize himself with local customs, to learn Spanish, and to "avoid drunkenness." Once overseas, he was to meet military and political leaders as well as the indigenous and German-language press. Newspapers were to be "persuaded" to tout Krupp products and to suppress "unfriendly" reports. "Small gifts can be most helpful here, he was instructed. Additionally, "all wishes of the country in question, including even the smallest," were to be fulfilled. In case Krupp guns were to be displayed or tested, the agent was to make sure that the German ambassador

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or military attaché was present. Chilean war ministers and generals were to be "invited to a lavish breakfast." And if local soldiers were required for the test firing, they were to be "won over with small presents and promised monetary rewards in the event of a successful demonstration." 6 Certain rules were to be followed strictly. "Simple, robust material" was never to be offered overseas because this would create the impression that the agent believed "that a complicated weapons system was beyond the capabilities of the limited intelligence of the people." Foreigners wanted only the most recent and the best; they would later have to learn how to operate it on their own. Single pieces were not to be sold because this would encourage foreigners to study and copy the design. Krupp personnel had to attend the testing of each gun. The firm would not repurchase old matériel or take it as trade-in on new guns. Sales were final and FOB Essen. Spare parts could be sent out "with the agent as personal baggage" so as to "avoid customs and import duties.'' Krupp guns cost more because they included "packaging, freight, insurance, and seasoning of the guns." If need be, Krupp would help place loans with German banks. But if this proved difficult or impossible, the company would help finance the sale against "securities" such as national treasury or customs bonds. Late or nonpayment of such loans resulted in annual finance charges of 5.5 percent. Last but not least, Schinzinger learned that his sales commissions ranged between 1 and 3 percent. In the case of extremely large orders, they might fall by half. The thorny issue of offering bribes (Bakschisch) remained shrouded in secrecy. If Krupp did have to "buy off a potential buyer" Major Beckmann testified, "commissions could climb to 10%."7 Unbeknownst to Schinzinger, his main chance already was close at hand. In late 1888 then President José Manuel Balmaceda decided that Chile needed "100 thousand rifles, . . . 100 cannon, 8,000 sabers, and 5,000 carbines." The only outstanding issue was whether Santiago should buy French or German weapons.8 In fact, Chile did neither: it ultimately purchased the Austrian-made Mannlicher rifle that proved so crucial to the rebel triumph. If the Germans lost out to the Austrians in small arms, they had a chance to recoup the loss by securing a contract to supply Balmaceda with artillery. Krupp had an advantage in that area. In 1872 it sold Santiago twelve 6cm mountain L/21 artillery pieces and four 7.85cm L/25 field guns at a combined cost of 47,660 thaler.9 Somewhat more promisingly, in 1879 the Essen firm had provided four 21cm L/22 coastal defense guns for Valparaíso as well as six 7.5cm mountain L/13 guns and eight L/27 field pieces of the same caliber. The following year, during the War of the Pacific, Krupp won another contract for thirty-two of the L/13 mountain guns. Obviously, the

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Essen company had its foot in the door for any postwar sales, not solely for artillery but also to provide the heavy guns to modernize Chile's coastal defense batteries. Ambassador von Gutschmid at once sensed the magnitude of what was at stake. By April he had already apprised his government that while Balmaceda looked favorably upon Krupp and would welcome its envoy with open arms, the company needed to submit the lowest bid for the Chilean orders. The Foreign Office in Berlin immediately passed the information on to Essen. Gutschmid for all intents and purposes became Krupp's unofficial agent in Chile. In January 1889 the ambassador informed the Wilhelmstrasse that Krupp's main competitor was Col. Charles Ragon de Bange, the designer for Cail et Compagnie, near Paris. De Bange, heavily backed by the Comptoir d'Escompte in the French capital, had recently made a major sale to Serbia. His products were being praised to the heavens and compared favorably to Krupp's by the "Francophiles on the Chilean newspaper El Ferrocarril." It was most regrettable, the envoy cabled Berlin, that the Foreign Office did not take a more active role in the Chilean business since Krupp's old agent, Schuchard, Grisar & Co., seemed unable (or unwilling) to push his interests sufficiently. 10 De Bange was at that very moment shipping two of his 8cm o/77 field guns as well as two mountain pieces to Chile. Apprised at once of Gutschmid's reports, Krupp laid his plans well. He quickly invited Col. Diego Dublé Almeida to come to inspect his artillery at Essen. Next, Krupp put the Chileans off for months on end with petty excuses, such as the desirability of holding the tests in Essen, while using General Körner to feed Santiago literature that favorably compared his products to those of de Bange. In the meantime, Krupp readied both his newest guns and his special agent for service in Chile. At the same time, Krupp turned his attention (and that of the Chileans) to the matter of coastal artillery for Valparaíso. Using to its advantage the good offices of General Körner and Maj. Gustav Betzhold, a Prussian officer and Krupp confidant in charge of harbor defenses, Krupp secured the contract for ten 28cm L/40 coastal guns.11 Although the bids tendered by Schneider-Creuzot in France and Armstrong in Britain had come in under Krupp's price of 3.2 million marks, Krupp won the competition by arranging a loan of 30.6 million marks through the Deutsche Bank and Mendelssohn & Co.12 In September 1889 Krupp and two or three fellow German producers landed another major contract, this one for sixty-two thousand tons of steel rails for the new Chilean railway.13 All the while, de Bange's guns languished in a Santiago warehouse. When he was finally ready, Krupp directed Schinzinger to proceed to

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Chile with two each of the latest models of the 7.5cm field and mountain guns. Henceforth, the agent was accorded the munificent yearly salary of 15,000 marks (the pay of a Prussian major general) as well as expenses for travel, maintenance, and the cost of opening and operating an office in Valparaíso. Krupp instructed the Foreign Office to grant Schinzinger an audience en route to Chile. 14 Obviously, Krupp appreciated that what was at stake was not just the Chilean artillery order but a chance to extend its influence throughout South America. The representante de la Casa F. Krupp found Chile in turmoil upon his arrival. A scurrilous press campaign waged by Krupp's adversaries largely in the Revista Militar, the army's unofficial journal, praised the de Bange gun, thus threatening to frustrate Krupp's plans. On 13 February 1890 Ambassador von Gutschmid secured for Schinzinger an audience with President Balmaceda, who expressed his firm expectation (and that of his war minister, Gen. José Velasquez) that the contract would go to Krupp. After all, Balmaceda reminded Schinzinger, Chile had used its earlier purchase of Krupp guns to good advantage in its war against Peru and Bolivia.15 Still, the president insisted on a competition. Thus, after much wrangling between the French and German embassies it was agreed that the Krupp and de Bange guns should be tested. Having traveled nine thousand kilometers, Schinzinger was determined to land the contract at all cost. On 16 February 1890 he cabled Krupp from Valparaíso, "I have good hopes for our business. I want to kill [totmachen]de Bange once and for all." Not even the last-minute threat of the French ambassador, Henri de Bacourt, that the arms giant Canet might enter the picture deterred Schinzinger: "Have no fear, we will also deal with them."16 Two days later, the Chilean government announced that it would test fire the two 7.5cm Krupp guns, designed and produced in 1889, and the two 8cm de Bange cannons, designed in 1877 and produced in 1889. After yet another month of jockeying for advantage that was highlighted by charges of bribery by both sides, the contest was set to begin at dawn on 1 March 1890 under a "searing sun," raising temperatures "between 88° and 90°" Fahrenheit, on a "brown, bleak, and unattractive field" in an arid valley near Batuco, not far from Santiago.17 It would last for two weeks and prove to be the event of the year. French and German diplomats as well as newspapermen, Chilean ministers and generals, representatives of both armaments firms, and a host of onlookers traveled to the Batuco test grounds. Oftentimes, spectators and roving animals had to be driven from the firing range by warning salvos. Dust and ground fog at times obscured the range.

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The Krupp field gun began the contest, firing at a target that measured four by four meters first at a range of one thousand meters, then fifteen hundred, and finally four thousand meters. Suddenly realizing that the Krupp gun was a newer model, the French ambassador on behalf of de Bange inexplicably threatened to withdraw from the competition. Schinzinger protested to Balmaceda on 4 March; the president ordered de Bange either to compete or to withdraw. On 11 March the tests resumed with the mountain guns firing on "cavalry columns." Each weapon fired twenty shells each at three targets fifteen hundred meters away. Krupp's regular shells scored 357 hits to de Bange's 146; using shrapnel, 662 hits to 251. Two days later the tests began anew. Krupp's field artillery scored 1,639 hits to de Bange's 1,389 with regular shells, and 645 to 97 with shrapnel. On average, Krupp guns fired between three and ten times faster than de Bange's. Even worse, the French gun took sixty-two minutes to fire twenty shrapnels and the German only twenty-four. Disastrously, five of de Bange's first nine shrapnels burst in the tube, with the result that Krupp rested its case after firing only ten rounds. A formal inspection of the guns revealed that the French tubes had developed small tears, and the rough powder burned in the calico cartridge bags badly soiled the barrels and seared the packings and seals. Krupp's guns, which fired metal cartridges, passed a white-glove inspection by the Chilean Artillery Testing Commission. While Krupp supporters began openly to celebrate with chicha, Gen. José Francisco Gana, the head of the commission, chastised those Chilean officers who still openly sympathized with de Bange: "Those officers who refuse to recognize the superiority of the Krupp guns after this test firing display a lack of patriotism." On 17 March the Commission voted unanimously for Krupp. 18 William II, who assiduously read each of Gutschmid's communications and covered them with personal comments, was immediately apprised of the results. The kaiser later cabled his "heartiest congratulations" to Krupp.19 On 20 March 1890, when Schinzinger informed Krupp of the results, he could hardly contain his joy: "Today I am so happy to be able to report to you not only about a tough fight but also about a great victory. I have managed, thanks to your superb gun, to destroy de Bange once and for all." De Bange's "fate had been sealed from the moment that he agreed to the test." Both France's ambassador and its military had been "embarrassed." The crowds, composed mostly of ''the mixed races of South America," had been wholly on the side of the French. "Our victories were received with resignation; the French defeats were glossed over." At times, the crowds and

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the press had become "ugly." "Thus, I became uglier and accosted them with great energy according to the motto noli me tangere." Not without hubris, Schinzinger immodestly requested that Krupp have him promoted to the rank of captain to enhance his effectiveness as a salesman, a wish that Kaiser William II readily granted. 20 Within a month of the competition, Schinzinger signed a 1.6-million-marks contract to buy eighty-two 7.5cm Krupp pieces (six batteries of field guns and eight of mountain) as well as twenty-five thousand shells.21 Though thanking the Wilhelmstrasse for its support, Krupp admonished Berlin to stand behind his agents elsewhere. In August 1890 Krupp granted Schinzinger a "gratuity" of 10,000 marks for his services. De Bange tried through the French embassy in Santiago to get "compensation" for having lost the contract, arguing that his guns had been two years older. But the new Chilean war minister, General Gana, who had presided over the Artillery Testing Commission, predictably refused even to answer the request.22 Throughout this period Ambassador von Gutschmid had supplied Krupp with confidential Chilean telegrams via the German Foreign Office. He now basked in the radiance of his personal success. His only disappointment was that the Chilean navy continued to buy British, not German, warships. The 1890 artillery contract opened the flood gates for Krupp. Saying "Körner is the hero of the day," Schinzinger used his ties to don Emilio to great advantage and spent 1891 cultivating relations with Chilean ministers and generals and visiting artillery garrisons. Commanders of the latter readily provided him with testimonials to the quality of the Krupp guns, which Schinzinger then had published in the Chilean press. Krupp's representante knew how to win friends and influence people: "I have discerned that we can engage these people with very little money." If Krupp would but spend 1,000 marks to buy "new uniforms and swords for 20 members of the officer corps," this would result in additional sales. General Körner thought the idea "delightful.''23 Schinzinger was right on the mark. In January 1892, following a "splendid reception" first at the War Ministry and then at the presidential palace, he landed yet another contract to provide two 28cm coastal guns, two 28cm howitzers, four batteries of 8.7cm howitzers, and a large quantity of ammunition. Once again, the French firm of Canet had tried to challenge Krupp's monopoly. And once again, Schinzinger had been Johnny-on-the-spot. "I put an end to that!" he boasted.24 Schinzinger never rested. First, he sold six batteries of Krupp field artillery to Buenos Aires. Then he encouraged Ambassador von Gutschmid to warn the Moneda that "Argentina's warlike

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preparations were directed against Chile." 25 Obviously, he wanted the Moneda to buy more weapons, which he would then use to encourage Buenos Aires to do the same. Schinzinger had clearly perfected the art of the deal. Valparaíso fairly hummed with German deliveries throughout the decade of the 1890s. The port's customs receipts soared from $19.4 million in 1881 to $39.7 million in 1891 and then to $72 million by 1901.26 The Hamburg steamship line Kosmos, partly owned by Vorwerk & Co., obtained an exclusive contract to deliver all arms shipments to Chile. German technicians arrived in droves to service the new weaponry and to instruct the Chileans in its use and care. Körner entrusted the inspection and acceptance of the Krupp guns to his closest associate, Col. Boonen Rivera. Ambassador von Gutschmid made sure that the Wilhelmstrasse on each occasion guaranteed the colonel a cordial reception in Essen. Indeed, in September 1892 Boonen Rivera, Gen. Estanislao del Canto, and Col. Florencio Baeza were wined and dined at the Villa Hügel, where the Chileans laid a wreath at the memorial to the firm's founder, Friedrich Krupp.27 The only snag in the arms trade was that the Chileans almost botched the unloading of the heavy coastal guns at Valparaíso. In July 1892, for example, the Kosmos steamer Spartan arrived with seven 28cm coastal guns as well as eight batteries of 7.5cm mountain cannons. Each coastal gun cost 297,000 marks and weighed forty-three tons. While the first cannon was unloading, the chain of the Chilean steam crane broke, and the gun fell down the ship's cargo hatch, failing to pierce its steel hull only because the Spartan carried a heavy layer of sand ballast. Gutschmid noted with malicious delight that Chilean authorities, who had been too proud to accept offers of assistance from both Krupp and Major Betzhold, could not even unload a ship.28 That notwithstanding, Chilean orders continued to rain down on Krupp. According to Krupp's records, Santiago paid 6.5 million marks for 48 guns in 1890, 36 in 1894, 102 in 1895, and 136 in 1898.29 Schinzinger, who as first lieutenant would have earned 200 marks per month, continued to collect his annual salary of 15,000 as well as 60 marks per diem, travel costs, and "representation and other expenses"and, of course, his sales commission ("gratification"). Krupp recorded the latter as 10,000 marks in 1890 and 12,500 in 1892. "Other expenses" in those two years came to 99,323 marks. These vast amounts could only have been spent for one purpose: Bakschisch. Though Krupp records do not contain a category for bribes, they do include one for "travel," and it was beneath that rubric that the Essen company buried the representante's "hidden expenses." During Schinzinger's first trip, these outlays had amounted to 6,186.29 marks from 19 June to 10 August and 12,322.37 from 11 August to 4 December 1889. For the fol-

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lowing year, these outlays totaled 8,192.55 marks to 2 February, 14,520.78 in April, and 12,934.65 in July. To the penny, Krupp recorded a total "travel bill" of 54,138.64 marks. 30 Given that first-class passage from Europe to Valparaíso cost about 1,000 marks (£55), in one year Schinzinger would have to have undertaken fifty-four transatlantic passages to consume this amount of money! (It would also have required him to spend the entire time at sea.) The 1889 "travel bill" was neither an isolated nor an abnormal expense. In a secret personal memorandum just before the turn of the century, Friedrich Alfred Krupp calculated Schinzinger's "other expenses," apart from salary, "travel," per diem, and representation, for his activity in Chile. Once again, this could only have been for additional Bakschisch:

188990 = 7,000 marks 189091 = 20,000 189192 = 140,000 189293 = 300 189394 = 2,300 189495 = 4,700 189596 = 64,000 189697 = 34,000

The "travel" expenses of 140,000 marks in 189192 alone would have required Schinzinger to undertake 140 trips to Chile in twelve months!31 By combining Schinzinger's "travel bill" of 54,000 marks for 188990 with his "other expenses" of 20,000 for 189091 and 140,000 for 189192, there is little question that Krupp spent roughly 214,000 marks in just over two years to land the Chilean artillery contract. Krupp's lucrative business with Santiago prospered even after Schinzinger moved on to Montevideo and Buenos Aires late in 1892. Happily for the German arms manufacturer, don Emilio took up the slack. In accordance with standard Krupp business practice"to exploit political tensions to propagandize for the procurement of war materials"the general repeatedly spread rumors of war with Argentina, which invariably resulted in the purchase of new equipment by Santiago. For example, in September 1895, at the height of a particularly dangerous crisis in Argentine-Chilean relations, Körner personally negotiated for Santiago a 3.75-million-mark order with Krupp for forty-eight heavy and thirty light mountain cannons, twenty-four rapid-fire field guns, and fifty thousand shells. And though Krupp, as usual, submitted the highest bid, he received the contract largely because the Deutsche Bank assumed one-quarter (20 million marks) of a

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mammoth Chilean loan negotiated with Rothschild & Sons in London. Körner had become Krupp's agent at Santiago after the Essen giant had severed ties with Schuchard, Grisar & Co., in January 1894 because it suspected that firm of having "cooked the books" to the tune of 2.45 million marks. 32 If he received just the lowest sales commission of 1 percent, Körner would have realized the tidy sum of 37,500 marks in a single transaction, seven times his annual salary. Again, in 1901, when an alleged Argentine violation of Chilean territory led to yet another international crisis, Krupp and Körner combined forces to convince Chile to purchase more artillery. At Körner's urging, Santiago rejected the bids from France's Canet, Sweden's Bofors, and Austria's Skoda for state-of-the-art guns that possessed a pneumatic recoil mechanism and were 25 to 50 percent cheaper than Krupp's less technologically advanced products. Instead, in December Chile bought seventy-three field and mountain guns plus ammunition from Krupp at a cost of 2.1 million marks. To sweeten the deal, Krupp had offered Chile a 3 percent discount in case additional orders surpassed 5.9 million marks. And abandoning for once its own rules, the firm had agreed to purchase some of its older guns, at, of course, bargain prices. The French embassy in Santiago caustically noted how Körner's personal fortune had grown.33 The Triumph of Mauser Körner also used his power to ensure that, in addition to artillery, Chile also purchased its small arms from German manufacturers. Typical of this policy was his decision in the early 1890s to replace the army's approximately fifty thousand nearly new Austrian-made Mannlicher rifles.34 Körner's desire to buy the Mausers seems inexplicable because it was the Austrian Mannlichers, captured from the Balmacedistas, that brought the Congressionalists their 1891 victory. Indeed, the Saxon officer had even praised the Austrian weapon to a New York Herald reporter in September 1891: "I consider the rifle the best made to date. . . . Its only faulta weakness in the small springs of the breechis easily remedied. . . . Its range and trajectory are unequaled." The Mannlicher was easy to operate, "there being but one motion in loading," and thus it could be "easily handled by inexperienced recruits." There was an additional advantage not apparent in peacetime: the Mannlicher was ''a humane weapon owing to the absence of jagged and spreading wounds." The bullet, in other words, did not shatter on impact with bone but rather cut "a clean passage like a hole bored by a sharp tool." Surgeons found Mannlicher-inflicted wounds "easy to cure." Körner's Chil-

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ean protégé, Col. Boonen Rivera, also strongly endorsed the Austrian rifle. 35 Now, after less than five years, the Chilean army planned to discard the Mannlichers. Körner's determination only makes sense when one sees it as part of a wider plan to manipulate international tensions for the benefit of German weapons procurers. In 1892 Peru placed an order for Mauser rifles. In the same year, Buenos Aires announced that it too would purchase from Ludwig Loewe one hundred thousand rifles and twenty thousand carbines as well as twenty-five million bullets. Since the Argentine army numbered less than sixty-five hundred officers and men, the enormity of the acquisition indicated to Santiago that its neighbor's armed forces were planning on expanding. Krupp's unseen but heavy hand soon made itself felt. Chile would never have learned of the Argentine order except that Schinzinger, Krupp's man on the spot, had "secretly" told Boonen Rivera, then Chile's military attaché in Berlin, what Buenos Aires planned to do. As if to confirm the story, Loewe generously took the colonel through its new plant at Martinickfelde, where he saw the Mausers, complete with the Argentine crest, awaiting delivery.36 Körner, who as chief of the General Staff was also a department head in the War Ministry, quickly followed up. At a meeting of senior Chilean cabinet ministers and generals on 23 November 1894, he suggested to President Jorge Montt that Santiago immediately buy fifty thousand rifles and twenty thousand carbines from Ludwig Loewe. Moreover, Körner convinced Montt to send him to Europe as vice president of the Chilean Arms Purchases Commission, headquartered in Paris, and to create a special commission, headed by General del Canto and Colonels Boonen Rivera and Baeza, to supervise the weapons purchase. But as much as Körner and Boonen Rivera might yearn for the Mausers, they ran into a roadblock. As a precondition for its order, Loewe had promised Buenos Aires that it would not sell its rifles to any other Latin American nation, "especially Chile" for a period of five years.37 Hence, the Moneda was out of luck; its soldiers would have to do their killing with any weapon but the Mauser. Fortunately for Santiago, Berlin-based Ludwig Loewe, which in 1896 reconstituted itself as the Deutsche Waffenund Munitionsfabriken AG (DW & MF, or German Weapons and Munitions Factories), was not the only game in town. Desperate to compete with the Berlin giant, the Fabrique Nationale d'Armes de Guerre in Herstal, Belgium, tendered bids of 68 francs for each of its rifles and 135 francs per one thousand rounds. Not to be outdone, August Schriever, the agent for the Österreichische Waffenfabriks-

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Gesellschaft (ÖWG) at Steyr, promised to deliver its M90 Mannlichers in just five months and to spread the payments over two years. 38 When it came to purchasing rifles, it was clearly a buyer's market, and the Moneda held all the cards. Then a strange thing occurred. An unexpected economic downturn prevented Buenos Aires from paying for the weapons in a timely manner. Schinzinger immediately leaked this news to the Moneda, urging it to quickly buy as many weapons as it could while Mauser's promise not to sell to Chile was no longer binding. Eventually, the Argentines managed to come up with enough money to buy thirty-five thousand rifles, thereby reinstating the original prohibition against selling to Chile. By then, however, it was too late: since their ban took effect only as of 1 October 1892, Santiago had taken advantage of the small two- to three-month window of opportunity to acquire the Mausers. General del Canto favored purchasing either a French or Belgian weapon, the Marga, or the 6.5mm Mannlicher, particularly because Steyr offered better terms and a shorter delivery time. He was therefore not so impressed with Schinzinger's warnings. Del Canto became so adamant that he even threatened to expose the procurement process, particularly the fact that there was no public bidding and the Mauser was a flawed weapon. In response to this charge, the DW & MF lowered the purchase price on its M/91 rifle with bayonet to a unit price of 77 francs and ammunition to 155 francs per one thousand rounds. It, moreover, guaranteed delivery in seven months. This price was still 7 francs higher than Herstal's. Two days later, Schriever countered with a unit price of 69 francs for the Steyr Mannlichers. For a brief moment the offices of the Chilean Commission in Paris became a Middle East bazaar. Like Krupp, the DW & MF became so fixated on cornering the Chilean market that it began to use illegal practices to win the order. Director General Alexis Riese informed the Chileans that his firm was about to market a new, more modern rifle, the M/93, that made the M/91 and its competition obsolete. He added that his company would sue Herstal for patent violations if the Belgian firm tried to produce its own version of the M/93. Fearing that buying from Herstal might lead to a lawsuit over patent infringement and thus delay shipment, Augusto Matte Pérez, head of the Military Committee, purchased the 7mm Mauser from the DW & MF in Berlin. Del Canto continued to argue that the Mauser had serious flaws, but it was too late. Pushed by Körner, Santiago awarded the DW & MF a 3.2million-marks contract for fifty thousand Mauser rifles and ten thousand carbines. The Austrians had to content themselves with an order for fifty-

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four million Mauser (7.65mm) and eight million Mannlicher (8mm) bullets. It would be their last direct order from Chile. 39 The Moneda, of course, had been gulled. A Chilean diplomat conceded that Schinzinger, without outright "lying," "might have exaggerated or manipulated somewhat the history of these events [so that] we would sign a contract with Lobel [sic] for a considerable amount of weapons before the deadline of 1 October."40 Körner, of course, denied that he had allowed his close friendship with the manager of DW & MF, or his own German roots, to influence him when he successfully insisted that the Chileans exchange their Mannlichers for the Mausers. The DW & MF had conquered the Chilean market. Isidor Loewe's factories ran around the clock to fill the vast orders from Argentina, Brazil, and Chile. While its competitors' profits declined, in 1894 Loewe returned a phenomenal 24 percent on its investment. In July 1895 the Berlin firm received a second Chilean order for twenty thousand Mauser rifles and ten thousand carbines and in September a third for ten thousand rifles. The two orders came to 2.04 million francs. In each case, Loewe had used the threat of a patent fight over the M/93 rifle to undermine Herstal. Using the Chilean profits, Loewe gained control over the Fabrique Nationale d'Armes de Guerre in 1896 after a lengthy and costly patent-violation suit concerning the Mauser M/91 and M/93 rifles.41 As mentioned, that same year Isidor Loewe formally changed his company's name to the Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken. In 1897 the DW & MF secured a Chilean contract for sixty million Mauser bullets. The following year, it initiated design changes in its Mauser rifle and ammunition that led to additional orders both at home and abroad. After extensive experimentation by the DW & MF and the Prussian Rifle Testing Commission, the Reich's armed forces adopted the new "Rifle 98" in April 1898, which would become the German army's standard infantry weapon for the next fifty years.42 Shortly thereafter, DW & MF also developed a new flat-trajectory s (Sharp) bullet, that allowed the infantry greater accuracy. In 1901, to seduce the Chileans into purchasing the new Mauser M/98, the DW & MF invited both General Körner and Ramón Subercaseaux, the Chilean envoy to Berlin, to examine its supposedly secret order books, where, coincidentally, they quickly spied another mammoth Argentine order. Convinced of the immediate need for more and newer arms, Körner and Subercaseaux signed a contract for Mauser rifles valued at 3.8 million marks. The Chilean envoy balked at buying Maxim machine guns from the DW & MF, however, arguing that Skoda in Pilsen offered the rival French

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Hotchkiss weapon at half the price (4,500 francs). In fact, Santiago had already purchased sixty Hotchkiss guns during Körner's extended absence in Europe. Additionally, Subercaseaux advised his government to sidestep armaments agents (such as Schinzinger) because their services raised prices between 10 and 50 percent. But Körner would not be denied. In 1899 Körner heard rumors that the Swiss army had not been satisfied with the performance of the Hotchkiss. Through Director General Riese of the DW & MF Körner therefore mobilized the Foreign Office in Berlin, the German embassy in Bern, and the Prussian War Ministry to obtain these "negative results," which he then immediately delivered to Subercaseaux. Sufficiently intimidated, the diplomat agreed to give the DW & MF an initial order for one hundred Maxim machine guns. 43 Subercaseaux's role in subsequent negotiations was limited to signing the agreements that Körner personally negotiated with the DW & MF and with Krupp. The Artillery Duels The Mauser deal was only the first phase in a massive Chilean rearmament program. Santiago would require additional weapons and equipment. Aware of the high economic potential, Germany's rivals also wanted a piece of the Chilean pie. Austria-Hungary, for example, became a player. In 1902 the Habsburg Monarchy had upgraded its legation at Santiago to the status of an embassy. Four years later, the dynamic Carl Baron von Giskra moved from Washington DC to take up his post at Santiago. One of the ambassador's first acts in office in June 1906 was to approach President Pedro Montt and his cabinet with a list of potential arms merchants. It included the Imperial and Royal Shipyard at Pola and the Stabilimento Tecnico at Trieste for warships; the Whitehead Factory at Fiume for torpedoes; Skoda at Pilsen for artillery; and Bros. Böhler, Roth as well as the state Powder Monopoly Administration at Vienna for rifles, pistols, and ammunition. Giskra deemed prospects for orders "unlikely" in the face of expected competition from France and Germany, "whose industries are incredibly well capitalized and use any and all means to reach their goals." Still, in a "confidential" note he encouraged his government to enter into the forthcoming competition by inviting the Chilean Military Mission to visit Vienna and Pilsen.44 Giskra informed the Foreign Office at the Ballhausplatz that the best chances "for our industry to acquire a market for war materials" were in a new war between Chile and Peru. Throughout the fall of

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1906, the envoy bombarded Vienna with requests to send Skoda guns for testing in Chile and train its officers in Bosnia and in the Tyrol. 45 In one of his last communiqués from Santiago, Giskra explained why he had not managed to penetrate the Chilean market. First, the Austro-Hungarian companies would not cooperate: Skoda did not even have an illustrated catalog to send to Santiago. The second problem was less amenable to solution: "the omnipotent General" Körner, while denying the fact, had consistently "given his vote to German goods."46 Indeed, Giskra had no love for Körner. According to Giskra, the general, "a national, albeit faithless, Chilean hero," was "no friend of our industry," given his ''great sympathies for Germany." Vienna's envoy reminded the Ballhausplatz that Körner had conveniently forgotten that he never would have won the civil war "without the 30,000 [sic] Mannlicher rifles that we delivered to him speedily and absolutely without reliable credit" in 1891. (Giskra himself conveniently forgot that Vienna deserved no credit whatsoever. The Congressionalists had captured the weapons, which the Austrians had sold to Balmaceda.) The ambassador warned Vienna "confidentially" to deal carefully with don Emilio, whose "flighty and erratic" way of "speaking in circles" should not be confused with kindness or joviality.47 The matter of arms sales became urgent in January 1907 when Giskra's successor, Johann Baron von Styrcea, discovered that through the Hamburg firm of Gleissner & Co. Chile had sold its stock of twenty-eight thousand Mannlicher M88 rifles and 11.2 million rounds for 1 million francs to Bulgaria and its 206 Krupp M95 and M98 mountain guns to Turkey. If Austria-Hungary believed that Chile would use the money generated by these sales to purchase new weapons it also had to recognize an unpleasant fact: German manufacturers enjoyed a "quasimonopoly position" in Chile and would do everything in their power to maintain that position. Yet he discerned subtle signs that the Reich's once preeminent role in Chile "has for quite some time been in the process of eroding." In particular, War Minister Ramón Antonio Vergara was anxious "gradually to emancipate the Chilean army from the purely Prussian direction in which General Körner had taken it."48 Hence, the ambassador pressed the Ballhausplatz to invite the Chilean Military Mission in Berlin to visit Pilsen and Steyr. In June 1907 Cols. José María Bari and Tobías Barros Merino toured the Skoda Works at Pilsen, where they tested the firm's mountain and field artillery. In August Gen. Vicente Palacios Baeze, the new head of the Chilean mission, inspected 28cm and 30.5cm coastal guns at Pilsen.49 Other members of the mission followed in their path. At Vienna, the Chileans

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discovered that the Habsburg army's Technical-Military Committee knew neither the prices nor the delivery schedules for Skoda guns; in fact, they were utterly unaware of such basic technical information as their accuracy or rate of fire. 50 Inexplicably, both the Ballhausplatz and Skoda blithely ignored the fact that the mission included a potential spy: Gen. Emil Körner. Don Emilio first carefully assessed Skoda's inventory and then coolly approached the Foreign Office and War Ministry in Vienna to obtain the firm's price lists and delivery schedules.51 He then immediately passed on this confidential information to Krupp to use it as it would. As a final piece of cheek, Körner had the War Ministry in Vienna forward him Steyr's prices for Mauser rifles and Hotchkiss machine gunswhich undoubtedly landed on the desk of the DW & MF in Berlin.52 Körner, taking advantage of his position, served the interests of Germany more than those of Chile. In fact, even before the Chileans had arrived at Pilsen, the DW & MF had received word of the Austrian interest in Chile "from a member of the Chilean Military Mission here in Berlin" by which the firm could only have meant Körner. Its new director general, Max Kosegarten, at once apprised the Wilhelmstrasse of the "pressure" that Habsburg diplomats in Chile were "mounting in favor of Austro-Hungarian industry." More, the DW & MF reminded the Foreign Office that it had to date supplied Chile with all its needs ("Mauser rifles, bullets for them, machine guns, materials for a powder factory"), demanded that Berlin preclude "a change of mind'' in Santiago, and requested that it "respectfully instruct" its envoy in Santiago "to lobby on behalf of German industry." Within fortyeight hours, the Wilhelmstrasse admonished Ambassador Hans Baron von und zu Bodman "to work on behalf of German industry." Bodman immediately raised the matter with the Chilean government, which instructed its mission "accordingly."53 Bodman was fully alert to the gravity of the situation. In January 1908 he dispatched Legation Secretary Hanno Count von Welczek to survey potential Chilean military needs. Welczek had married a daughter of the former president Balmaceda and thus had excellent contacts not only to Montt's government but to Chile's opposition parties. And Welczek, like Körner, was an investor in the German-South American Mining and Land Syndicate at Berlin. Welczek, like the Austrian ambassador von Styrcea before him, noted that don Emilio's "influence is more and more on the wane."54 Still, Berlin had another ace in the hole: "the younger generation of Chilean officers trained in the German system" had become the Reich's apostles. Welczek honestly believed that "German military training had changed the

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[Chilean] national character" and that the subalterns, in conjunction with the German tailors, blacksmiths, mechanics, and artificers working in Chile, could be expected to toil ceaselessly on behalf of German industry. In July 1908 Ambassador von und zu Bodman sent Chancellor Bernhard von Bülow a lengthy shopping list of the munitions Santiago could be expected to order in the next four or five years. Chile would require mountain and field guns amounting to between £1.2 and £1.4 million (25 million marks) in value. Although one could expect that "simply on the basis of gratitude, German industry would be given a monopoly over these orders," the intervention of Chilean officers from the "old school" once again forced the government to call for competitive bids and firing tests. The latter were to be held in the fall of that year at a new artillery range near Cartagena. The competition was expected to be fierce given the magnitude of the orders at stake. Apart from Krupp, the Chilean government had invited Skoda, Heinrich Ehrhardt's Rheinische Metallwaren- und Maschinenfabrik (Rheinmetall) at Düsseldorf, Bofors of Sweden, Vickers-Sheffield and Armstrong-Newcastle of Britain, and Schneider-Creuzot of France to compete. At the request of Skoda and Schneider, the tests were postponed until April 1909. 55 In the meantime, at the urging of its embassy attaché Johann Count Kolowrat-Krakowsky-Liebstensky, Austria dispatched a highpowered mission to Chile to lobby on behalf of its armaments firms. It was headed by Franz Prince Windisch-Graetz, the scion of an august Austrian noble clan, as well as Director Robert Hochstetter of the Skoda works at Pilsen.56 Mauser Versus Steyr Before the artillery tests took place, however, a titanic struggle erupted over Chile's decision to purchase parts to modernize its 1895 Mausers. Specifically, in 1910 Santiago decided to acquire some sights and new barrels to accommodate the newly designed s bullet. This seemingly unimportant and purely technical decision would replicate the German-Austrian competition of the early 1890s. This time, however, Germany could not act as aggressively as it had in the past: Berlin's precarious diplomatic position in Europe, where it had but one reliable ally, Vienna, forced the new ambassador, Friedrich Carl von Erckert, to acknowledge that an "attack through official channels would not be easy."57 The Germans would have to stop the Austrians without confrontation. Perhaps chastened by the Böhler and Skoda artillery debacle, Austria-Hungary was determined to lend full support to its arms merchants for future Chilean orders. In the fall of 1910, Prince Windisch-Graetz arrived in

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Central and South America as a "special delegate" to drum up exports for Austrian industry during Chile's centenary celebrations. The prince sailed up and down the coast of Chile in the steamer Sisak in September and October 1910 and again in January and February 1911. His travel costs of well over 50,000 Kronen (or pesos) were split by the government and such interested firms as Hirtenberg, Skoda, and the ÖWG. Concurrently, the Vienna Board of Trade financed a special mission by Leo Königstein to Valparaíso. 58 Prince Windisch-Graetz was not overly optimistic about Austria's chances of penetrating the Chilean market. He reported that German merchants (Fölsch, Weber, Gyldemeister, Vorwerk) operating out of Valparaíso controlled almost three-quarters of the country's foreign trade. Austria-Hungary, moreover, lacked a shipping line connecting Trieste to Valparaíso, thereby impairing the development of Austro-Chilean trade. And finally, the German-owned banks, particularly the Banco aleman transatlántico, aggressively worked "against our modest attempts to expand" trade.59 Nevertheless, using his princely status to full effect, "Francisco" Windisch-Graetz managed to gain entrée to the Chilean president and his cabinet. We do not know how successful he was at managing to ingratiate himself and his nation. Certainly, he faced an implacable foe. Earlier, the prince had attended the annual spring parade of the cadet corps in Berlin. Among the various foreign military dignitaries on the reviewing stand next to Kaiser William II was none other than Gen. Emil Körner, "a man who draws a regular pension from Krupp, Essen."60 Although aware of the difficulties facing them, the Austrians were willing to give it a try. In 190910 Chile's Comisión Militar, now based in Berlin, opened bids on contracts to provide twenty thousand rifle stocks, twenty-six thousand rifle barrels, and thirty thousand rifle sights to modernize its Mauser rifles and carbines from the 1890s. The awards went to the ÖWG at Steyrbacked by the Wiener-Bank-Vereinand not, as expected, to the DW & MF in Berlin. This was a surprise, particularly to the Germans, who had expected that the DW & MF would, as usual, triumph. The German ambassador, Erckert, protested "even this relatively small order for army materials" to Chilean war minister Ramón Leon Luco.61 He also cabled the Wilhelmstrasse to "agitate energetically" against the Austro-Hungarian orders and assured Berlin that they could be rescinded by Santiago if sufficient pressure were brought to bear: "Government inclined, if at all possible, to annul; thereby larger orders secured for deutsche Waffen Munitionsfabrik [sic] Berlin."62 Within twenty-four hours of Erckert's cable, Director Kosegarten of the

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DW & MF appeared at the Wilhelmstrasse, imploring the German diplomats to lobby on behalf of his company. The Foreign Office, while convincing Kosegarten that it could not simply "annul" a Chilean order, immediately secured an audience for him with Ambassador Matte and Gen. Arístides Pinto Concha. Both Chileans assured Kosegarten that the DW & MF "would be given full consideration in future deliveries." Germany's principal Chilean paladin, General Boonen Rivera, vociferously opposed this decision, arguing that the Austrian barrels could not be used interchangeably with the Mauser. 63 When his protests failed to stop the deal, the Germans would resort to other, less genteel methods. In mid-1911, after examining the Austrian spare parts local Chilean ordnance officials concluded that 82 percent of the rifle barrels and 50 percent of the carbine barrels were "of such poor quality that they were considered totally useless."64 Similar problems afflicted the bolts, firing pins, and locks. When Steyr protested the findings, the Dirección del Material convened a committee that conducted various tests and confirmed the barrel's flaws. The Santiago authorities became livid. General Boonen Rivera attacked those officers stationed in Berlin for permitting an act that "defrauds the state [and] seriously endangers the Republic's security" El Mercurio demanded to know the party responsible for such egregious errors. Boonen Rivera carefully nurtured the feelings of outrage. Assisted by General Bari, he planted several articles in El Mercurio that argued that the government had squandered a million pesos on Steyr's defective rifle barrels, sights, and stocks. The ÖWG immediately responded: just as Erckert had furthered the interests of the DW & MF in Chile, it appealed to Foreign Minister Alois Lexa Count von Aehrenthal to encourage the Austrian ambassador von Styrcea to work in its behalf.65 And it rushed a special gift of hunting rifles and pistols to President Barros Luco in hopes of pacifying the powers that be. In early October the minister of war demanded that the chief of the Military Mission explain its actions while the proGerman General Boonen Rivera pressed his advantage, accusing the committee of failing to fulfill its responsibility. The press and the legislature quickly followed suit, clamoring to know how an error that cost 572,000 marks could occur. Gen. Roberto Silva Renard, the former head of the Military Commission, which had authorized purchasing the Steyr parts, responded to these charges by demanding a court of honor to clear his name.66 Perhaps the only one more upset was the house of Steyr, which joined with those legislators calling for more tests. Assisted by an Austrian arms agent at Valparaíso, Arturo Medina, Styrcea demanded that Santiago create a special military commission to investigate Boonen Rivera's charges. To

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keep them honest, two senior Steyr engineers, Maximilian Rechl and Hugo Lipowsky, who were then touring South America, rushed from Lima to Santiago, where on 11 November they began to test the Steyr barrels. In early December Rechl reported that having just safely fired four thousand rounds from numerous randomly selected rifles, the barrels were first-rate; the fault lay not in the barrels but in the tests' methodology. Lacking Nobel powder, the original committee had improvised and produced an explosive that exerted so much pressure on the barrels that they were twisted out of shape. For Chilean army officials, the claims that the Steyr parts were unsuitable were the result of a "mistake" made by "incompetent technical personnel" using "unsuitable" powder, which had caused ''unreal pressure" in the rifle barrels. Former Minister of War Alejandro Huneeus was more blunt. It was not a simple accident; the Comisión de Guerra and the Test Committee had deliberately sabotaged Steyr in order to give the parts contract to DW & MF. The journalist Joaquín Díaz Garcés went one step further, singling out two former Deutsche Waffen employees then employed by the Fábrica de Cartuchos for providing the defective powder. 67 But while the barrels that Steyr fabricated were sound, the stocks could not accommodate the new Mauser housings. The army had to retool the rifles. This problem arose because the contract had not stipulated that Steyr produce barrels that could be used interchangeably with existing parts. Nor, apparently, did Santiago send the correct specifications or model. Thus, the minister of war had to contract with Steyr to supervise these modifications and then train Chilean technicians to perform these tasks at the Santiago arsenal. The Steyr dispute both damaged some officers' reputations and called into question the army's technical services. Some of the press flayed General Boonen Rivera for failing to prevent the fiasco, for blaming his comrades when it occurred, and, finally, for not apologizing once it became clear that the Military Commission had acted appropriately. Boonen Rivera, who always claimed he acted out of the purest motives, initially refused to discuss matters of national security in the press. This excuse wore thin when the press revealed that while the good general refused to talk to them he happily repeated his libelous charges to anyone he meet in the Club de la Unión. Eventually, Boonen had to backtrack: he publicly stated that he had never meant to criticize his fellow officers who composed the Comisión Militar and he had intended to direct his hostile remarks to Steyr, whom he would also blame for the parts' lack of interchangeability. (This was not the first time that Boonen Rivera's mouth had caused him problems. Because of his

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public clash with the president in 1904 over the accelerated promotion of a major he was confined to barracks.) 68 Someone, besides General Boonen Rivera, of course, had to bear the onus for these failures. Rather than punish the pro-German elements who had tried to sabotage the purchase, the Comisión Militar became the scapegoat. Huneeus disbanded the organization, transferring the authority to make future arms purchases to the Chilean diplomatic envoy accredited to each European capital. The minister of war categorically denied that there was "any political motive as some newspaper has maliciously insinuated." Rather, good public administration had dictated the changes: the Comisión had become too independent and often acted without consulting the local diplomats.69 Of course, it also meant that those with ties to the German-Chilean nexus would make sure that, in future, a trained professional officer would not apply technical standards to the purchase of weapons. The Steyr debacle opened a debate on how Chile acquired weapons. To externalize the enemy, and thus perhaps exculpate if not exonerate the local oligarchy and the army, one journalist argued that a group of "skilled Hebrews" had deliberately fabricated a war scare with Peru in order to sell Chile military equipment. Critics may not have been referring to Chile's local Jewish community, which numbered but ninety souls out of a total population of 3.2 million, but to their foreign coreligionists. The fact that Steyr, Krupp, and Mauser were, in the term used by future purists, "Aryan" firms seemed immaterial. Chile had become the victim of an international conspiracy in which foreign salesmen, many with "Jewish noses," haunted government offices and suborned officials into signing contracts for shoddy but expensive war material. According to the press, these forces had bought the services of cabinet ministers, legislators, and even high-ranking army officers so they knew of the government's intentions even before Chile's diplomatic and military representatives. "The commercial houses that direct our government,'' one paper wrote, "have . . . demonstrated the power of their influence" by deliberately engineering the disbanding of the Military Commission because its members did their job so well that they threatened the arms manufacturers' profits. Thus, the lickspittles profited while those who did not cooperate suffered "destitution or dishonor."70 Conspiracy buffs soon had other reasons for concern. In 1910 the Chilean army, apparently in response to increased tensions with Peru, decided it needed thirty thousand rifles and four thousand carbines, plus some thirty million rounds of ammunition. Santiago agreed to leave this decision to General Pinto Concha, who headed the Comisión Militar in Berlin. Vienna's ambassador, Styrcea, was delighted. "Therein, I detect a good omen,

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since at the moment the mood in the Military Commission . . . is friendly toward our industry." 71 To head off possible German intervention on behalf of the DW & MF, the Austrian government sent Prince Windisch-Graetz to Berlin. Between 22 and 31 August 1911, he met several times with General Pinto Concha and Col. Luis Altamirano and secured their agreement to visit both Hirtenberg and Steyr in October. The two Chilean officers confirmed their faith in Austrian industry. Though Altamirano conceded that Chile would always have to take the DW & MF into account in its dealings "due to the intimate contacts between the Chilean armed forces and the Prussian army," he nevertheless expressed his confidence that Santiago's "business connection with Steyr would remain long-term."72 Indeed, while at Steyr Pinto Concha awarded the ÖWG a contract for thirty thousand Mauser rifles and carbines. DW & MF's allies in Chile quickly went into action, arguing that the nation could ill afford to purchase weapons from a company that could not manufacture spare parts. El Mercurio, for example, reported that "powerful influences" had convinced the government to award the contract to Steyr, even though a majority of the army's technical experts "opposed giving the contract to the Austrians." Clearly, this combination worked: on 13 October 1911 President Barros Luco seized upon the "catastrophic" quality of the rifle and carbine parts purchased from the ÖWG to rescind the contract and insist that Chile purchase these weapons and ammunition from the DW & MF in Germany. Obviously delighted, Ambassador von Erckert cabled news of the "large army order'' to Berlin. He apprised the Wilhelmstrasse that the Chilean War Ministry sought to finance the purchases through "German bank groups" and again warned that the Austrians remained the chief competitor: "If our banking industry lets Chile down now, our entire position here would be threatened."73 The Diskontogesellschaft and the Deutsche Bank did not disappoint Erckert, granting Chile a loan of 100 million marks. With the order and the financing in place, the Germans suddenly became coy. In November 1911 the DW & MF's director, Kosegarten, informed the Foreign Office that his company could not fill the order for the thirty thousand Mausers. Its plants' capacities were fully taxed for the next ten months by large orders from Argentina and Brazileach for more than one hundred thousand Mausersas well as a smaller purchase by Peru.74 Minister of War Huneeus became desperate. First he tried to persuade the DW & MF to give Chile preference over its other customers. When that tactic failed, Huneeus offered to pay the DW & MF a bonus if it would undertake this commission. The German company churlishly refused. Although still embroiled in the Steyr parts dispute, the Austrians tried to

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resurrect their earlier offer to sell Mausers to Chile. When this occurred, the DW & MF in Berlin changed tactics. The firm now assured the Chilean War Ministry that it could deliver the Mausers on scheduleprovided that it received a written guarantee that Chile would not purchase them from Steyr! Körner also sprang into action. In a manner reminiscent of the extortionary tactics that the general had used against Ambassador Subercaseaux Vicuña in 1894 with regard to the Fabrique Nationale d'Armes de Guerre, Körner warned Ambassador Matte that MauserOberndorf alone possessed the right to produce Mauser rifles. 75 The implication was obvious: an order placed with anyone but the DW & MF would result in endless litigation and hopeless delivery delays at a time when Peruvian politicians yet again threatened war over the unresolved Tacna-Arica dispute. Finally, the DW & MF suggested a compromise. For a fee, it would supervise another armaments manufacturer that would produce the weapons. It is grotesque that the company that the DW & MF selected as its surrogate was the house of Steyr, the same firm that had underbid it and had been flayed for supposedly producing defective parts. It made no sense. In fact, the entire bidding war between the Austrians and Germans was a charade. Steyr's directors had become furious at having been cut out of the South American market in general and the Chilean in particular. Anxious to secure work for its employees, the Austrian firm had threatened to undercut DW & MF's prices globally. Kosegarten, the Mauser director, recognizing that Steyr's action "would render profitable conditions for the foreseeable future impossible," "sadly" saw no alternative but compromise. Better a mutually profitable agreement than reduce his firm's prices to meet Steyr's low bids; Mauser would split the Chilean contract with Steyr by hiring it as its subcontractor. The behind-the-scenes maneuverings of DW & MF and Steyr should not have come as a surprise. As early as 1905, the DW & MF and its subsidiaries, Mauser at Oberndorf and the Fabrique National d'Armes de Guerre at Herstal, had concluded a cartel arrangement with the ÖWG at Steyr. In it, all four had agreed to avoid profit-cutting competition by submitting uniform bids on foreign orders and then dividing the work among themselves. In other words, all four firms would tender a minimum price of 75 francs per rifle, of which 15 would go into a common fund to be shared such that the ÖWG received 37.5 percent and the DW & MF group 62.5 percent (DW & MF 30, Mauser 21, and Herstal 11.5). Director Kosegarten, of course, requested that the cartel agreement remain secret and informed Erckert that two future bidsone for thirty Maxim machine guns at 285,000 marks and the other for an ammunition plant at 1.5 million markslay outside the

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cartel pact. 76 He was confident that all future orders would run through Berlin. The 911 compromise on the Mauser deal surprised the diplomats. Not knowing about the 1905 cartel agreement, Ambassador von Erckert felt betrayed. Styrcea, his Austrian colleague, took note of the cartel without comment. The DW & MF's agent, Vorwerk & Co., vented its frustrations at a banquet in Valparaíso: "Well, had we known that in Europe the Germans and the Austrians would have settled the matter so amicably between themselves, we here would not have had to conduct the entire battle against Steyr."77 The Chileans could not be so philosophical. Painfully aware that the DW & MF was gouging Santiago, but unaware of the secret agreement, Minister of War Huneeus had no choice but to agree. Because the DW & MF's supervision would cost the government between 200,000 and 300,000 francs, Ambassador Matte denounced Huneeus' actions. The diplomat quite rightly grumbled about a conspiracy to steer the contract to Berlin and urged the Moneda to deal directly with Steyr, particularly after the tests demonstrated the quality of its spare parts.78 Although his efforts failed, Matte did wring a discount from the DW & MF, but the company, knowing it faced no competition, proved distinctly ungenerous. The Chileans became outraged. Joaquín Díaz Garcés denounced the actions of Silva Renard, Pinto Concha, and Altamirano. Steyr had lost to the DW & MF because it lacked friends at court. The result of these maneuverings demonstrated that the Germans regarded Chile as a "factory" that it could shamelessly exploit.79 At approximately the same time, another scandal developed that also involved the DW & MF. Recognizing the need to acquire new ammunition, the Comisión Militar in Germany tested various types of bullets. Citing quality, price, and delivery time, the Comisión selected the company of Hirtenberg as the supplier from a field of seven, including the DW & MF. On 30 June 1911 General Pinto Concha wired Santiago that he had purchased thirty million Mauser bullets at a cost of 150 francs per one thousand rounds. Ambassador von Erckert formally "complained" to the Chilean war minister and verbally berated his Austrian counterpart, Styrcea, for this "effrontery."80 In Santiago General Boonen Rivera tried to rescue DW & MF. As director of the National Arsenal and Steyr's former foe, he publicly informed the War Ministry that Chile's store of Hirtenberg ammunitionwhich had been manufactured in 1895was "totally unusable" and needed to be sold off. Having once been cheated, Boonen Rivera warned, Chile should not trust Hirtenberg again. The new war minister, Carlos Larraín Claro, joined

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Boonen Rivera's crusade. He stated categorically that General Pinto Concha, having been authorized to order the ammunition "only under certain preconditions"that is, formal testinghad "misused his authority" in awarding the order to Hirtenberg and threatened to cancel the order. Ambassador von Styrcea at once sought out Foreign Minister Aníbal Rodríguez, who assured him that then war minister Luco had supplied Pinto Concha "with all the necessary powers" (he used the words plenos poderes) to place the order. Styrcea informed Foreign Minister von Aehrenthal that it was the first time in Chilean history that "a general who possessed full plenipotentiary powers to conclude a sale had been disavowed in this manner." 81 Hirtenberg demanded full compensation in case Santiago canceled the contract. Meanwhile, Hirtenberg's agent at Valparaíso, Medina, intervened on behalf of his client, demanding that the fifteenyear-old ammunition be tested. Three days later, the minister of war ordered Pinto Concha to suspend the purchase of any ammunition: he did not wish to acquire any ammunition until he was sure that it would function in the Mausers using the Steyr barrel and sights. To ascertain this, he too demanded special tests. The Moneda's position seemed bizarre: the government only demanded to test the ammunition after having signed a 4-million-franc contract with Hirtenberg. General Pinto Concha remonstrated that Leon Luco's demands contradicted his earlier mandate, that Hirtenberg manufactured the best and least expensive bullet, and that it would guarantee early delivery. Besides, Pinto Concha noted, Chile could not act unilaterally. Hirtenberg expected to be paid for the quantities of raw materials it purchased upon signing of the arms contract. The minister of war went one step further, however. He not only insisted on performing special tests on the ammunition but called for the reopening of the bidding process, thus ensuring that the DW & MF could participate. The Germans agreed to match Hirtenberg in price and quality, doubtless delighted to have a second chance. Obviously anxious to get paid, Hirtenberg agreed to allow the Dirección del Material de Guerrathe same organization whose sloppy testing had precipitated the Steyr fiascoto retest its ammunition. It was, in the words of Yogi Berra, déjà vu all over again: the Dirección's tests supposedly demonstrated that the DW & MF ammunition was better than Hirtenberg's. As before, protesters demanded another round of tests, this time to be conducted by another laboratory. The second round of tests were undertaken both at Hirtenberg and in Chile and confirmed that Hirtenberg's ammunition was first-rate. Ambassador von Styrcea, who gleefully reported to Foreign Minister von Aehren-

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thal that the material "met all expectations," observed that the news was "not gratifying for G[eneral] Boonen." Unfortunately, Leon Luco could not personally hand the tests to Boonen Rivera because the general "reported that he was ill." On 4 July, Medina received confirmation of the Hirtenberg order for thirty million bullets. 82 The minister of war, however, refused to back off on his deal with Mauser: he insisted on purchasing ammunition from the DW & MF, even though its terms for delivery and quality control did not match Hirtenberg's. The weapons procurement process had become utterly corrupt. Government officials, clearly in the thrall if not the pay of the DW & MF, first agreed to pay it a premium to supervise the manufacture of its Mausers. Then, after it had contracted to buy Hirtenberg ammunition for 4 million francs, the War Ministry spent another 4.488 million francs to purchase the same type of bullets from the DW & MF. This action made no sense and a legislative committee concluded that in order "to give business, regardless of the cost, to the factory of Deutsche Waffen . . . the request was duplicated, increasing thusly the amount of ammunition to amounts relatively unnecessary in an ordered and circumspect administration."83 Anxious to neutralize Matte's future influence, Erckert accused the Chilean ambassador of having worked consistently against German interests and of having been "bought" by the Austrians. Erckert also informed the Wilhelmstrasse that he suspected that Matte was under the influence of General Pinto Concha, the head of the Chilean Military Mission in Berlin. Both men had "cost" German industry orders estimated at 15 million marks in the past year or two.84 Thanks to the campaign of Erckert; Vorwerk & Co. (Mauser's agent in Valparaíso); and Otto Eccius, a Krupp director, both Pinto Concha and Matte lost their positions. The Military Mission ceased to exist. (Erckert had the wisdom to keep a low profile in this case. Not so Eccius, whose foolish boasting that he had brought about the mission's dissolution and Matte's dismissal precipitated a raucous debate in the Reichstag.)85 Over time, Ambassador von Styrcea came to realize that the Steyr contract for Mausers had been Austria's last hurrah. By 1914 he lamented that "German industrial goods nearly rule the local market." Since the Dual Monarchy's exports to Chile were transshipped via Hamburg they were considered to be "German."86 For its part, the War Ministry in Vienna appeared perplexed that the government failed to fund a shipping subvention for a direct line from Trieste to Valparaíso to expedite Austrian saltpeter imports and colonization projects. It omitted any mention of weapons exports from its brief.87 Clearly, Vienna had dropped out of the arms race. The ambassa-

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dor reported less and less on armaments sales and more and more on what he termed the alarming radicalism of Austrian Slavs residing in Chile. 88 The Krupp-Ehrhardt Artillery Duel Another and more expensive scandal would further demonstrate the power of the German arms merchants. In 1910 the tension between Chile and Peru over the border issue became so acute that Lima broke diplomatic relations with Santiago. War became a possibility. Times had changed: Peru had rebuilt its military, which numbered some ten thousand, and had recently acquired a large store of excellent French 75mm artillery. Chilean legislators became increasingly frightened by Lima's rearmament program, a program that the Chileans had not matched. "While Peru has armed itself to the teeth," remarked one deputy, "we have only the naked chest of our rotos to oppose them." Such remarks were not hyperbole. Of the Chilean army's 590 field and mountain guns, 400 were either the 1896 or 1898 model; the remainder dated back to 1886 or 1887. In 1910 the same war scare that forced Chile to purchase more small arms and ammunition made it authorize the expenditure of £500 million to modernize its field artillery.89 Artillery had undergone a virtual revolution since Krupp had last tested his guns in Chile, and the Essen giant had failed to keep pace. In fact, as early as the mid-1890s one of Krupp's designers, Konrad Haussner, had submitted drawings for a novel gun that recoiled on its carriage, only to be rebuffed by his employer. After several more attempts to get his ideas tested at Krupp, Haussner abandoned the firm and joined Ehrhardt's Rheinmetall at Düsseldorf. Using Ehrhardt's breakthrough technology, a lightweight, seamless-tube technology, Haussner invented a hydraulic buffer brake that absorbed a gun's recoil and thereby allowed almost continuous firing. In 1897 Ehrhardt offered this revolutionary design to the Prussian army's Ordnance Research Boardonly to be turned down in favor of Krupp's rigid pattern 96 gun.90 Norway and the United States, on the other hand, recognized Ehrhardt's superior product and purchased Rheinmetall's artillery. That same year, Schneider-Creuzot in France also introduced a gun that was superior to Krupp's pattern 96 piece, and in 1900 it put two advanced artillery guns with hydraulic recoil brakes on the market. Mexico, Greece, China, Peru, Portugal, and Spain at once bought Schneider-Creuzot guns. The anonymous "J" wrote a letter to Valparaíso's El Mercurio that concluded that "The superiority of the French equipment is irrefutable" because it had the better recoil device, demonstrated greater stability, and possessed better ballistic quali-

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ties and rate of fire. 91 Thus, in the first decade of the twentieth century Chile possessed an opportunity to surpass its model, the Prussian army, in both mountain and field artillery. In January 1909 Ambassador von und zu Bodman informed Berlin that President Montt had set 1 April as a firm date for competitive trials. He was less than enthusiastic. Artillery tests in Argentina in July 1908 had brought great success for Schneider-Creuzot, but the Paris bourse's refusal to underwrite a large loan had soured the deal. Having arranged financing, Krupp won the Argentinean contract in December.92 In February 1909 Bodman informed Berlin that a new military commission would leave for Europe. Headed by General Körner, it included Generals Boonen Rivera and Silva Renard, Colonels Altamirano and Bari, Majs. Juan Bennett and Ernesto Medina, and 1st Lt. Guillermo Novoaall artillery specialists. It was an open secret in Santiago, Bodman stated, that "one had decided in principle to award the contracts to German industry and that accordingly the commission would look at non-German suppliers only pro forma." Therewith, agreement ended. Within the commission, Boonen Rivera and Silva Renard favored Ehrhardt. Among "influential military circles" in Santiago, Bodman reported, there existed a deep-seated "antagonism" against Körner, who was seen (quite rightly) as little more than "Krupp's agent." Senior Chilean officers held Körner responsible for ''outfitting Chilean artillery with guns of diverse calibers." And they argued that Krupp's prices continued to be "1/3 higher than those of Schneider-Creuzot and 1/2 higher than those of Ehrhardt." Finally, Bodman warned that the new Chilean war minister, Darío Zañartu, was a former business "ally" of the German house of Gleissner & Co., which represented Ehrhardt in Chile. Only President Pedro Montt remained solidly in Krupp's camp. In the face of these facts, Bodman suggested a compromise: Chile could split its orders between Krupp and Ehrhardt and thereby cut the chief competitor, Schneider-Creuzot, out of the market. But the initiative had to come from Essen.93 Unlike the DW & MF, Krupp would never compromise with its competition. In May 1909 Essen instructed Vorwerk & Co., its Valparaíso agent, to mount a scurrilous press attack against Ehrhardt. It backfired. General Zañartu complained to Bodman that he had been offended by what he termed "the arrogant behavior" of Krupp's agent. Next, the war minister lectured the envoy concerning a recent case that highlighted the differences between Krupp and Ehrhardt. When Chile invited bids to modernize the antiquated Krupp guns it had bought from Schinzinger, Krupp demanded that Santiago cover all transportation costs. Ehrhardt, on the other hand,

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offered to pay them. When Vorwerk & Co. discovered that three Krupp guns had, indeed, been sent to Düsseldorf where they were modernized and tested successfully, the agent protested "this aggravated incident," arguing that only Krupp could alter its guns. Vorwerk conveniently overlooked the fact that Ehrhardt had already modernized Krupp guns for the Prussian army. Zañartu refused to accept Vorwerk's protest because of "its unacceptable tone," whereupon the agent attacked the war minister personally in the Chilean press. And when Vorwerk & Co. discovered that one of the German instructors, Maj. Viktor von Hartrott, ''as well as numerous Prussian officers," had purchased Rheinmetall stock it curtly demanded that Hartrott be excluded from any future firing tests. 94 In the meantime, the Chilean Military Commission studied European gun designs. Its secret instructions left no doubt about President Montt's intentions: "It is to study and to test exclusively the prototypes shown it by Krupp and Rheinische Metallwaren- und Maschinenfabrik, without accepting invitations to inspect or to test the prototypes of other firms." As a Chilean legislator subsequently stated, thanks to "certain unspecified incidents" Skoda, Armstrong, Vickers, and Schneider-Creuzot were in effect cut out of the competition for the two hundred Chilean mountain and field guns before it ever took place. This should come as no surprise. As Senator Carlos Walker Martínez had earlier observed the committee that was to select the new guns included General Körner who, despite his supposed love for Chile, was fundamentally a German who wished to spend his remaining days in the nation of his birth.95 When it came to a choice, he would side with the German product. The Chilean artillery tests proceeded as planned in April 1909 near Cartagena, using only Krupp guns and without Major von Hartrott present. In June Ambassador von und zu Bodman reported the results in a confidential report to Berlin that was based on an equally confidential report by Capt. Hans von Mohs, the Württemberg artillery specialist in Chile. It was a disaster for Krupp's rigid pattern 96 gun. The locking action in the breech had failed as early as the pretest trials. And when the Chileans tested fifty-six of the remaining Krupp pieces bought between 1898 and 1902, similar defects were discovered in two-thirds of the guns. "During the very first shot, the inner tube slid with a loud bang as much as 2/10mm out of the cotter slot, so that the breech could no longer be locked." The problem was with the guns rather than the ammunition, which had been brought out fresh from Essen. According to Mohs, Krupp engineers had underestimated the pressure on the gun's jacket. And while the defects could be repaired, this proved to be time-consuming ("several hours" per tube) and

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expensive. In Bodman's view, the disastrous tests damaged not only Krupp but German industry itself. The official Chilean report, leaked to Bodman, concluded that its army would have been placed "in a highly compromising position had it moved into the field in case of war, blindly trusting the reliability of its Krupp material." If the defect had not been noticed before battle the results could have been "devastating." Bodman suggested that Krupp provide a formal apology and repairs. 96 Far from doing either, Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach instead trained his guns on Bodman. In August 1909 Krupp interrupted his Bavarian vacation and in a blistering epistle protested to Foreign Secretary Wilhelm Baron von Schoen Bodman's "pessimistic interpretations." The problems with the inner tubes, Krupp declared, were not only well known but "in no way call into question the quality and usefulness of Krupp-delivered material." Indeed, quite the opposite! That a minuscule shifting of the inner tubes by 0.2mm could cause the breech to fail to lock "could rather be interpreted as evidence of the incredibly precise work that goes into all materials delivered by Essen." Moreover, Krupp averred, had the Chileans routinely exercised their guns instead of storing them in hot arsenals they would have detected this slight imperfection, ''which can be remedied without difficulty by any locksmith in a quarter of an hour." Krupp deemed the entire matter to be "not unusual" and in any case "irrelevant in peacetime." It had been blown up into a cause célèbre "through ignorance or malevolence on the part of those involved." The last comment was aimed squarely at Bodman. Bohlen und Halbach, a colorless bureaucrat handpicked by William II to marry the Krupp heiress Bertha, suggested that the real problem lay with the ineptitude of German diplomatic representation in Chile: "I can only regret deeply that the German ambassador, despite [my] stated remarks, has chosen to view the matter in the darkest light possible." Had Bodman but noticed the "despicable manner" in which Ehrhardt had attacked Krupp in both Argentina and Chile he would have taken a less offensive stance. Krupp closed his brief by demanding that "the prestige of the firm of Krupp" be energetically defended in Chile.97 The Austrians seized on the poor test results in an eleventh-hour attempt to displace Krupp from the Chilean market. Bros. Böhler lectured the War Ministry on the "great economic importance" of gun orders "for Austrian industry" in that 240 tubes and 120,000 shells were at stake. But it was critical, Böhler instructed the War Ministry, that Austrian firms tender joint bids for guns as well as ammunition. The War Ministry and Foreign Office thought the Chilean business sufficiently important to approach Francis

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Joseph II for formal approval, which the kaiser readily gave "to further our industry." Obviously worried about the abysmal Krupp test results, President Montt and War Minister Zañartu instructed the Chilean Commission to inspect Böhler's 8cm M5 guns at Felixdorf and Kapferberg. 98 At the urging of Friedrich Johann Baron von Seidler, Vienna's new attaché at Santiago, Foreign Minister von Aehrenthal instructed the boards of trade at Vienna, Eger, Prague, Graz, Troppau, Olmütz, Klagenfurt, Pilsen, and Rechenberg to mobilize Austrian firms for the Chilean orders. Friedrich Carl von Erckert, the new German ambassador at Santiago, got wind of the Austrian initiative. As a board member on the Berlin Council on Africa, Erckert had already come to appreciate the value of overseas markets for German industry. At Santiago, he later defined his chief mission as "exploiting our relations with the Chilean army in the interests of our industry. . . . I use every opportunity to impress upon leading [Chilean] circles that with regard to military deliveries we have a certain moral right to be considered first and foremost."99 Erckert admonished senior German instructorsHartrott, Mohs, and Hans von Kieslingto lobby Chilean officers on behalf of German industry. In the meantime, the Chilean Military Commission gathered at Ambassador Matte's residence in Berlin and agreed to first test fire Krupp's guns at Essen in July and then, in September, Rheinmetall's at Düsseldorf-Derendorf. The results were inconclusive. In October General Körner informed the Chilean War Ministry that both prototypes were acceptable. Although Rheinmetall's gun was superior in ease of handling, stability, and rapidity of fire, Krupp's was the more accurate. Paul Desprez, the French ambassador to Santiago, claimed that five members of the commission, including Boonen Rivera, favored the Ehrhardt; three wanted the Krupp.100 As the head of the Chilean commission, Körner insisted on a new series of trials at Krupp's Meppen firing range in November to test the durability of the Krupp and Ehrhardt guns. It too produced no clear winner. The tail-spade, traversing lever, and handle of Rheinmetall's gun broke after 50 kilometers in the field; the same fate befell the Krupp gun after 212 kilometers. Ambassador Matte thereupon recalled the commission to Berlin and pieced together a compromise: the best parts of each gun were to be combined into a single, new model, to be built by Krupp. But, true to form, Krupp refused to accept any compromise, especially one that could lead to possible patent infringements. The Chilean commission was so narrowly divided that it submitted separate briefs to Santiago on behalf of both German competitors.101 The final decision rested with Pedro Montt. Early in January 1910, the

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president opted, against the advice of Foreign Minister Rodríguez, to purchase all guns and ammunition from Krupp at a cost of 21.3 million marks. The Austrian attaché at Santiago, Baron von Seidler, informed Vienna that President Montt had "categorically explained" that he had reached his "vis major in the interest of the uniformity of armaments" in Chilean artillery. To Ambassador Matte in Berlin, Montt confided that he had reached his decision mainly on the basis of "the reputation of Krupp material" and because Chile dared not "blaze new trails'' in this matter. "Körner," he wrote, "has resolved all doubts" about the wisdom of buying from Krupp. The general's actions should come as no surprise. Though Senator Walker Martínez conceded that Körner was "as adoring of Chile as the best of the Chileans," he nevertheless instructed the War Ministry that don Emilio would never "go against the wishes or preoccupations of his emperor . . . or alienate the goodwill of his fellow citizens, among whom no doubt he will wish to spend his last days." 102 Other Chileans believed that merit had not inspired Montt's decision. Santiago's La Lei claimed that, thanks to bribery, "the house of Krupp has, in the last days, been able to win a public bid, at a cost of 8,000,000 marks to the Chilean treasury." Blaming not just Körner and the Comisión Militar, the paper even intimated that the president had been paid off.103 A Chilean congressman, Ricardo Cox Méndez, carried the fight to the legislature. He demanded that the government explain its actions, noting that a pamphlet that had appeared in Santiago indicated that the Krupp gun was antiquated and inadequate compared to its competition. We do not know what argument the minister of war offered, but the legislature, meeting in secret session, ratified the deal, which called for Chile to spend approximately 40 million marks on 144 field guns, howitzers, and ammunition.104 Krupp's victory, like that of the DW & MF, had been a foregone conclusion. A U.S. envoy claimed that if Santiago had not bought from Krupp, the kaiser would have repatriated the German officers serving as instructors in the Chilean army as well as Chileans serving in German regiments. In a "highly confidential" report, Austria's attaché at Santiago, Baron von Seidler, also reported that the Prussian War Ministry had used "high-pressure" tactics to influence the decision by warning that Chilean officers then serving in Germany would be denied all military information if Santiago preferred "foreign firms in gun deliveries."105 Seidler's report prompted the AustroHungarian navy to inform Santiago that because of "state security interests" it would no longer train Chilean officers.106 President Montt's decision to embrace Krupp cost his nation dearly. He had signed a contract without even knowing its unit prices, delivery sched-

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ules, or terms of payment. Krupp's eventual price of 172,250 francs for each battery of four tubes and six munitions wagons turned out to be higher than those of Schneider-Creuzot and Ehrhardt. To guarantee payment of the roughly 40 million marks, Krupp took possession of 5 percent Chilean Treasury bonds for three years. Once more, the Essen giant had landed the deal in part by persuading one of its partners, the Diskontogesellschaft, to join RothschildLondon in granting Chile a loan of 53 million marks. In 1911 Diskonto and another Krupp ally, the Deutsche Bank, underwrote a further Chilean loan of 100 million marks (Rothschild assumed an equal amount). Both loans were at 5 percent interest. In both cases, Chile received but 90 percent of the face value of the loans. 107 Thus, once again, Chile paid dearly for Krupp purchasesand then financed them just as dearly through long-term, high-interest German loans. Not surprisingly, Heinrich Ehrhardt was irate. On 18 January 1910, he angrily reminded the Wilhelmstrasse that the Chilean Military Commission had "unanimously" voted to purchase its ammunition from him and that "the majority of its members" had "preferred our material" to that of Krupp, even though the Essen firm ''had used our hydraulic recoil-barrel buffer brake." "Despite our lower prices," all orders had gone to Krupp. Ehrhardt detected a pattern in these overseas deals: "Strings are being pulled behind the scenes by forces that, despite the fact that their origin is not unknown, are still hard to pin down. [They] press the financially weaker up against the wall and deprive him of the success due him for his accomplishments." Ehrhardt lectured the Wilhelmstrasse that it was his "duty" to combat such nefarious "forces" by asking Chile to reconsider its peremptory decision. Within forty-eight hours, Baron von Schoen coldly replied that the Foreign Office, though neutral in business matters, was obviously delighted that a German firm had won the order.108 Predictably, the Chilean decision did not thrill Krupp's foreign competitors. Schneider-Creuzot of France, which had leased 197,600 acres of forest at Corral Bay to get a leg up on Krupp, formally protested the award of the artillery order to the Essen firm. Schneider-Creuzot argued that it had spent approximately 221,000 francs building three models of the 75mm guna field piece, a howitzer, and a mortarand had provided one thousand rounds of shells per piece. Since the Moneda had requested a bid from Schneider and then never held the shoot-off it demanded payment for its expenses.109 When Santiago refused, the company's owners became livid. This issue involved more than Schneider's wounded amour propre; money was at stake. According to Antonio Huneeus, French industrialists knew about the Chilean government's unconventional behavior and threat-

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ened to retaliate. Predictably, they appealed to their own government. Noting Chile's hostility to French economic interests, the specialist on American affairs in the Ministry of Foreign Relations, Abel Chevalley, had indicated that Paris would not permit Santiago to sell its bonds on the Paris bourse. Chile, he noted, "cannot be under any illusions: a small country because of the single fact of contracting with the subjects of a great power loses in a certain way a portion of its sovereignty." Santiago, he suggested, should try to salve Schneider's anger. The Moneda ignored Schneider's champions. Desprez, the French ambassador at Santiago, poured his "lamentations" out concerning what he termed ''Krupp's monopoly position" in Chile to his Austrian colleague Styrcea. Styrcea could only commiserate by agreeing that it was "incredibly difficult to contest the deep German influence in all matters pertaining to the Chilean army." 110 Privately, Gustav Krupp appreciated that he had almost lost the Chilean deal. In an internal memorandum of 30 April 1910, he drew the lessons from the near loss of the Chilean orders to Rheinmetall. In the future, the company would use all its influence both in Berlin and Santiago to prevent competitors from being allowed even to ship test guns to Chile. Not only were trials "too problematical" for the security of future orders, they also encouraged "polemics" against Krupp in local newspapers. When in the summer the Foreign Office refused a request by two members of the permanent Military Mission in Berlin (General Pinto Concha and Colonel Altamirano) to attend German maneuvers, Krupp quickly overturned the decision by appealing directly to William II.111 Krupp would soon have to do battle to protect his interests. Ehrhardt would get a second bite at the apple because the Chilean army had decided to purchase twelve batteries of mountain guns at a cost of £233,000. And since Krupp, unlike Ehrhardt, did not specialize in mountain artillery, it appeared quite possible that Krupp would lose in an open, fair competition. To prevent precisely that possibility, Krupp promised to build a special model mountain gun for Chile, provided that Santiago committed itself to the Essen firm. The mountain gun functioned well enough on the Krupp test ranges, but the Chilean Artillery Commission sent to supervise the construction discovered some flaws that required correction. It also insisted that Krupp ship the weapon to Chile, where it could be tested under field conditions less antiseptic than those of the German firing range. Krupp had little alternative but to comply; it dispatched the weapon with a team of gunners to Chile. Still, the agreement with the Moneda seemed ironclad: Santiago had to purchase the Krupp guns if the latter met the technical specifications.

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To ensure its triumph, Krupp employed its usual tricks. First, it pulled strings to prevent Ehrhardt from ever testing its weapon in Chile. Initially it enjoyed some success; various ministers of war would not permit Ehrhardt to bring its wares to Chile. But eventually public pressure forced War Minister Leon Luco to allow Ehrhardt's participation in a proposed shoot-off with Krupp. Essen fought the good fight: it called upon its Chilean allies for additional help and they responded. The head of customs, for example, refused to allow Ehrhardt to remove its weapons from a Los Andes customs shed, supposedly because it could not decide what import duty the artillery manufacturer should pay. It took some legislative efforts to end the months of haggling before a customs official allowed the weapons to enter the country for the firing trials. 112 Meanwhile, the hour of truth for Krupp's mountain gun had come. After the conclusion of the portability trials in Aconcagua the artillery piece arrived at the Batuco range for a test firing. These trials would be supervised by Krupp's representative, a retired army captain named Grünveller and his mechanic, a Herr Flache; an all-German gun crew would do the actual firing. The Chileans showed up in force. The government provided support personnel from the telegraph battalion as well as some artillerymen and a special train to transport the new minister of war, Claudio Vicuña; four of his predecessors; seven generals; a gaggle of politicians; and numerous senior artillery officers from Santiago to Batuco. After the opening ceremonies, which included some lectures extolling the virtues of Krupp, the Germans fired the gun over distances of one thousand to four thousand meters. These results must have humiliated Krupp: in the three sets of tests the mountain gun generally missed the five-by-four-meter target. Worse, the recoil device apparently failed, which sometimes allowed the barrel to slam into the ground. Eventually, the gunners had to dig a roughly twenty-centimeter hole to permit the barrel to recoil freely. An anonymous high-ranking Chilean officer watching the exercises blamed the gun's lackluster results on faulty ammunition or an unskilled gun crew. (Refreshingly, he, at least, did not blame the Jews.)113 Given that the tests had caused some "indecision," the officer suggested that it might not be a bad idea for the army to test fire the Ehrhardt weapon. Logically, Krupp, which had already missed one deadline, should have been out of luck: customers rarely rush to buy an artillery piece that cannot hit a twenty-square-meter target. But logic did not seem to be the minister of war's long suit. Rather than disqualify the Essen company, Vicuña ordered another round of trials, claiming that the tests had occurred under "unusual circumstances" rather than "regular conditions"whatever that

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meant. The second series of tests proved only slightly more felicitous. Although the German gun crew managed to hit the target with more regularity, the recoil device, despite Krupp's promises to remedy the problem, still failed to function properly. 114 The combination of the gun's faulty recoil device and less-than-sterling accuracy naturally caused some dismay. El Mercurio wondered how long Chile would have to wait before Krupp learned how to manufacture a mountain gun. Senator Gonzalo Bulnes appeared intolerant: Chile should regard any agreement with Krupp as provisional; if the company did not meet its specifications Santiago should go elsewhere."115 But the government, unlike Bulnes, had the patience of Job. Minister of War Vicuña called for the gun's recoil device to be tested yet again, this time at the Fábrica de Cartuchos. (It must be remembered that German personnel supervised this factory, which during the Steyr affair had apparently sabotaged the inspection of the spare parts.) Not surprisingly, he also reconstituted the test committee. Vicuña then rescheduled additional trials for Batuco. The final round of tests proved disappointing. When fired at its highest elevation, the weapon's barrel still occasionally struck the ground. Worse, an officer argued that the act of readjusting the piece after each round had been fired called into question the test's results. Clearly, the mountain gun needed additional modifications. Rather than continue, the committee's members suspended the trials when Krupp promised to improve the gun's recoil device. The committee stipulated, however, that it would not accept any modifications if the Essen firm altered the weapon's stability or precision. Of course, any final decision required that the cannon be "tested again before the artillery officers in Europe, who would be selected by the government."116 As the Krupp equipment suffered one mishap after another, the company's advocates became shrilly defensive. Luis Barceló, Krupp's local attorney, demeaned his competition. The Ehrhardt mountain gun, he noted, was fit only for fighting "the Hottentots"; anyone seriously interested in killing white people, like the warring sides in the then raging Balkan War, invariably opted for Krupp's field piece. (Barceló's observations, like many of his charges, were about as accurate as the Krupp mountain gun. As one anonymous letter writer to El Mercurio noted, most of those fighting in the Balkans used the Schneider-Canet. Only the Turks, who like their Chilean cohorts had employed a German Military Mission, relied on Krupp. This fact brought little comfort: the Ottoman army's poor performance made many question the value of the German weapon and methods.) Barceló became almost absurd in his defense of Krupp. Ehrhardt not only produced

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a bad gun, he claimed, but its financial condition was weak. Those Chileans who favored sound finances over technical considerations might have had second thoughts, however, had they heard an Argentine artillery officer's recent warning that a reliance on Essen's mountain gun "would cost much Chilean blood" in any future war. 117 Ehrhardt finally got its chance to test fire its weapon in December 1912, when it conducted a series of trials at El Culenar. It is difficult to assess this contest's results because the members of the test committee themselves could not agree, although most (including General Silva Renard and Majs. Alfredo Gacitua and Carlos Harms) seemed to favor the weapon over the Krupp version. One has the distinct feeling that the authorities stacked the deck against Ehrhardt. The government, for example, chose to test fire the Ehrhardt not at Batuco but at El Culenar, which was not really a proper firing range; it had been purchased the year before and lacked facilities. Moreover, various prominent artillery officers admitted that the conditions were not the same. For example, Ehrhardt had to perform the tests under certain unusual time constraints and without the proper ammunition. Since the test conditions differed, the test results could hardly be equated. Of course, this distinction did not deter Generals Boonen Rivera and Bari from flaying their colleague, General Silva Renard, or indeed anyone, for daring to support the purchase of the Ehrhardt gun.118 Everyone could have saved their energy. Once the "imperial eagle [had] extended its protective wings" over the house of Krupp it was a done deal; the contest was rigged before it began. As the British military attaché tartly noted, "Some of the influential advocates of the Krupp guns, however, are, . . . directly interested in the acquisition of the guns of that firm and it is hardly to be expected an impartial verdict as regards the Ehrhardt pattern can be looked for."119 The anti-Krupp forces were right. Someone had orchestrated a campaign to ensure that the Moneda purchased the Krupp gun. Even before the tests, Leon Luco had specifically ordered Matte to "Buy from Krupp. Contract with Krupp; we will not contract in any way with Ehrhardt." It was an order the minister obeyed, albeit with ''deep disgust [and] indignation." Matte subsequently revealed that Krupp had used its clout to force the removal of unsympathetic bureaucrats "to ensure that its interests prevail even when these conflict with those of the state." Krupp had also employed its tradition of offering bribes. An American officer reported that the German firm owned at least two legislators. Indeed, the local Krupp representative, a Herr Schumacher, even admitted that Krupp had suborned various officers serving on Chile's European Comisión Militar, which

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willingly compromised the nation's security "for commercial interests or the love of a certain firm." The minister of the interior, Ismael Tocornal, denied this allegation as well as the charge that he had received a letter from Matte stating that he believed the Ehrhardt gun was better than Krupp's. The time had come, a legislative budget committee argued, to end the "habitual abuses and the chronic corruption that has penetrated public administration and threatens to end all order in the state's finances." 120 These charges did not go unchallenged. La Razón, paladin of the Radical Party, defended the procurement procedures and by implication the reputation of Alejandro Rosselot, the Radical minister of war. It did not see corruption "because it does not exist." Another journal called for an end to the debate, which not only damaged Chile's reputation but threatened to jeopardize Santiago's relations with Krupp, "whose services we will need one hundred times in the future."121 Krupp's defenders may have bought its tales, but the Wilhelmstrasse did not. The German ambassador conceded privately, very privately, that Krupp had triumphed over Ehrhardt by conducting a campaign "skillfully and emphatically behind the scenes."122 But this scheming did not seem to bother him as much as the spectacle of one German firm fighting another in "malicious battle." Such public displays of pique might have damaged Germany's image in Chile. Thus, Erckert admonished the Foreign Office to censure Rheinmetall for its "actions, which had damaged the national interest." The Wilhelmstrasse complied at once. Finally, Erckert suggested that Foreign Secretary von Schoen instruct Krupp to act more prudently in the future.123 Berlin's recriminations, however, were uttered sotto voce. Regardless of its methods, Krupp's smashing triumph reaffirmed what Ambassador von Erckert called Germany's "monopoly position" in supplying the Chilean army. "Contracts are not tendered internationally," the envoy boasted, "but mainly given out directly by the Military Mission in Germany." Essen would subsequently win a supplementary contract for 48 mountain, 24 field, and 16 coastal guns as well as 8 howitzers and 304 munitions wagons. The DW & MF meanwhile filled an order for 37,000 rifles and knapsacks, 30 million bullets, and 30 machine guns. Other German firms sold Chile 37,000 Prussian-issue knapsacks at 90,000 Marks; 30,000 Parabellum semiautomatic pistols with 15 million rounds at 2.5 million Marks; 30,000 (perhaps 50,000) rifles along with 30 million bullets being negotiated with Mauser at 8 million Marks; 6,000 harnesses for mules,

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3. Tangerhütte, 10 July 1909. Artillery tests in the presence of the chief of the Chilean Military Commission, General Silva Renard. Pictured from left to right: (front row) General Silva Renard, General Körner, Professor Rausenberger, General Boonen-Rivera; (middle row) Schultz, Grünveller, Hauschild, Colonel Altamirano; (back row) First Lieutenant Novoa, Major Medina, Major Bennett, Colonel Bari. Courtesy of Historisches Archiv Krupp, Essen. 1,500 waist belts, 15,000 bandoleers, 15,000 Prussian-issue billhooks, equipment for two medical companies and 12 field hospitals at 2 million Marks; 60 (possibly 140) field kitchens, 35,000 saddles, new equipment for the munitions factory at 1.5 million Marks. 124 Even horseshoes and musical instruments had come from Germany. Precise totals for the German deliveries are hard to ascertain, although Erckert estimated that the Reich had sold over 80 percent of the 60 million marks' worth of goods Chile imported.125 The artillery orders brought a flood of Chileans to Essen. Earlier, in July 1909, General Körner had been feted at the Villa Hügel and given a tour of the Tangerhütte firing range. In January 1910 Krupp hosted a delegation of Chilean and German naval engineers from Valparaíso, who were sent to inspect the company's latest 25cm coastal artillery pieces. In October Körner arrived again, this time with a party of five Chilean officers in tow, to take possession of the first field guns. Krupp rolled out the red carpet. The group

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4. Krupp AG Foundry, Essen, Germany, 15 May 1912. Chilean Artillery Acceptance Commission at the Essen test range. Pictured from left to right: three unidentified men, La-Costa, Colonel Stuardo, Captain Tirado, General Körner, Hille (Chilean), Blanquier (Chilean), unidentified man. Courtesy of Historisches Archiv Krupp, Essen. was wined and dined at Villa Hügel; shown workers' quarters in the Alfredshof, Altenhof, and Friedrichshof; taken through the firm's museum; and given formal tours (denied to almost all foreign visitors) of Krupp's plate mill, rolling mill, forges, Bessemer converter, smelting house, open-hearth steel plant, and press works. Krupp recorded for posterity that they were handed precisely seven postcards as souvenirs. Körner and the Chileans proudly posed for Krupp photographers. Overall, no fewer than sixty-nine Chilean visitors toured the firm's facilities at Essen, Meppen, and Tangerhütte in these years. 126 Throughout the KruppEhrhardt and DW & MFÖWG confrontations, General Körner had been the silent "force" guiding affairs from Germany. Don Emilio had taken advantage of the 1910 centenary celebrations to bow out of Santiagowith his full salary as a pensionand to guide Santiago's military purchases from Berlin and Essen as honorary head of Chile's Ordnance Acceptance Commission. Krupp records attest to Körner's vigor. The general visited Essen, Magdeburg, Meppen, Rheinhausen, and Tangerhütte in October 1910; in April 1911; in May, June, August, and September

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5. Krupp AG Foundry, Essen, Germany, 18 September 1912. Visit by Chilean officers. Pictured from left to right: Herr Roskoten, Dr. Muehlon, Herr Beckmann, Herr Homann, Herr v. Schaewen, Dr. Hugenberg, Colonel Aguirre, Professor Rausenberger, Captain Tirado, Lieutenant Guerrero, Herr Winchenbach, Count v. d. Schulenburg, Frau Tirado, Frau Cáceres, Colonel Stuardo, Herr Grafmann *, Herr Congehl, Herr v. Rabenau, Captain Ahumada, General Cáceres, General Körner, Herr Moldenhauer. Courtesy of Historisches Archiv Krupp, Essen. (twice) 1912; and in August 1913. Ambassador von Erckert happily informed Berlin that an earlier order for fifty-six mountain guns had gone directly through General Körner. When Chilean orders exceeded what Congress had funded, as in 1913, for example, don Emilio enthusiastically offered his services, in this case, arranging a 5.5 percent penalty on the excess orders in return for a "gift" of four field howitzers. Upon learning that by 1913 Chile had purchased French aviation materials, the indefatigable Körner, at the urging of several German aircraft manufacturers, personally arranged for Capt. Roberto Ahumada to be trained and certified in Fokker's newest monoplane at Johannisthal.127 General Körner had abetted and profited from the activities of Krupp and DW & MF. Even his supposed retirement did not end his manipulations of the Chilean army. Obviously, the German industrialists and to a lesser extent the German government had derived substantial benefits from the general's activities as well as those of Schinzinger and the people whom he suborned.

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Predictably, Erckert looked forward to the arrival of new military instructors. As in the past, their direct "influence over the Chilean army" would "further secure our economic and political position in South America." 128 Ambassador von Erckert's dreams did not materialize. In August 1914 Germany's officers returned home to put into practice the lessons in mayhem they had tried to impart to the Chileans. Germany had received good value from its instructors, from Krupp, and from his colleagues: millions of Chilean pesos, excluding the few that clung to the hands of the middlemen, including Schinzinger and the ubiquitous Körner, had flowed to Essen and thus into the German economy. The First World War and the Treaty of Versailles finished Germany as an arms exporter. During the bleak 1920s, Krupp, Mauser, and the countless others no doubt fondly remembered don Emilio's magic touch during the golden years. The Chilean army, however, had ample cause to regret the Germans: "the art of the deal" had cost it, and the nation, dearly.

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6 Domestic Corruption The same venality that seemed rife in the central government also polluted Chile's army. This corruption surfaced in a variety of places: in the military's procurement programs for equipment and uniforms, in the feeding of the troops and their mounts, and in the regulation of promotion and assignment for the officer corps. This organizational degradation should not surprise us. Sadly, venality had become the hallmark of Chile from 1891 to 1924, and the army could hardly escape it when other institutions could not. But the military's problems were unique in the sense that they resulted, in part, from Emil Körner's efforts and those of his German allies. The Mauser triumph, combined with Krupp's earlier victory, opened up the Chilean market to German industry. By 1905 Siemens-Schuckert of Berlin had already built the first generating station for H. B. Sloman's salitrera in Antofagasta. Subsequently, the Deutsche-Überseeische Elektrizitäts-Gesellschaft acquired all preferred shares in the Chilean Electric Tramway & Light Company Ltd., securing a lease until 1953 on Santiago's streetcars and until 1956 on the capital's hydroelectric plant. The Compañía alemana transatlántica eléctrica also obtained the concession for electric streetcars in Valparaíso. In 1910 Siemens-Schuckert, backed by the Deutsche Bank, bid on contracts to build a railroad from Valparaíso to Santiago. 1 In 1912 the Hamburg Asphalt Works secured a contract to pave the streets of Santiago. At the same time, Gen. Emil Körner turned to three major German financial institutions (Deutsche Bank, Dresdner Bank, and the Diskontogesellschaft) to put together a syndicate to modernize Valparaíso harbor.2 In short order, Chile ordered everything from locomotives to school atlases, fire engines to horseshoes, and lighthouses to drilling rigs from Germany.3 A public tender to build a fresh water line from Laguna Negra in the Andes to Santiago likewise was "but a formality," Ambassador Friedrich Carl von

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Erckert trumpeted, for the contract had already been awarded to the firm of Philipp Holzmann of Frankfurt. 4 Prospects for the future seemed equally bright. A delegation from the Upper Silesian Iron Industry Company Ltd., touring Chile in 1913, concluded that the country was still decades away from gaining independence from foreign suppliers. Its steel industry remained fully reliant on overseas, and especially German, technology and supplies. Chile as yet possessed no modern rolling plants, pressing and stamping mills, tool and die plants, or brass foundries. The lack of skilled laborers and supervisors handicapped national industry. Even in the production of wheels, Chile provided only the wood and remained dependent on German suppliers for iron rims. The delegation reported that "A change in this situation is not to be expected in the foreseeable future."5 Although confident in the quality of their goods, some German companies used bribes to guarantee their business success. A few even openly boasted that they obtained contracts through what had become the "customary practices" of Bakschisch. In April 1913, for example, John J. Engel Company of Berlin, a major supplier of steel and copper, asked the director of the Chilean State Railroads, "please tell me how much I should transfer to you personally from the contract for metals, which you have awarded this firm." Engel suggested the direct approach: "I will purchase stocks in local profitable firms in your name; and every time dividends are distributed, I will send these to you at any address that you specify. . . . I need add that you will not have to pay a penny for the stocks." (Engel had cause to regret his candor; upon discovering the attempted bribe the government prohibited the company from doing business with the state.)6 Though Erckert informed Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg that he had no problems with such "customary practices," the ambassador nevertheless thought the flagrant bribery ("this stupidity") a bit much, coming as it did on the heels of the "Krupp-Ehrhardt scandal" and Parliament's "denunciations of Krupp'' over the dismissal of Ambassador Matte and the dissolution of the Military Mission.7 To be sure, most German firms were more circumspect in their exercise of "customary practices," either omitting them entirely from their records or (like Krupp) hiding them under innocuous headings such as "travel expenses." The Germans' suborning of local officials could not have succeeded without the complicity of Chileans, both military and civil. According to Enrique Mac-Iver, the fact that numerous Chileans participated in this widespread and flagrant fraud revealed a deep malaise that resulted from "our lack of public morality . . . the forgetting of duty by the public officials and

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the abandoning of public responsibility in order to advance personal ambitions, hatred, vengeance, greed and partisan interests." What he called the nation's "Moral Crisis" occurred in part, if not exclusively, because of the prevailing political climate. 8 The Parliamentary-Military-Industrial Complex The 1891 Revolution initiated what became known as the Parliamentary Regime (18911924). In some respects the new government emulated various European countries because the legislature held all the political cards. The president was a political eunuch, more a host at a public party. The real power lay in the hands of the minister of the interior who wielded it as long as he, and the ministers who composed his cabinet, enjoyed the confidence of a majority of the congress. Parliamentary governments do not have to be inherently unstable, but in Chile they were and became more so over time. By the end of the Parliamentary Regime in 1924, most governments lasted no more than a few months before they were replaced. This defect resulted from the peculiarities or flaws of the Chilean political system. For a small country, Chile possessed a large number of ideologically flexible political parties. This abundance of ideological alternatives seems bizarre given the fact that until 1938 at most only 8.6 percent of the population voted.9 Shared ideas did not motivate these political organizations. Indeed, most seemed utterly without a firm base: they owed their tenure not to popular support, but to a bizarre system of proportional representationcalled the cumulative voteand electoral corruption. The cumulative vote, an arrangement that gave each voter the same number of votes as there were candidates seeking office, sought to protect minority party rights. In this respect the law achieved its purpose. Voters could, and did, throw all their ballots behind one candidate, thus ensuring his election and the survival of an otherwise antiquated political group. In truth, the cumulative vote constituted a life-support system, artificially perpetuating political parties that otherwise would have, and perhaps should have, ceased to exist. The corruption took more complicated forms. Politicians often bought votes from the urban electorate, who considered selling their ballot a form of supplemental income. The countryside was less mercantile. Hacendados persuaded their resident labor force, the inquilinos, to vote, often in public, for the landowner's favorite. (Those peons who complied received a free

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lunch and liquor; those who dared to exercise their birthright lost their jobs and ended up on a blacklist.) The less genteel resorted to a variety of stratagems: stuffing the ballot box, miscounting the vote, or occasionally unleashing a goon squad upon hapless voters. The more innovative managed to resurrect the dead (men only since women could not vote) in time for elections. These tactics produced legislatures that owed their allegiance not to the voters but to the small elites that put them in power. With the exception of the working-class parties, like the Democrats or Socialist Workers, the legislators generally ignored the pressing needs of the nation: education, public health, housing, and ending inflation. Instead, the congress served the interests of those who empowered them or their class. Typically, one of the first steps of the Parliamentary Regime was to replace taxes on land, income, or gifts with an export levy on the sale of nitrate, thus shifting the burden of supporting the government from the shoulders of the wealthy to those of the foreign consumer. The large landowning oligarchy, moreover, used most of the revenues generated in the north where they did not live to build or modernize the infrastructure of the Central Valley, where they did. Not surprisingly, the oligarchy, which regarded the state as its plaything, came to see the armed forces as an instrument for protecting its interests by quelling labor disputes, perverting elections, and limiting union activities. But it went beyond maintaining order and property rights; the military was theirs, a combination hobby horse and handmaiden. Legislators, for example, ordered the navy to send a cruiser to transport them to Valparaíso from the port of Coquimbo, where they had gone to observe an election. The cost in terms of fuel consumed, wear and tear on the ship, and food equaled $12,000, an enormous indulgence since it cost but $260 to travel by rail. The congressmen, at least, had more reason to commandeer a warship than the minister of war, Carlos Silva Cruz, who ordered a destroyer to take him and his friends to the seaside resort of Zapallar, or the "distinguished family" that demanded that a naval vessel transport them from Valparaíso, where they were vacationing, to the naval base at Talcahuano. One newspaper might very well demur that cruisers "should not be used as yachts," but they were. The abuse became so egregious that one admiral suggested that the government buy a vessel to carry the politicians back and forth and stop interrupting the navy's routine. 10 Predictably, the oligarchy, which dispersed civil service appointments to reward its patrons, friends, and underlings, saw provisioning the military as another opportunity for enrichment. Invariably the advocates of military import substitution clothed their often base aims in the rhetoric of eco-

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nomic nationalism and self-sufficiency. The military often backed such projects. One young officer, for example, suggested buying artillery harnesses as well as carts from local, not foreign, manufacturers. The result would not merely be products better suited for Chilean conditions, but such locally produced material would save money while fomenting national industries, and would even create an export industry. 11 Consistent with this policy, the War Ministry did patronize local companies. In 1912 it authorized the commanders of the Second, Third, and Fourth Divisions to spend $211,000 for locally produced cavalry equipment. The government also purchased seven hundred bridles and stirrups from the army's Fábrica y Maestranza. The military, apparently utilizing a modified German Reinhardt saddle, wanted to develop one of its own. Hence, in conjunction with the National Society of Agriculture it decided to manufacture a saddle made from nationally produced items and designed to fit Chilean horses. The government even created a national stud farm to ensure a steady supply of animals for its mounted units. In its zeal, the military ignored earlier problems associated with prison-made shoes to urge that convicts manufacture clothing and equipment. The experience would not only moralize the local felon population but would "serve to create national factories, capable of providing for the nation in any fatal emergency."12 The military did not rely exclusively on the private sector for supply. It organized a slaughterhouse in Santiago, a shoe factory, and an Oficina de Vestuario to oversee the purchase or manufacture of meat, shoes, and uniforms. It also adopted the same rationale of economic nationalism. The army argued that the creation of its own purchasing agencies and factories would mean that it would patronize new military-related industries, which would make the country self-sufficient while helping local producers.13 While applauding the military's reliance upon the private companies, some Chileans opposed its decision to create institutions like the Oficina de Vestuario. Others claimed that such organizations diverted needed manpower and funds from the army's primary function: defending the country. An anonymous "captain" writing in the capital's El Mercurio argued that it was cheaper for the state if the army purchased rather than produced goods locally. Less laudable goals may have motivated civilian hostility to army control of supply. One editorial carped, for example, that the new military organizations effectively denied private industry the chance to share in the army's largesse.14 The "captain" need not have worried that the army's factories would displace private industry. Most of the military's programs failed. The stud farm certainly never managed to produce enough horses. Relying on local

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manufacturers to satisfy the military's needs foundered as well, in part because the domestic manufacturers lacked the resources or sometimes the skills to satisfy the army's needs. One critic claimed that local producers seemed incapable of even manufacturing field hats. Eventually, it suggested that the government request that the Comisión Militar in Europe purchase various models to be tested as well as material. 15 Thus, despite all the talk about using nationally produced products it was business as usual. Infected by the "mania for things foreign, which in military matters means exclusively German," the state continued to depend upon imported military goods. It authorized that foreigners build hangars and parts for the embryonic air force. In November 1911 the army purchased some six thousand Reinhardt saddles for approximately $817,000. Corruption seems to have tainted this deal. The Reinhardt Company, which apparently knew beforehand that it would get the contract, charged more per saddle than originally stipulated. Once this news became known, Gens. José María Bari and Vicente Palacios, who had signed the agreements, came under a cloud. Bari denied any responsibility, claiming that he merely transmitted the order; Palacios not only did the same but manfully tried to blame Bari. Although Gen. Arístides Pinto Concha of the Military Commission in Europe admitted that he actually placed the Reinhardt order, he too asserted that he was merely following an order that originated in Chile. Regardless of who was to blame, the state paid some 37 percent more per saddle. A newspaper claimed that it was the inclusion of accessories that drove up the price, although it remained unclear if the minister of war had approved of the price hike.16 The onset of the First World War, which cut Chile off from its normal suppliers, finally ended all temporizing. In 1916 the army began using locally produced olive drab to manufacture uniforms. Neither military necessity nor a desire "to foment the development of the nation's industries" motivated this change. In fact, the military abandoned its beloved blue uniforms in favor of the duller color because Chile's mills could not manufacture blue cloth. The war, however, did benefit local producers. The minister of war proudly observed that the army used cloth spun by the mills at Tomé, as well as local buttons, to manufacture its uniforms. To facilitate the supply of clothing and equipment, the minister urged that existing regulations be revised, which also would stimulate "the development of private industry." It was also the need to address the problems of dependency and finding ways to obtain weapons that led the government to create a committee of high-ranking officers to discover how national industries could satisfy the needs of the army and the navy.17

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Unfortunately, the distinction between fomenting national industries, which enriched the local manufacturers, and satisfying the military's needs may have blurred. Favoritism became common as a cozy relationship developed between the military and its suppliers. Rather than holding suppliers at arm's length, the minister of war together with various generals sometimes met with suppliers to discuss provisioning and supply. 18 This corruption may have flourished because the armed forces lacked the institutions and the will to resist the pressure of the civilian sector. In fact, General Körner's supposedly reorganized army still resembled some medieval military force that satisfied its logistical needs either by living off the land or by relying on civilian sutlers. If such primitive devices proved adequate during the Napoleonic wars, they had long since lost their capacity to function efficiently. Yet with rare exception, Chile continued to depend on private industry to provide food, forage, and, in some cases, its equipment. This primitive form of provisioning had its limits and worked barely under normal circumstances. The supply system utterly collapsed when the army had to mobilize just nine thousand reservists, as in 1910 to celebrate the nation's centenary, or more importantly in 1920 when it called up even more men. This left the military to depend upon the casual charity of strangers and good luck.19 It seems utterly inexplicable that Körner, who had served in one of the world's most technologically advanced nations, should create a military that relied on civilian provisioners to sustain itself. The reason for such a policy, like the reason for purchasing German weapons, was simple: greed. According to the French embassy at Santiago, Körner had already amassed substantial sums from his "commissions" on the weapons purchases, far in excess of what could be expected for a supposedly simple army officer.20 For Körner to pad his own pockets he needed allies, both civilian and within the army, men who would cooperate or look the other way. To accomplish this goal, he had to enlist the support of the local oligarchy by giving them a slice of the army's pie. Thus, instead of developing a competent professional supply corps to provision Chile's army, he fashioned a system that rewarded the nation's landowners, sutlers, and industrialists at the army's expense by depending on private provisioners and purchasing from domestic suppliers. The Supply System Historically, the Chilean army's supply system consisted of the government disbursing funds so that each soldier could feed himself. Although the War of the Pacific (187984) led to the creation of a supply corps, this

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institution proved temporary. When peace returned, the army reverted to its old ways. A cholera epidemic in the mid1880s required the dispersal of the army into very small units to quarantine the Argentine borderbut the cholera infected Chile anyway. Only this forced the military to accept the responsibility for feeding its men. This policy proved difficult to implement; camp followers, who fulfilled a variety of needs, would continue to accompany Chilean troops as late as the 1891 Civil War. 21 The first permanent supply organization, the Intendencia Jeneral de Ejército, did not appear until 1891. The new supply corps, however, still relied on civilian sutlers to provide rations. Given that even the minister of war considered the Intendencia "inadequate for the normal needs of the army," it is not surprising that it failed to cope with an extraordinary event: equipping and feeding approximately eighty thousand National Guardsmen mobilized during a national emergency.22 Recognizing that it needed to change the system, in 1898 the army created a new supply organization: the Intendencia e Comisarió Jeneral. Corrupt practices would warp this body almost from its inception. According to the press, each bid or purchase became the object of "parliamentary efforts, political threats, personal influences, and even bounties," all designed to line the pockets of contractors and doubtless those of the Intendencia's employees. The first intendant, Juan de Dios Correa Sanfuentes, purchased blankets that were not needed but failed to acquire boots, which were. He granted contracts to procure clothes without resort to public bidding. Eventually, the fraud and ineptitude became so flagrant that the minister of war had to dismiss Correa. A subsequent congressional investigation revealed that the former intendant seemed more concerned with enhancing the interests of private contractors than protecting the state's pocketbook; that he often bought unnecessary items; and that he paid employees even if they did not work (a common practice in the Chilean civil service during the Parliamentary Regime), accepted shoddy merchandise, and authorized payments for goods without having ordered them. Since his incompetence cost the army some $200,000 just for unneeded blankets, one can only surmise how much money he wasted, or pocketed.23 Correa was not the only party implicated in the scandal. General Körner was chastised for favoring a contact that authorized Carlos Berger to purchase clothing and insignia for officers from a German company, Robrecht of Berlin. Legislative critics complained about the deal for two reasons: the government had authorized the purchases without public bidding, and it cost 312,000 marks more than if the state had ordered them directly from the German concern. Körner escaped censure, but the legislative outcry did

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force the army to create a new supply organization, the Departamento de Administración. 24 The new supply organization could not cure the old ills. Although the new intendant, Gen. Fernando Lopetegui, was a pillar of rectitude, his subordinates were not. Indeed, the same men who staffed the old Intendancy became the staff of the new Departamento de Administración; even the regulations that governed their conduct were transplanted from the old regime. Not surprisingly, the culture of corruption, which had become entrenched in the Intendancy, continued to flourish. A small clique of suppliers, for example, dominated each sector of the supply process. The firm of Justiano i Cia sold the army most of its cloth, uniforms, and other items of clothing.25 In 1910 it would win a $600,000 contract; its only other rival, Alfredo Johnson i Cia, came in a poor second. Similarly, a few companiesLambert i Chicoineau, Miguel Etchepare, Alcides Magnere, Aycagner and Duhalde, and Ceferino Cruzsupplied the military with most of its shoe ware. Although the government rejected as monopolistic Etchepare's attempt to produce boots at a set price for five years, a monopoly, or at least an oligopoly, is nonetheless what it got: only a handful of manufacturers dominated the process.26 Two phenomena seemed to characterize the manufacturing of army boots: prices rose on a yearly basis, not surprising given the endemic inflation, and generally, the footwear cost roughly the same regardless of its producer, indicating that the manufacturers may have engaged in price fixing. Occasionally, the war minister authorized unit commanders to purchase boots. When this occurred in 1910, the general of Third Division saved about 10 percent. Given this fact, the government sometimes suggested that each garrison town create its own shoe factory, which would operate under the control of the local commander.27 The manufacture or marketing of other items used by the army also remained in the hands of a few. Viale i Cia virtually dominated the production of harnesses. The firm of Depassier dominated the sale of kitchen equipment, although Maximo Slutzky later appears to have displaced it.28 Eventually, the army reorganized the Departamento de Administración and placed officers in charge of the storage and the manufacture of shoes including the creation of the Military Shoe Factory; Talabartería (Riding Gear and Equipment); and Tailoring and Quality Control. The acquisitions section received a mandate to give preference to locally produced items, set the prices, and establish standards for quality. At the same time, however, the government authorized Juan Bautista Halty to travel to Germany to study the process of manufacturing shoes presently in use in the German army.29

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This tendency toward quasi monopoly resulted in part from a deliberate government policy to favor those national industries that manufactured uniforms and equipment for the military or utilized locally produced materials. In one case the Ministry of War granted a five-year monopoly to Justiniano i Cia with the proviso that it use only locally spun materials to fabricate these uniforms. As part of a program to stimulate the textile industry, in 1910 Justiniano again had to promise to use only domestically produced cloth in order to win a government contract. If it failed to meet this stipulation it would forfeit 5 percent of the value of the sales price. A similar transaction occurred when Carlos Johnson Gana also agreed to utilize only cloth spun by the textile mills of Tomé in return for a contract to produce seven thousand uniforms. 30 Depending on a small group of producers often led to abuse. Sometimes these companies submitted open-ended bids that gave the manufacturer almost unlimited time to produce an item but never set a firm price. If the manufacturer failed to meet the contract deadline, the supply agencies merely granted him an extension. Producers simply submitted bills and the bureaucrats paid them. As one legislator noted, "The system established is the organization of mismanagement."31 Often an incestuous relationship between the military and the civilian suppliers developed. When Justiniano i Cia, the army's prime clothing contractor, sought an unauthorized extension of a deadline the government agreed; but when Eulojio Leiva, a competitor, wanted to modify his agreement the War Department demurred. Critics noted the tendency of the Departamento de Administración to rely on a small coterie of Santiago manufacturers, but to no purpose. Ideally, the Ministry of War should have authorized commanders to buy uniforms from local manufacturers. This reform would provide alternatives to the reliance on only a few producers, ensure more rapid delivery of material, and, not least, save money.32 These changes, however, rarely materialized because apparently they did not suit the powers that be. The most blatant examples of cronyism occurred under the regime of Intendant Juan de Dios Correa, who appeared to share a bed with a small circle of provisionersLuis Cortes of Angol, David Fuller of Tarapacá, E. Gutiérrez of Santiago, and the Brothers Rudolphy of Valparaíso and Aconcagua. The prominence of these four provisioners gave them a certain amount of clout that they employed for their benefit. Correa also helped by applying arcane rules to the supply process; submitting the lowest bid, for example, did not always matter. The authorities, citing "special circumstances," tried to award a contract to Repetto Cia rather than its lower-

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priced competition. The failure to fulfill another set of unspecified specifications also made the army reject the lower bid of Julio Montero. In a third case, Correa argued that an award should go to Juan Pablo Altamirano, who charged 18 percent more but who was a man known personally to Correa. Unfortunately, his lower-priced rival, Luciano Setti, "lacked the antecedents that demonstrate his honor and the prerequisites that, in my judgment, are indispensable to fulfill a contract of this nature." Another low bidder, Carlos Vergara Lois, lost out to the firm of Ibieta and Del Rio when the government decided to award the latter with a contract as compensation for having canceled an earlier deal. 33 Similarly, though certain unfortunates, like Alejandro Roldan, had to forfeit their security deposits for noncompliance others did not.34 Apparently, creating the Departamento de Administración Militar did not end these problems. Thus, the government decided to experiment. Citing an 1894 law, it replaced sutlers with a system that became known as "rancho por administración"; henceforth, divisional commanders could purchase food directly from producers rather than rely on civilian provisioners. As an incentive, the unit commanders were permitted to spend any of the money saved on improving their troops' living conditions.35 As noted before, the two systems coexisted. Unfortunately, neither replacing Correa nor creating the Departamento de Administración Militar ushered in a period of administrative rectitude. Certain individuals or companies, such as Fabres i Palacios, impudently reneged on their obligations without suffering a penalty. Guillermo Bustingorry and Luis Castro used a variety of excusesincluding the outbreak of bubonic plagueto suspend their provisioning contracts. Sometimes, the most brazen succeeded. Six months after awarding him a contract, the minister of war released Luis Ortega from any obligation to feed the army in Malleco. Three days later, the Ministry of War granted him another understanding to supply the same garrison, but for 30 to 50 percent more than the original prices. Even this concession brought little comfort: Ortega subsequently abandoned his contractual obligations simply because "it suited him."36 More blatant examples of corruption occurred among the small group who purveyed forage. Rather than make Alberto Fabres, one of the prime suppliers of animal feed in the three most northern provinces, absorb losses (for reasons that he claimed were out of his control) the government extended his original contract another year without the formality of opening the bidding to the general public. Such flexibility, the decree noted, actually benefited the government because to act otherwise would delay feed ship-

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ments. Later, the Ministry of War permitted Victor Toro Concha, Amable Freire, Alberto Fabres, and the Rudolphy Brothers to default on their contracts without forfeiting their security deposits because fulfilling their obligations would have done ''grave damage to their interests" and increased the price for forage. 37 These abuses continued. A veterinarian accused the Departamento de Administración of accepting substandard forage for delivery. Worse, the contractor, in violation of army regulations, had already received his payment in full. A subsequent investigation revealed that officers spent funds without in fact having them, that they had altered contracts to benefit provisioners, and that they would have saved substantial amounts of money if they had purchased these items directly.38 Another scandal erupted when various deputies wondered why the army spent $1,200,000 more to feed a cavalry unit's mounts than did a police contingent with the same number of animals. The reason quickly emerged: the provisioners manipulated the prices. One of these, the firm of González Soffia, which supplied more than 60 percent of the army's mounted units' oats and 55 percent of their straw, charged the Ministry of War 30 percent more than it would have cost if the government had purchased these items directly.39 First Division, for example, spent $264,760 more on straw and barley than did the police. Not only did the sutlers prove to be more expensivesometimes by halfbut the quality of their rations was poor and the deliveries were late. In another case, one of two parties submitting bids served as the other's shill. Such abuses amounted to a surcharge of approximately 50 percentin one case it cost an army division more than $200,000. The extent of this fraud, a senator complained, demonstrated "the deep evil that affects the army's provisioning service [and] explain[s] completely why waste has been growing from year to year like a violent snowstorm."40 The corruption seemed only to spread. In 1917 the legislature learned that the War Ministry diverted $200,000 that was allocated for provisioning the troops and their animals to purchase five motor vehicles. To make matters worse, the senate discovered that rather than buying desperately needed trucks (during the 1911 maneuvers the army had to ask fundo owners to bring rations and forage to the units in the field) the ministry had purchased passenger cars, including one for the minister of war. The senate's Permanent Budget Committee characterized such purchases as "unconstitutional, illegal, or irregular." The lower house's committee also seemed distressed; one deputy warned that he would oppose any appropriations and that he would even launch an accusation of the malfeasance. Eventually,

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the legislators compromised: they authorized expenses for one car. The minister of war subsequently purchased the trucks, but even this decision did not conclude happily; the transports could not carry heavy loads and functioned only in urban areas. This problem was not unexpected. In 1912 the U.S. military attaché reported that the army had experimented with trucks but since they could only operate on specific roads, and then only at certain times of the year, it had returned to employing the two-wheel cart, which "seems to be the most useful means of transportation, and it is used not only in the country districts but in the large cities." 41 Equipping and supplying mounted units proved more costly than caring for their riders. In 1913 the Oficina de Remonta spent $500,000 to buy horses, yet no one could explain why, when, or how the animals were acquired. At Körner's insistence, the army purchased some twenty-five hundred harnesses for artillery horses from the house of Krupp. By taking this step, the government deliberately ignored an advisor's warning that the harnesses might not fit the Chilean horses. Regrettably for the Chilean treasury, but not for the house of Krupp, the naysayers proved correct: only eighty-nine of the twenty-five hundred German-made harnesses functioned properly. This fiasco cost the state $3,000,000 and brought "the republic to the doors of a military calamity."42 The Chilean manufacturers of harnesses and saddles did not always make a better product than their German competition.43 In 1911 the government decided to buy two thousand pack saddles from a local firm, Albardones Viale. Col. Pedro Morandé, who supervised the project, warned that the company produced an inferior model that could not withstand sustained use, particularly in hot climates. Citing the virtues of patronizing national industries, the minister of war nonetheless purchased these items, which did in fact disintegrate. A year later, the government opened bidding for the acquisition of seven hundred harnesses to be used by horses pulling artillery pieces and baggage wagons. Gen. Roberto Silva Renard, head of the military procurement center, protested: the state, which did not need so many harnesses, could save some $500,000 by purchasing only half. The minister of war refused to heed his advice. Once again, fomenting national industriesand doubtless enhancing the wealth of their ownerstook precedence over the needs of the military and national defense.44 It appeared that venality polluted virtually every military transaction. Finally responding to the military's complaints, in 1911 the government bought a 12,500 hectare fundo, El Culenar, as a training reservation and to house the proposed artillery school. The government subsequently autho-

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rized the expenditure of an additional $30,000 to study the fundo in order to formulate plans for its use. Those who criticized the acquisition cost of approximately $1,500,000 had ample cause for distress. A legislative investigation discovered that the purchase price was inflated because it included the acquisition of all the farm's animals as well as paying a salary for an estate manager, "neither a need for the army, nor . . . an item for national defense." The funds, which went to defray three months of unauthorized interest charges, came from a bill authorizing expenditures for the purchase of weapons, not property. 45 El Culenar became a white elephant. Between 1912 and 1921, it was rarely used as a training ground and never became the site of the artillery school. (Although it did serve as a testing ground for the Ehrhardt mountain gun.) The fundo suffered from a grievous flaw: it proved to be too remote because there was no railroad spur connecting the reservation to the main rail line. Additionally, the Claro and Mataquito Rivers made it hard for troops to reach the reservation. Eventually, Jorge Boonen Rivera, then serving as the army's inspector general, suggested exchanging the property for one closer to the Santiago garrison, where the largest number of troops could profit from training.46 Instead, as had occurred repeatedly in the past, property purchased for one purpose seemed to end up serving another. Noting that the base "has not produced until now any appreciable income," the minister of war contracted to rent El Culenar to one Señor Pedro N. Mena for five years, with an option for another four. If the government wished to allow its animals to remain and to invest some capital, Mena would retain 30 percent of the profit. Alternatively, if the state refused to provide additional funding, its share would fall to 50 percent. Ever mindful of its responsibilities, the government did retain the right to reoccupy the land if necessary. It also prohibited Mena from cutting the wood and ordered that he work out with the local authorities how he would exploit the land. Once accomplished, the finished deal seemed an ideal way to maintain and improve the property. After all, as the law noted, "there is no incompatibility between the ends for which it was destined and agricultural exploitation." Eventually, it dawned on the authorities that farming an artillery range or training ground might "cause grave damage of all types for one and for all." Hence, after consulting the highest-ranking officers of the Santiago garrison, the minister of war canceled the contract and presumably returned El Culenar to the purposes for which it was purchased.47 It did not happen that way. Instead of Señor Mena exploiting its fertile fields, El Culenar became the cash cow of the army and various politicians.

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The officers assigned to the base spent most of their time raising wheat, beans, and potatoes. Even President Juan Luis Sanfuentes, obviously acting in his capacity as commander in chief of the armed forces, utilized the training facility to produce crops that he subsequently sold. There was little attempt to hide the fact: the Reglamento de Dotaciones de Paz del Ejército openly acknowledged that El Culenar had two staffs, one military and one civilian. 48 Although some military units occasionally trained on the land, El Culenar remained essentially a farm. The government even authorized funding to provide additional irrigation projects, perhaps to increase its productivity. Apparently these investments worked: between 1912 and 1921, the fundo's produce turned a profitalmost $49,000 in 1919 alonewhich enriched the state.49 Since President Sanfuentes believed that El Culenar was too distant from rail connections and too poorly endowed for a military reservation, he considered improving and subdividing the hacienda in hopes of selling it off. In the interim, he noted, thanks to the management of Maj. Cañas Pinochet El Culenar provided a home to some six thousand sheep, four hundred head of cattle, and various horses and mules, while producing no less than $130,000 in income. Sanfuentes continued to defend his use of the reservation, noting that he used but a small portion of the training ground and that he had profited only slightly by selling wheat, sheep, and other items from the farmlittle consolation to the legislator who believed that the funds spent to acquire El Culenar could better have been employed buying needed equipment.50 If El Culenar turned a profit, the army's other assets did not do so well. Late in the nineteenth century, the government founded a facility to manufacture ammunition. The Fábrica de Cartuchos, however, never achieved this objective. Essentially, the plant, which was staffed by a crew of apparently inept but overpaid Germans (who received their salaries in gold pesos, not the paper given to the local employees) proved to be an economic sieve, producing expensive products of dubious if not dangerous quality. It also appeared that the Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken in Berlin had successfully used its "political influence . . . at the expense of the state" to sell the factory material, even though it charged more than its competition. The abuses became so flagrant that the army convened a committee to investigate the charges of corruption and incompetence. When its investigating team took no action, various members of the legislature called for an inquiry to determine "what influences" were at work protecting the foreign technicians.51 Listing the complaints took on a predictable quality: inadequate equip-

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ment delivered late, rations fit neither for man nor beast, boots that seemed "instruments of torture," and suspect expenditures. The cumulative effects of such mismanagement eventually affected the army's readiness. In 1916, for example, its Second, Third, and Fourth Divisions had to put some of their cavalry horses out to pasture and release some of the draftees before they completed their training because there was no forage. Obviously, the system did not improve because four years later a legislative committee reported that commanders faced the choice of "discharging the troops, [or] killing the cavalry's horses." 52 The 1920 mobilization validated the most dire predictions; untrained troops arrived in Tacna, where there were no barracks for them. The Bolsa de Productos de Valparaíso denounced the army's main provisioner, the Castagneto Brothers, for providing old beans, "worm-eaten and decayed coffee, . . . wheat [that was] a real crime," and raindamaged potatoes. The horses fared no better. The barley was so bad that it could not be consumed without causing colic. Even the minister of war, Ladislao Errazuríz, agreed that some of the provisions were wretched.53 Many sought to explain the reasons for these abuses. A senate committee blamed the General Staff, "an independent state within the State," for disbursing funds without the knowledge of the Ministry of War or even the legislature. Since the ministers of war often profitedrecall the forage-for-auto scandalthey actually defended the terribly flawed supply system. They were not the only ones. Because the government disbursed funds so slowlyand the legislature was equally lax in approving themaccording to one senator the army had to continue using sutlers because they extended credit.54 Of course, there was an alternative: rancho por administración, a device that various legislators and officers praised and that even the president noted had saved the state almost one million pesos in just one year. But a powerful lobby prevented the adoption of this popular device because it stopped "the taking of bribes [that] are the order of the day in the army" from the ministers who "are mediocre men with personalities of cardboard" to the "old and incompetent generals" of the Departamento de Administración Militar.55 Government suppliers, at least, received value for their money. When an officer like Col. Pedro Dartnell attempted to assume responsibility for provisioning his unit, he was suddenly transferred. This corruption was not confined to the Ministry of War or the army's most senior institutions. Sutlers encouraged lower-grade officers to turn in false receipts that indicated they had received supplies when, in fact, they had not. Others struck a deal with various unit commanders. Provisioners

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would submit inflated bids, retain a small portion for themselves, and then turn over the rest to the commanding officer, who would pocket anything over the cost of purchasing the food. Avoiding the sutler did not always ensure more efficiency or honesty. Officers in Second Division, for example, had spent too much money on supplies. Whether there was fraud involved is unclear, but the government stated that any commander or executive officer who overspent would be personally responsible for the damages suffered. To avoid future problems, it also called for rules to be issued to regulate units that purchased their own supplies rather than use the services of a provisioner. 56 By 1917 it became clear that the army's supply system had failed. In the words of a legislative committee, its "warehouses lack almost every item for the present equipping of the army, and the material of war is enormously deficient." Some unit commanders, when unable to feed their men or mounts, often purchased items without authorization and at higher prices. Thus, the congressional report concluded, "waste of time, squandering of money, and a disdain of the law are, then, the obligatory consequences of the system we criticize."57 A congressional investigative committee blamed the supply mess on General Körner's 1906 plan, which decentralized administration, and on the officers, who had not learned that "what is the property of the nation should be cared for as scrupulously as if it were the private property of each one of them." Finally, it blamed the contadores for being too passive, too ill prepared, or too supine to enforce rigorously the rules governing the expenditure of funds. To end this problem, the congressional committee urged that the local intendants exercise their power more enthusiastically. It also suggested that units stop contracting debts when they could not pay them and impose control and direction of the expenditures of the Ministry of War's various supply organizations.58 Unfortunately, a culture of corruption had become so entrenched that it created a system "whose avowedly wellknown procedures permit a large portion of the funds to go into the pockets of the contractors to the detriment of the state's interests!" El Correo del Sur, for example, reported that a contractor had used substandard lumber when building barracks for the Llanquihue Regiment. The unit's commander, Lt. Col. Arturo Barrios, reported this malfeasance to Santiago, but it came to naught; the contractor went to the capital, where he called in his chits. (Since he worked as an electoral agent, he had many "saints in the court.") The result: nothing happened to the contractor, but Barrios lost his command and had to retire. Not surprisingly, argued El Mercurio, the time had come to decentralize, to

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abandon the army's shoe and clothing factories, and to abandon "Above all, the . . . provisioners and intermediaries in the purchase of food, clothing, rent, mounts, weapons, etc., [ that] would allow the Ministry of War to save various millions of pesos." 59 Columbano Millas, a former military bureaucrat, concurred: "The system of aprovisionamiento por administración is bad, is incorrect, [and] is immoral," he argued, because none of the army's functionaries either possessed the skills or the ethics to conduct public business. Indeed, he charged that the Departamento de Administración and organizations like the shoe factory and the clothing and equipment warehouses were so honeycombed with egregious fraud that they cost the state a fortune.60 Thus, no matter what the government didrely on private contractors or its own military agencies it seemed predestined to fail. The system was beyond redemption. The Corruption of the Officer Corps The same malaise that characterized the supply process eventually infected the officer corps as well. Just as General Körner relied on local producers and sutlers to pacify the domestic industrialists, he also had to placate the army's most senior officers. Thus he fashioned an army that was top heavy with administrative posts, which ensured that the most senior would have comfortable berths in Santiago's War Ministry and General Staff. Even don Emilio openly admitted that his "blind copying of the German military system" had served only to promote the careers of ambitious staff officers, at the cost of halving the regular forces in the field. It nonetheless accomplished its objective of pacifying one, and perhaps the most important, sector of the officer corps.61 Körner's reorganization plans perhaps gratified the military, but few others. One civilian politician claimed that Körner's 1906 reforms produced an absurdly large army with but one purpose: "to create posts" for officers, particularly at the most senior level. Unless stopped, another deputy warned, Chile's army would resemble those of Monaco, Colombia, or those "Republics" that have a general "for every three or four soldiers." Instead of providing for so many generals, the army should be ''more austere." We have, he noted, "a very poor, very small, very insignificant army, [but] with a very numerous . . . officer corps." These complaints did not lack validity. Congressman Julio Alemany calculated that Chile had one general for every 636 enlisted men versus France with one for every 3,750. Thus the army should not increase the number of colonels and especially generalswhich should be posts given to reward a

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man for "great actions or for great services to the nation"but should instead fill its command slots with less senior officers. 62 Körner's restructuring of the army, by increasing the number of places for junior officers, aggravated the military's personnel problems. The pressure from the lower ranks to rise mounted, but there were few safety valves; an officer received a promotion only when a more senior person died, retired, or resigned. Some military men advocated basing promotions on merit, not seniority, but it became difficult to evaluate candidates, particularly because an officer only had to take one set of examinations, at the rank of captain, during his career. Nor did the army institute a system of rigorous fitness reports as was the case with its Prussian model. Presumably, this is why in 1907 President Pedro Montt opted for a promotion system based almost exclusively on seniority. (In fact, Montt apparently favored seniority to protect the career of Gen. Fidel Urrutia, the commander of Second Division, who would have been forced to retire had the law passed.) But as the American military attaché noted, the army's reliance on seniority generally meant that the inefficient could "reach the higher grades by patience and health alone."63 Given the stakes, the struggle to rise in such a top-heavy officer corps became ferocious. Predictably, the chain of command and notions of discipline suffered as officers tried to short-circuit the promotion process. Ambitious officers used social connections to speed their passage up the military's hierarchy. Just one "good recommendation" from a politician, Gen. Carlos Sáez tartly noted, counted for more than "the best service record." Malaquías Concha recalled that "the officers who have friends in the parties supporting the government have guarantees, and those who do not will not have them.'' The situation became so bad that one legislator complained, "Each government party today has its general, each party also has its own colonel, and each one of these officers has subordinate officers from his own party."64 The officers' complaints in the press and the public for higher salaries, faster promotions, and more positions eventually antagonized the civilians. One deputy, Guillermo Pinto Agüero, claimed that such carping bordered on insubordination. As another legislator noted, the entire civil service which in fact was neithersuffered from the same disadvantages. The military's complaints seemed particularly egregious when the army discovered that many senior officers were, in fact, "dedicating themselves to raising birds or something else, in order to occupy their time" while ostensibly on active duty.65 Not surprisingly, those who used influence to win promotions invoked it

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to obtain better assignments as well. Most officers preferred to serve in the capital rather than the "points of exile and punishment," those garrisons located in the northern pampa or the southern rain forest. Serving in the capital was not only more comfortable, it brought the ambitious officer into close proximity to the legislators who could guarantee a promotion or a better assignment. Predictably, anyone who had strings to the politically powerful did not hesitate to pull them in order to be stationed in a Santiago garrison where the life was also glamorous and comfortable. Officers even sent their wives to request that the minister of war transfer their husbands to the capital. One consequence of this maneuveringsometimes the only kind the army actually participated inwas that too many officers were concentrated in the capital, while those units located in the less favored but strategically important north, like the First Military District's Artillery Brigade, did not have a permanent commanding officer for an entire year. By 1913 the situation became so bad that the minister of war threatened to deny merit-based promotions to any officer who used political influence. 66 Maneuvering for a comfortable berth might have improved an officer's lifestyle, but it did not sharpen his military skills. As one legislator complained, the army had "colonels and generals who have conquered these ranks thanks to complacent ministers who have kept them in office for years and who have not had any contact with the troops since they were lieutenant colonels." These men should have been dismissed. After observing the army's wretched performance during a set of war games, one critic complained that with the exception of Gen. Sofanor Parra, the army's highest-level commanders had not mastered the ability to lead large units. Not surprisingly, another journalist insisted that senior officers leave their desks for the field to learn how to command a brigade or division.67 Responding to the constant requests for transfers or assignments apparently drove one minister of war to distraction. In an attempt to end the petitioning, Guillermo Soublette even ordered his army commanders to suspend for four months any officer trying to use influence to win a posting; another minister of war insisted that officers remain at their posts for two years following a transfer. The War Department also required one year of service in First Division, or Chiloé, or eighteen months in Fourth Division as a precondition for promotion to major. Later, advancement to colonel required two years' service in either First or Fourth Division. Finally, the government tried to limit transfers by insisting that these could only take place after maneuvers were held, except in the case of filling vacancies opened by death or retirement. Such methods clearly failed, for in 1916 another minister of war prohibited the transfer of officers to Santiago or Valparaíso unless

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they had first served one year in First Division or two years with either Third or Fourth Division. Typically, the ministry applied these rules in a haphazard fashion. When Capt. Marcial Urrutia returned from Europe he was assigned not to the north or south, as the regulations required, but to Santiago's Departamento de Guerra. 68 Officers did everything, including even feigning illness, to escape an unpleasant posting. The government responded by requiring an officer to report within eight days of learning of his transfer. This suggestion precipitated such anger among the officer corps that General Bari, the head of Personnel, had to defend the decision. The German army, he tartly observed, demanded sacrifice of its officers, a virtue, he intimated, in short supply among its Chilean students. Bari could have saved his breath and his minister's energy: transfers did not diminish, but rather increased, thereby damaging "military discipline and the army's prestige." Four years later, a minister of war lamented that officers were assigned "almost totally by influences external to the equitable employment and distribution of personnel in the different regions of the nation."69 Political connections also affected overseas assignments. A word or letter of recommendation from a highly placed politician, or friend of a politician, guaranteed a posting to Europe or buffered officers from well-deserved punishment or reassignment. The press observed that certain favored officersthose with "political influence or personal preferences" or "godfathers"received the plum assignments to Europe, but only to countries with a benign climate and where they could speak the language. El Mercurio complained, for example, about an artillery lieutenant being sent to Germany to purchase musical instruments or Gen. Enrique Ledesma being ordered to Italy to study its war in Libya. Why, Congressman Paulino Alfonso wondered, did the government order eleven officers to Germany to supervise Krupp's manufacture of artillery when the Argentines only needed one? Generally, these men returned from abroad knowing no more than when they had left, including the language of the nation to which they were assigned.70 For some, foreign appointments became a source of personal enrichment. The selection of Gen. José Manuel Ortúzar to head the Chilean Military Mission delighted the German ambassador, Franz von Reichenau. Ortúzar admired not only Körner and the Prussian army but also Krupp, "with whom he hopes during his stay in Germany to conclude large orders." Ortúzar had more in mind than a place to bed down. Reichenau wrote that "His extraordinary weakness is financial and business speculation, mostly of

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a fantastic nature," which had cost the general his inheritance, which he "now seeks to rebuild," obviously with the help of the generous house of Krupp. 71 The officer corps seemed to tolerate the status quo, although in 1907 a few idealistic officers resigned their commissions to protest President Montt's gross intervention in the promotion process. Moral acts, however, do not impress the immoral; it remained business as usual. But when "the higher grades are often filled by incompetent officers," the American military attaché warned, it becomes only a matter of time before "their better instructed and more efficient juniors [who] have an ill concealed contempt for them" act and discipline erodes.72 One of the first examples of this potential hostility surfaced when a group of the Santiago garrison's more junior officers met at a Cerro Santa Lucia restaurant, ostensibly to have a beer but in fact to show their solidarity with deserving officers who had been passed over by those with more seniority. On learning of the meeting, General Urrutia confronted the subalterns and demanded an explanation. When the subalterns first denied any ulterior motive and then invited the general to have a drink, the matter ostensibly ended there. In fact it did not. Though the officials presumably took no revenge, Minister of War Alejandro Lira reassigned the young ringleaders to various widely dispersed garrisons; some of them subsequently resigned their commissions.73 Lira only postponed the problem. A group of mainly captains and field-grade officers, "of known enthusiasm, preparation, and professional spirit," founded the Liga Militar, a secret lodge that, among its various goals, sought to pressure the government to implement a promotion system, improve salaries, and pass retirement legislation. The Liga, which was under the leadership of an engineer, Maj. Arturo Barrios, actively solicited other officers to join the lodge. By 1912 the Liga had abandoned the idea of reforming the system and instead had begun toying with the concept of staging a coup. The plan fell flat when the putative civilian leader, Gonzalo Bulnes, decided not to abandon a system of government that his father, President Manuel Bulnes, had helped to preserve.74 Curiously, some of the press knew about the Liga's activities. El Ferrocarril, which also critically described the Santa Lucia meeting, noted that this was not the first time the army's officers had become restive. In 1910, when the government refused to increase the size of the officer corps, approximately two hundred of its members, some shouting seditious statements, had taken to the streets threatening to bring down the government.

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The newspaper seemed to take the Liga more seriously. It alleged that the league's members were acting in concert with officers in Argentina and Paraguay in order to force an end to civilian government. 75 Another public manifestation of officer discontent, this time involving the proposed reincorporation of Lt. Col. Luis Serrano, became public in 1911. Three years earlier, first a court-martial and then a civilian court had convicted Serrano of playing fast and loose with his unit's funds.76 Although Serrano denied these charges, he was forced to retire from the army. He might even have gone to jail but for the fact that the Council of State annulled the lower court's verdict. Foolishly believing that all was forgiven, or at least forgotten, Serrano applied to and received permission from the president and the minister of war to return to the army. Literally within days of learning the news of Serrano's reinstatement, a deeply disgusted military responded. During a reception at the Club Militar, some three hundred officerswhich amounted to close to 50 percent of the officer corpssent Serrano a private letter condemning him for his earlier criminal activity and criticizing his "absolute lack of moral criterion and gentlemanly behavior" in making his request to return to the military.77 The supposedly private letter quickly became public. Nineteen lieutenant colonelsmost of the signatories of the earlier letter were company-grade officerssent Serrano a second letter observing that while the Council of State might have reversed his conviction, they had not forgotten what he did. As far as they were concerned, he was still guilty, and his presence would undermine the army's prestige. Serrano responded by publishing a series of fulsome testimonials, many written by some of the army's more senior officers. This tactic misfired when some of Serrano's hagiographers withdrew their support, claiming they never expected he would use these private letters to seek reinstatement in the army. The issue even reached a point where the serving lieutenant colonels delegated one of their number, Alfredo Shoenmeyer, director of the Escuela Militar, to fight a duel with Serrano. But because "neither his name nor his blood" was Chilean, Serrano did not consider him worthy to defend the army's honor. Various other officers were pondering who would give Serrano satisfaction when the government became involved in the issue.78 The minister of war met with some of the army's most senior commanders, who seemed more angry at Serrano's critics than at him. El Ferrocarril, for example, claimed that the General Staff had choreographed the anti-Serrano campaign, even forcing officers to sign the petitions that opposed his return to the army. Most of the press, however, seemed to side with

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Serrano's detractors. Faulting "a weak public administration and the political parties," El Mercurio flayed the government for "insulting the courts by nullifying their verdict," not the officers who had protested "in the name, the dignity, and the honor of Chile." The matter became so public that it led to a parliamentary debate. In the end, citing Serrano's incendiary letter, the government requested that he resign. Serrano, however, still demanded that he should be allowed to avenge his honor. Unfortunately, his potential opponents, Lt. Cols. José Antonio Aguirre and Mariano Navarrette, declined: the Moneda's refusal to reinstate Serrano, they argued, proved their case, and hence it ceased to be a matter of honor. Serrano would get no satisfaction. 79 This demonstration would not be the last sign of the officer corps' discontent, but in some ways it was the first frank and public indication of the military's low moralewhat the journalist Emilio Rodríguez Mendoza saw as "the first clear manifestation of the crack in the generating system of governments." El Ferrocarril agreed that the Serrano issue proved "the existence of seditious germs in the army's officer corps, germs easy to excite and to move."80 Both were right because the plotting did become more bold. The end of the First World War convulsed Chile. The postwar economic dislocation closed many salitreras, forcing thousands of unemployed into the capital. Left-wing groups, inspired by the Russian Revolution, launched a series of serious work stoppages. Some of the army's most senior officers became concerned. Although the earlier plotters saw their involvement as a means of pushing the government to reform the political system and help the officer corps, the conspirators of 1919 hoped to establish a dictatorship to ensure that the nation would not fall into economic and political chaos. Gens. Guillermo Armstrong and Manuel Moore and Adm. Arturo Cuevas (as well as some lower-ranking army officers, including Gen. Estanislao del Canto's son, Lt. Col. Julio César del Canto) sought to regenerate the nation by ending the corrupt political practices of the Parliamentary Regime. Specifically, they hoped to reinforce "the authority of the Executive power" to deal with the many divisive forces afflicting the nation, to improve the army's situation and military discipline, to promote economic nationalism, and to institute social reforms. To this end, they sought to create a Junta Militar that would work in conjunction with the president to reorder Chile. This organization, whose existence its members denied, also included various civilians such as Enrique Balmaceda, son of the former president, and Arturo Alessandri, a lawyer and later president who had earlier defended Colonel Pinto Concha against charges of insubordination.81

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The Liga Militar may have collapsed under its own weight, but not so La Junta Militar. Once the authorities learned from an informer what was happening, they moved quickly, jailing Armstrong and his fellow conspirators. A courtmartial subsequently sentenced twenty-seven of the plotters to death and ordered the others to prison. No one died or remained incarcerated long, however: an appeals court nullified the verdict and a new trial, presided over by a general sympathetic to the plotters, found them all innocent. 82 In some cases a few officers returned to active service. The problem within the army, however, still remained acute. Various military men blamed many of the army's problems on the fact that civilians controlled the Ministry of War. Critics urged that a professional officer assume that post because, unlike a civilian, he would understand military matters and would remain in office long enough to propose and implement policy. These charges contained more than a grain of truth. According to one journalist, weakness and lack of experience seemed the essential prerequisites for holding the defense portfolio. While he was attending a reception at the house of a prominent Conservative politician in 1905, Alejandro Lira discovered that he had been selected to be Ministro de Guerra. Clearly merit or past experienceLira had neitherdid not constitute the basis for the selection. The reason was simple: President Germán Riesco had been looking for a young Conservative body to give political balance to a new government when someone suggested that Lira fit the bill. Lira, however, never took office. At the urging of an advisor, Riesco changed his mind at the last moment and offered the position to another, somewhat older Conservative. Again, merit played no role.83 (Lira would receive the appointment two years later.) Lira, who was not the last novice to supervise the nation's defense establishment, seemed a cut above many of his colleagues. Apparently, it had become a tradition for those with political aspirations to begin their careers at the War Ministry. This might provide political seasoning, but it did not help the army. Even if an able man managed to hold the office, he did not remain there long enough to implement reforms. Thus the same "parliamentary anarchy" that had polluted most of the nation also infected the War Department. The military had become victims of this "insistent and pitiless tenacity" that corrupted the government: witness men like Aníbal Rodríguez, who came to work at 3 P.M. and nonetheless "likes to leave early" and Hernán Correa Roberts, who would not pay provisioners and when he did, extracted 40 percent in discounts.84 Eventually some of the press, including the journalist Joaquín Díaz Garcés, objected to this tradition and warned that unless someone instituted

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reforms the army would rival the railroads for incompetence and maladministration. Some argued, however, that it was not so much the lack of professional criteria as continuity; the political turmoil and the resulting ministerial changes had wreaked havoc in the defense services. The time had come, noted one newspaper, to get rid of the present system which "is reduced solely 'to passing notes.'" 85 It was to rectify this problem that Minister of War Joaquin Walker Martínez created a Consejo Superior de Guerra in an unstated but clear attempt to provide some continuity and intelligent oversight over the army. Without undercutting the role of the president, the Consejo would meet once a week and oversee such items as the purchase of supplies and weapons.86 The committee, however, could not cure the problems. The greed of German arms manufacturers had reduced the army to a very sorry state. This fraud could not have occurred, however, without the active participation of the Chilean elites. Regrettably, it was not difficult to win recruits to the legion of self-interest. As Abraham König, a prominent politician, noted, "Many congressmen" bought their office, "not to serve their party or their country, but themselves, . . . [to] take advantage of their situation to prosper and to do business."87 Clearly, this proved to be the case in many of the legislature's dealings with the army. The military participated in this conspiracy to defraud in part because it could not resist the contagion of the Parliamentary Regime that seemed to infect all of Chile. The army's officers had their own special reasons. They needed higher salaries, and when these were not forthcoming, some of the military began taking rake-offs from domestic and foreign companies to survive. Another more benign form of corruption appeared: the venerable Chilean tradition of empleomania, that is, the reliance upon the government to provide sinecures. General Körner had deliberately expanded the army in such a way that it contained posts that served no purpose other than employing the countless officers who could not fit in the "old and primitive organization." Don Emilio had predated Catch-22's Milo Minderbinder; he too had created a syndicate in which Chile's political, economic, and military elites, as shareholders, would all prosper. Hence, they happily abetted Körner's plan. In a sense, Gen. Arturo Ahumada was only partially correct when he observed that the German reforms of 1906 had not endured. They had not survived because they were never implemented properly; they had not become embedded because, at a certain level, Körner had not expected them

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to take root. 88 The Saxon had changed the army to satisfy certain ulterior motives. As the salesman par excellence, he had so endeared himself to the kaiser that he stood at his side when William II reviewed the troops in Berlin. Not bad for a provincial artillery officer who likely would not have turned "the major's corner." Don Emilio had also amassed vast sums that he could not have accumulated from his military payeither in Germany or Chile. As the founder and head of the syndicate, however, Körner deserved his share. But though this enriched don Emilio and his masters, it did not necessarily benefit the Chilean army and its officer corps.

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Conclusion In 1900, when Germany became embroiled in the Boxer Rebellion, Gen. Emil Körner suggested that Chile could be Berlin's "stable and relatively powerful assistant in the Pacific Ocean." Don Emilio crowed that he had trained in the Prussian manner "a core of roughly 80,000 soldiers" and that these could be mobilized in the space of fourteen days. The South American Steamship Company, escorted by the Chilean navythe equivalent of a German battle squadroncould then transport the troops across the Pacific to help their Prussian allies. There was no doubt in Körner's mind that Santiago would regard this role as "Germany's supporter" as a matter of honor. For his part, don Emilio selflessly offered to supervise at a moment's notice the Chilean end of this global undertaking. 1 If the Prussian army bothered to analyze Körner's proposal, it would have concluded that the general had taken leave of his senses because he was proposing that the Moneda send virtually its entire army and navy, as well as most of its National Guard, to participate in a punitive expedition in which it had no national interest and from which it would derive absolutely no benefit. Had Santiago complied with Körner's absurd proposal, it could have exposed the country to a Peruvian and Bolivian attack. And if neither invaded, then Argentinawhich Santiago had almost gone to war against in 1898 and would almost do so again in 1902might well have. Whatever its merits, Körner's preposterous suggestion proved once again his willingness to subordinate Santiago's interests to Berlin's. But though most German officers might have questioned don Emilio's sanity, they nonetheless had ample cause to be satisfied with his other efforts. In the words of Prince Henry, the kaiser's brother, the Chilean army had become a "miniature edition" of the Prussian military. It wore German helmets and tunics, marched with the German goosestep to German tunes

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played on German musical instruments, carried Mauser rifles and pistols as well as Prussian-issue knapsacks and billhooks, manned Krupp mountain and field guns and howitzers, and trained both officers and noncommissioned officers in German-created and German-staffed schools by way of translated German manuals and textbooks. And, by 1914, fully one in every four Chilean officers had been trained in Germany. A few cynics might have considered ignoring the judgment of Prince Henry, who after all was just a sailor, but a Captain Niemöller, the Reich's military attaché at Santiago, agreed with the admiral's assessment of Chile's army. 2 Even the Prussian General Staff concurred. In curt, crisp military terms it described the Chilean army, ''the best in South America," as the only one in Spanish America capable of offensive operations. The General Staff fully recognized the work done since the 1880s by Körner and his instructors: "Large German influence through successful, long-term military mission." The Chilean regular army of twenty-six thousand, "trained according to German regulations," was the only South American army "with sufficient peacetime strength."3 But as the abortive maneuvers and the 1920 mobilization demonstrated, even the vaunted Prussian General Staff was fallible. The Chilean army may have been many things, but a clone of the German Imperial Army it was not. Its barracks were squalid, its troops ill fed, its equipment poorly maintained; in other words, to pervert the Latin adage, Chile's military only seemed to be, rather than was, German. A variety of reasons may explain this Chilean failure to assimilate Potsdam's lessons. The simplest is that transplanting one country's institutions to another is like transplanting a vital organ from one human to another: it may work, but the procedure requires enormous preparation, skill, and follow-up. Prussian military institutions were not crops that, after being dumped in Chile's rich soil, would yield bountiful results. To be sure, some would note that Japan seemed to assimilate German military institutions quite easily. Japan, of course, was an autocratic nation, even more so than Germany. It also possessed a rigid hierarchy that demanded and received complete obedience to its dictates. Hence, if the emperor and his hereditary nobleswho suffered few critics and apparently fewer legal restrictionsdecided that their subjects should do certain things, they did them without question. Chile's citizens simply seemed too individualistic to follow orders as rigidly as the Japanese. The Chilean state, moreover, would not pay the price that the Germans and Japanese did. These nations dedicated enormous portions of their budgets to providing for their military, money that Chilean legislators preferred to invest in infrastructure that cosseted the upper class. Even if the Chileans

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had accepted the financial sacrifice needed to create and maintain a modern military, venality would have extracted too big a bite. Thus, the Moneda did not maximize the investments it did make: it invariably purchased the most costly, and not always the best, matériel and weapons. It perpetuated a primitive supply system that provided shoddy goods and provisions at high prices. This situation developed because corruption, not the fulfillment of duty, had come to characterize Chile's latenineteenth- and early-twentieth-century political culture. Certainly, no public figure seemed willing to sacrifice for the nation; Chile had lost its moral compass, and this lack of direction spawned a reverence for heroes of the past because they were sadly lacking in the present. 4 In the end, the established political parties regarded the military as a police dog: the armed forces were to safeguard the frontiers and to cow the Lumpen of the factories, the field, and the salitreras. As long as an international threat from the north and the east did not materialize and the workers did not become too unruly, the army and the navy were simply more government offices to which the elites could appoint their favorites and from whose budgets they could loot funds. Perhaps if Körner had created safeguards he could have insulated the armed forces from the widespread theft that occurred. But the Saxon did not do so because he too wished to fill his pockets. His work as the informal agent of Krupp and Ludwig Loewe/Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken alone yielded rich dividends and substantial retainers. Even as early as April 1899, before the German arms manufacturers truly made their presence felt, Germany's ambassador, Ernst Heinrich von Treskow, had reported that the general "owns house and property in Santiago [and] is co-owner of a copper mine in the north . . . which is yielding rich profits" that Körner planned to invest elsewhere in the Chilean economy.5 Don Emilio was generous: his financial ventures did not simply enrich himself but also his comrades. In 1900 Treskow painted a vivid picture of Körner bent over a map of "the virgin lands around Lake Villa Rica." This paragon of military virtue was not planning how best to defend the nation's southern frontier from the Argentine hordes, however, but selecting for himself and for friends several of the finest plots of the land that the government was "about to release" for colonization. After declining Körner's offer to share in the project, Treskow turned to former war minister Col. Patricio Larraín, only to find him deeply engrossed with Gen. José Manuel Ortúzar, Körner's general secretary and the consummate speculator, in ironing out the details of purchasing "lead and copper mines." This "amicable speculation" left no time to discuss "the

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National Guard, army organization, orders from Krupp, or other matters." 6 The army high command instead had become an investment club. While presumably trying to modernize Chile's army, don Emilio did not neglect his own economic gain. In early 1903 he would travel to Germany. Officially, he was studying European military organization and weaponry; unofficially, he was completing another mission: trying to recruit Germans to settle the Lake Villa Rica region. If he could manage to entice enough immigrants to homestead the area around the lake it would enhance the value of his investment in Chile's south.7 Whether Körner's land deal yielded a profit we do not know. We do know, however, that had he remained in Germany, Körner would doubtless have retired on the pension of a mere captain of artillery. Chile offered him the last chance for professional advancement and financial gain; an offer he seized. The 1891 Revolution created another opportunity that Körner also seized. For don Emilio, who won his promotion to colonel by turning his coat, betrayal became a career choice. First, he betrayed Balmaceda to the Congressionalists; then he betrayed Chile to the Germans. Körner rarely deviated from a policy of milking his supposedly beloved adopted motherland. He instituted so-called reforms, such as conscription, not because Santiago needed a large draftee-based army but because a larger military would consume more weapons and supplies, to his own enrichment. The German armament firms, particularly the house of Krupp, also benefited from Körner's policies. Thanks to the general's efforts, these weapons makers managed to unload their sometimes obsolescent, and sometimes defective, products on the Chilean army. For the Moneda's army, inadequate weapons could mean the difference not simply between victory and defeat but life or death. This situation did not bother Krupp or Mauser, for whom war was an export business, or even Körner, for whom the sale of weapons was an opportunity for personal gain. In a way, Körner's efforts became the prototype of Milo Minderbinder's syndicate. The Germans made the most money, selling weapons of dubious worth; Chilean businessmen and farmers got a smaller bite of the apple by providing the military with substandard uniforms, boots, horses, equipment, and food. The army got the crumbs: maybe an assignment to a post in a Santiago office or perhaps the chance to pick up small change on a feed contract. But even if it profited little from the graft, the officer corps shared in the syndicate's activities. Moreover, as we have seen, if an officer tried to prevent fraud the Parliamentary Regime's corrupt politicians and minions punished the whistleblower and not the malefactor.

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One is tempted to speculate what would have happened to the Chilean army if Körner and his instructors had not gone to Chile. Since most Latin American nations seemed intent on importing European military technology and techniques, another country, such as France or Austria, might have sold Santiago the weapons it needed. But the French or Austrians might not have been as rapacious as the Germans. Not all European nations had such an unsavory reputation; few, for example, complained about the British influence on Chile's navy. (Although the esteemed firm of Armstrongs was not above spreading around £50,000 to win a contract to build two dreadnoughts.) 8 Perhaps the best answer is that the Germans may have introduced positive change but at too great a cost to Chile's treasury and its military's morale. The outbreak of the First World War forced all the German instructors to return to the fatherland, for whom more men like Karl Lothes, Hermann Rogalla von Bieberstein, and Thilo von Brockdorf-Ahlefeld would die. Conversely, a few officers, such as Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, won great fame on the battlefield. Chile's army remained a steadfast ally of Berlin throughout the Great War. Though some Latin American nations embraced the Allied cause, the military's pressure kept the Moneda neutral. A few Germans, including some who had acted as instructors, returned to Chile after the war. In the 1920s Col. Hans Edler von Kiesling signed on again to train the Chilean army. He was not the only one. Otto Zippelius and Hans von Knauer served as advisors as well.9 In a sense, Felix Deinert never left: he continued to serve in the Chilean army for over twenty years. Hans Bertling, who had married a Chilean woman, also returned to Chile, not to serve in the army but to spend his remaining years in tranquility, far from the shrill commands of the Potsdam parade ground. Some of those who arrived in the 1920s were, like their predecessors, sojourners. Georg von Knauer hurried back to Germany to serve in Adolf Hitler's army. Conversely, Kiesling and Zippelius remained on active duty with Chile's military until their retirement in 1937 and 1941, respectively. Unlike Knauer, they survived the Second World War. Even after his death in 1957 (Kiesling died in 1948), Zippelius managed to leave his imprint on the army he served for so long: his son Hans became a high-ranking officer in Chile's army. Like a pungent perfume, German influence lingers on. Today, the Chilean army goose-steps to martial music written for a kaiser who lost his throne more than eighty years ago, and the Military School continues to wear the Pickelhaube for parades. Indeed, when the cadets pass in review

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every September 18 and 19 one can almost visualize General Körner, standing at the president's side, taking the salute. Ironically, the goosestep and the spiked helmet are perhaps the best metaphors for don Emilio's efforts: ephemera that pale in comparison to the contributions of Otto Zippelius and Hans Edler von Kiesling, men who truly served Chile and its army.

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Abbreviations

AA-PA

Auswärtiges Amt-Politisches Archiv, Bonn

AN

Archivo Nacional, Santiago

BA-AP

Bundcsarchiv-Abteilung Potsdam

BA-MA

Bundesarchiv-Militärarchiv, Freiburg

BOJG

Boletín Oficial de la Junta de Gobierno, Iquique, 1891

CDSE

Camara de Diputados, Sesiones estraordinarias, Santiago, 190020

CDSO

Camara de Diputados, Sesiones ordinarias, Santiago, 190020

CSSE

Camara de Senado, Sesiones estraordinarias, Santiago, 190020

CSSO

Camara de Senado, Sesiones ordinarias, Santiago, 190020

DILUS

El Diario Ilustrado, Santiago, 1911

FERR

El Ferrocarril, Santiago, 1911

FO

British Foreign Office

HAK-FA

Historisches Archiv Krupp, Familien Archiv, Essen

HAK-WA

Historisches Archiv Krupp, Werksarchiv, Essen

HHSA

Haus-, Hof-, und Staatsarchiv, Vienna

MECH

Memorial del Ejército de Chile, 191120

MERS

El Mercurio, Santiago, 190520

MERV

El Mercurio, Valparaíso, 190020

MG

Memoria de Guerra, Santiago, 18851920

MIB

Military Intelligence Branch, 190020

MID

Military Intelligence Division, 190020

MRE

Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores

NIK

Nazivcrbrecher Krupp, International Military Tribunal

ÖSA-AVA

Österreichisches Staatsarchiv-Allgemeines Verwaltungsarchiv, Vienna

ÖSA-KA

Österreichisches Staatsarchiv-Kriegsarchiv, Vienna

PRO

Public Records Office, Kew

RDS

Records of the Department of State Relating to Internal Affairs of Chile, 191029, Washington DC

WCD

War College Division

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Notes Introduction 1 Hans von Kiesling, Soldat in drei Weltteilen (Leipzig, 1935), 86. 2 Kiesling, Soldat in drei Weltteilen, 1067. 3 Kiesling, speech draft dated 2 July 1910, AA-PA, R 16654. Chile 1, Allgemeine Angelegenheiten, vol. 41. 4 Erckert to Foreign Office, 27 September 1910, AA-PA, R 16655, vol. 42. 5 Kiesling, Soldat in drei Weltteilen, 11314. 6 David B. Ralston, Importing the European Army: The Introduction of European Military Techniques and Institutions into the Extra-European World, 16001914 (Chicago and London, 1990), 179. "In every sense" from Alberto Lara, Los oficiales alemanas en el ejército chileno (Santiago, 1929), 9. 7 Carlos Saéz Morales, Recuerdos de un soldado, 3 vols. (Santiago, 1933), 1:29. 1 The Prussian Military 1 See Gerhard Brunn, "Deutscher Einfluss und Deutsche Interessen in der Profession-alisierung einiger Lateinamerikanischer Armeen vor dem 1: Weltkrieg (18851914)," Jahrbuch für Geschichte von Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft Lateinamerikas 6 (1969): 278336; Fritz T. Epstein, "European Military Influences in Latin America," manuscript, Library of Congress (Washington DC, 1941); and Frederick M. Nunn, Yesterday's Soldiers: European Military Professionalism in South America, 18901940 (Lincoln NE, 1983). 2 See Holger H. Herwig, Germany's Vision of Empire in Venezuela (Princeton, 1986), 11040. 3 BA-AP, Abt. IIu, 295051, Waffenlieferungen deutscher Firmen anfremde Regierungen (Amerika), 9294. 4 BA-AP, Waffenlieferungen deutscherFirmen, 1218, 46, 62, 66, 75. 5 AA-PA, R 926, Deutschland 121, Nr. 19 secr., Verkaufvon Waffen, vol. 7. 6 Ernst Rudolf Huber, ed., Deutsche Verfassungsdokumente 18511918, vol. 2 of Dokumente zurDeutschen Verfassungsgeschichte (Stuttgart, 1964), 23739, 3014, 450. 7 Unless otherwise noted, this analysis of the Prussian-German military system is taken

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from Wiegand Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," in Handbuch zur deutschen Militärgeschichte 16481939, vol. 3, pt. 5 of Von der Entlassung Bismarcks bis zum Ende des Ersten Weltkrieges 18901918 (Munich, 1979), 6366. 8 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 6769. 9 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 6972. 10 Arden Bucholz, Moltke, Schlieffen and Prussian War Planning (New York, 1991), 300302. 11 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 7273. 12 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 8586. 13 Kiesling, Soldat in drei Weltteilen, 104. 14 See John Moncure, Forging the King's Sword: Military Education between Tradition and Modernization. The Case of the Royal Prussian Cadet Corps, 18711918 (New York, 1993), 143, 153. 15 Ernst von Salomon, Die Kadetten (Reinbek bei Hamburg, 1968), 28, 36. 16 Daniel J. Hughes, The King's Finest: A Social and Bureaucratic Profile of Prussia's General Officers, 18711914 (New York, 1987), 6768. 17 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 9199. 18 Troop strength is from Reichsarchiv, Der Weltkrieg 1914 bis 1918. Kriegsrüstung und Kriegswirtschaft, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1930), 2:1117. 19 Reichsarchiv, Der Weltkrieg 1914 bis 1918, 2:196. 20 Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Das Deutsche Kaiserreich 18711918 (Göttingen, 1973), 162. 21 Cited in Stig Förster, Der doppelte Militarismus: Die deutsche Heeresrüstungspolitik zwischen Status-QuoSicherung undAggression 18901913 (Wiesbaden, 1985), 147. 22 Huber, Deutsche Verfassungsdokumente 18511918, 2:23738, 3012, 34344. 23 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II" 1013. 24 Edgar Graf von Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres 1890 bis 1918," vol. 3, pt. 5 of Handbuch zur deutschen Militärgeschichte, 19697. 25 Emil Obermann, Soldaten, Bürger, Militaristen: Militär und Demokratie in Deutschland (Stuttgart, 1958), 93. 26 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 198. 27 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 199200. 28 For a graphic depiction of the German army by 1914, see "The Virgin Soldiers," chapter 4 of Dennis E. Showalter, Tannenberg: Clash of Empires (Hamden CT, 1991). 29 See Hermann Cron, Geschichte des Deutschen Heeres im Weltkriege 19141918 (Berlin, 1937). 30 Cited in Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 159. 31 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 16771.

32 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 17180. 33 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 18182. 34 Bucholz, Moltke, Schlieffen and Prussian War Planning, 126. 35 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 18188. 36 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres" 19194. 37 Matuschka, "Organisationsgeschichte des Heeres," 19495. 38 Brunn, "Deutscher Einfluss und Deutsche Interessen," 300. 39 For such visits, see HAK-WA, Villa Hügel, Essen, 48/51, 94. 40 Bernhard Menne, Krupp or The Lords of Essen (London, 1937), 215, 303. 41 Schmidt-Richberg, "Die Regierungszeit Wilhelms II," 1819.

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42 Brunn, "Deutscher Einfluss und Deutsche Interessen " 290; Herwig, Germany's Vision of Empire in Venezuela, 11112; and Nunn, Yesterday's Soldiers, 100ff. 43 Emil Körner, "Die südamerikanischen Militärverhältnisse," in Deutsche Kultur in der Welt, 1 (1915): 189ff. 44 Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv-Kriegsarchiv, München, Generalstab 320: Mittel u. Südamerikanische Staaten 19051914. Document dated 191314. 45 AA-PA, R 16683, Chile 7 Militaer und Marine, vol. 2, report to William II dated 27 March 1914, on board Kap Trafalgar. 46 Ralston, Importing the European Army, 179. 2 Chile's Old Army 1 Alonso de Góngora, Historia de Chile desde su de scubrimiento hasta el año de 1575 (Santiago, n.d.), 24; Mario Góngora, Ensayo histórico sobre la noción de Estado en Chile en los siglos XIX v XX (Santiago, 1981), 7, 9. 2 MERS, 7 November 1910. Nicolás Palacios's La raza chilena (Santiago, 1902) was one of the first to propound this idea, a notion that others, including Francisco Encina, also parroted. 3 John J. O'Connell, "Civil War in Chile," Military Service Institution of the United States (July 1892): 739. 4 El Escuela Militarde Chile (Santiago, 1903), 78. 5 Robert Nelson Boyd, Chili: Sketches of Chili and the Chilians during the War 18791880 (London, 1881), 54. 6 Guillermo Chapparo, "La misión de nuestros oficiales," MECH (1909), 297; William F. Sater, Chile and the War of the Pacific (Lincoln NE, 1986). 7 Domingo Santa María to Victorino Lastarria, 23 March 1880, in "Las dificultades de la Guerra del Pacífico," Revista Chilena 1, no. 5 (1917): 515. 8 Armando Donoso, "El General Boonen Rivera," Pacífico Magazine, May 1916, 254a. 9 Manuel Bulnes quoted in Enrique Brahm Garcia, "Del soldado romántico al soldado profesional: Revolución en el pensamiento militar chileno, 18851940," Historia 25 (1990): 7. 10 The story that Körner had been selected by the chief of the General Staff, Helmuth von Moltke, though repeated in almost all the secondary literature, is apocryphal. Foreign-duty assignments were made solely by the Military Cabinet and with the approval of the kaiser, who took an active part in such postings. Moltke may well have been consultedmainly because Körner had attended the War Academy and briefly served with the General Staff. 11 Although currencies fluctuated over time, a rough conversion scale suggests the following: 1 Chilean gold peso = 1.5 German marks; 1 £ sterling = 19 marks; and 1 French franc = 0.78 marks. The peso traded at the same level as the Austrian krone. 12 The kaiser's note on a report from Ambassador von Gutschmid, 27 March 1890, AA-PA, R 16619, Allgemeine Angelegenheiten Chiles 1, vol. 6. 13 Jürgen Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika. Militär-und Rüstungsinteressen in Argentinien, Bolivien und Chile vor 1914 (Düsseldorf, 1974), 23. 14 Karen L. Remmer, Party Competition in Argentina and Chile (Lincoln NE, 1984), 42. 15 Adolfo Murillo, Higiene et Assistance Publique (Paris, 1889), 5556.

16 Sinopsis estadística de la república de Chile (Santiago, 1919), 9; George F. W Young,

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Germans in Chile: Immigration and Colonization, 18491914 (New York, 1974), 18287; Christel Converse, "Die Deutschen in Chile," in Die Deutschen in Lateinamerika. Schicksal und Leistung, ed. Hartmut Fröschle (Tübingen, 1979), 30172; and Siegfried Benignus, Deutsche Kraft in Südamerika. Historisch-wirtschaftliche Studie von der Konquista bis zur Gegenwart (Berlin, 1917), 1295. The premier work on this topic is Jean-Pierre Blancpain, Les Allemands au Chile (18161948) (Cologne, 1974). 17 Benjamín Vicuña Mackenna, Album de Gloria de Chile, 2 vols. (Santiago, 1883), 1:8186. These names were taken from the officers' registry. 18 "Das Heerwesen in Chile," Militär-Wochenblatt (1888): 74350, 106571, 126575, 160110, 181322, 182934. Both the length of the analysis and the anonymous author's intimate knowledge of the Chilean military leave no doubt that this article stemmed from Körner's pen. The following citations are from this document. 19 MG, xxxi; MG, 1884, vi; MG, 1885, ix; MG, 1886, vi. 20 MG, 1889, 910. 21 MG, 1884, xxvixxvii. 22 MG, 1884, xv. 23 MG, 1890, 1314, 157, 166. 24 MG, 1889, 181. F. Díaz claimed that 682 men deserted in 1889. See Estado Mayor JeneralSección de Historia, vol. 1 of La Guerra Civil de 1891 (Santiago, 1917), 14. 25 MG, 1884, viii. 26 MG, 1890, 9. 27 Luis de la Cuadra, Album del Ejército Chileno (Valparaíso, 1877), 13243. 28 Sergio Vergara Q., Historia Social de Ejército de Chile, 2 vols. (Santiago, 1993), 1:179; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 10 vols. (Santiago, 198086), 5:73. 29 Vergara, Historia Social de Ejército de Chile, 1:179. 30 Jorge Pinto Rodríguez, "Morir en la frontera: La Araucanía en tiempos de Balmaceda," in Luis Ortega, La Guerra Civil de 1891 (Santiago, 1993), 136. 31 E[mil] Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung der Chilenischen Wehrkraft," Beihefte zum Militär-Wochenblatt 1910 (Berlin, 1910), 13840; Ortega, La Guerra Civil de 1891, 1:2021. 32 Emilio Körner and Jorge Boonen Rivera, Estudios sobre historia militar, 2 vols. (Santiago, 1887), 2:25758. 33 See also Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 13841. 34 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 141. 35 Theodore B. M. Mason, The War on the Pacific Coast of South America between Chile and the Allied Republics of Peru and Bolivia, 1879-'81 (Washington DC, 1885), 11. 36 MG, 1884, xvixvii; MG, 1883, 27075. 37 La Guerra Civil de 1891, 1:1314; Donoso, "El General Boonen Rivera," 254b. 38 For a contemporary account, see Victor von Hartrott, "Der Deutsche Einfluss im Chilenischen Heer," in Deutsche Arbeit in Chile, 2 vols. (Santiago, 1913), 2:115.

39 MG, 1885, xiiixiv; MG, 1886, viii. 40 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 14244; Historia del Ejército de Chile, 7:3237; MG, 1887, xviixviii. 41 Reseña histórica de la Academia de Guerra. 18861936 (Santiago, 1936), 29. 42 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 153. 43 La Guerra Civil de 1891, 1:21.

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44 Gutschmid to Foreign Office, 12 June 1891, AA-PA, R 16622, Chile 1, vol. 9. 45 Körner, ''Die historische Entwicklung," 146. 46 Gonzalo Vial, Historiade Chile (18911973), 2 vols. (Santiago, 1982), 2:7477, 23537. 47 Report by Lieutenant Reginald B. Colmore on Battles of Concon and Placilla, no. 66, 4 November 1891, in PRO, Admiralty 1/7068, dated 5 October 1891 on HMS Champion, to Capt. A. F. St. Clair, captain of HMS Champion. 48 Patricio Quiroga and Carlos Maldonado, El Prusianismo en las Fuerzas Armadas chilenas; Un estudio histórico, 18851945 (Santiago, 1988), 6263, 22425; Carlos Maldonado P., "Körner y la intervención alemana: Acerca de la presencia militar del imperialismo aleman en Chile (18861900)," Estudios Latinoamericanos 11 (1988): 13234. 49 MG, 1890, 10. This figure does not include officers; La Guerra Civil de 1891, 1:1718, 4042,4547. 50 Fanor Velasco, La Revolución de 1891: Memorias, 2d ed. (Santiago, 1925), 120. Unless otherwise indicated, the dollar sign ($) refers to pesos. 51 Maurice H. Hervey, Dark Days in Chile: An Account of the Revolution of 1891 (Philadelphia, 1979, reprint), 119. 52 Velasco, La Revolución de 1891, 144. 53 Miguel Arrate, "Parte del jefe balmacedista de la división de Tacna, Coronel don Miguel Arrate," Memorandum de la Revolución de 1891 (Santiago, 1892), 171, 107. In Antofagasta, for example, a National Guard artillery brigade rebelled, which resulted in its dissolution (Boletín de la Leyesy Decretos de la Dictadura [Santiago, 1892], 34647). Harold Blakemore, British Nitrates and Chilean Politics 18861896: Balmaceda & North (London, 1974), 204. 54 Julio Pinto Vallejos, "El balmacedismo como mito popular: Los trabajadores de Tarapacá y la Guerra Civil de 1891," in Ortega, La Guerra Civil de 1891, 11819. 55 Decrees 1374 and 1375, 1 August 1891, BOJG, 188. 56 Decree 26, 18 April 1891, BOJG, 11; Diario Oficial, 17 February 1891. 57 28 May 1891, BOJG, 12; Decree 708, 16 July 1891, BOJG, 119. 58 Decree 677, 16 July 1891, BOJG, 117. 59 M. Hartaras, "Servicio de alimentación i amunicionamiento en la primera parte de la guerra civil de 1891," MECH, 2d series, 13, no. 2 (1918): 27273. The going rate was $15 to $20 per rifle and 5 centavos per round. 60 Decree 481 of May 26, 1900, 846; Recopilación de Leyes, DL., DFL., Reglamentos y Decretos del Ejército, 16 vols. (Santiago, n.d.), henceforth cited as Recopilación. Decree 1359 of 17 July 1905, Recopilación, 967; Decrees 890 and 1085 of 4 and 31 May 1907, Recopilación, 474, 916. Material cited can be found in the Recopilación published in the same year as the decree. 61 Decree 309 of 21 June 1891 and Decrees 521, 540, 556, 572, and 607 of 11 July 1891, BOJG, 60, 1069, 112. 62 Decrees 538, 555, 572, 573, 588, 591, 598 of 11 July 1891 and Decrees 643, 685 of 16 July 1891, BOJG, 10711, 114, 117. 63 MG, 1890, xiii, xv. 64 M. Hartaras, "Servicio de alimentación" 5253. 65 Hervey, Dark Days in Chile, 24546. 66 Decree 262 of 21 June 1891, BOJG, 5658.

67 Report by Lieutenant Reginald B. Colmore, 1/7068.

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68 Estanislao del Canto, "Parte oficial del Commandante en Jefe del Ejército Constitucional," Memorandum de la Revolución de 1891 (Santiago, 1892), 33840. 69 Historia del Ejercito de Chile, 7:14964. 70 Del Canto, "Parte oficial," 329, 333, 33839. 71 Estanislao del Canto, Memorias militares del Jeneral D. Estanislao del Canto (Santiago, 1927), 474, 505. Emphasis in the original. 72 See, for example, Hugo Kunz, Der Bürgerkrieg in Chile (Leipzig, 1892); and Frederick M. Nunn, "Emil Körner and the Prussianization of the Chilean Army: Origins, Process, and Consequences, 18851920," The Hispanic American Historical Review 50 (1970): 30022. 73 New York Herald, 29 August 1891. 74 Report by Lieutenant Reginald B. Colmore, 1/7068; Lt. George I. Dyer, U.S.N., "The Recent Revolution in Chile," The Californian 1 (1892): 150. 75 William Laird Clowes, Four Modern Naval Campaigns (London, 1902), 181. 76 Juan Gil, La Revolución Chilena (Santiago, 1891), 392. 77 Julio Bañados Espinosa, Balmaceda Su Gobierno y la Revolución de 1891, 2 vols. (Paris, 1894), 2:563. 78 Lt. James H. Sears, U.S.N., and Ensign B. W. Wells Jr., U.S.N., The Chilean Revolution of 1891 (Washington DC, 1893), 58. 79 "Parte oficial del Jefe de Estado Mayor Jeneral, don Emilio Körner," in Memorandum de la Revolución de 1891 (Santiago, 1892), 303; New York Herald, 24, 29 August and 3, 19 September 1891. 80 Report by Lieutenant Reginald B. Colmore, 1/7068; Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 303; New York Herald, 24, 29 August 1891 and 3, 19 September 1891. 3 Körner's Army 1 Lara, Los oficiales alemanas, 9. 2 Gutschmid to Caprivi, 1 September 1891, AA-PA, Bonn, R 16625, Allgemeine Angelegenheiten Chiles 1, vol. 12; cited in Kurt von Borcke, Deutsche unter fremden Fahnen (Berlin, 1938), 29596. 3 Gutschmid to Caprivi, 27 August 1891, AA-PA, R 16625, Chile 1, vol. 12. 4 Gutschmid to Caprivi, 1 and 2 September 1891, AA-PA, R 16625, Chile 1, vol. 12; Foreign Office to Santiago, 17 October 1891, AA-PA, R 16625, Chile 1, vol. 12. 5 Treskow to Foreign Office, 6 March 1893, AA-PA, R 16625, Chile 1, vol. 12, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 20. Prussian war minister Albrecht von Roon had supplied the men and weapons with which Moltke had defeated Denmark, Austria, and France between 1864 and 1871. 6 Prussian War Ministry (Hahnke) to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 19 April 1895, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, Die deutschen Militärinstrukteure in Chile 18951914, vol. 1; see the imperial decree of 15 June 1895 in AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, Die deutschen Militärinstrukteure in Chile 18951914, vol. 1; also, Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 52, 54; Foreign Office memorandum, 15 July 1895, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 1. 7 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 18 May 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2.

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8 Löbell, Jahresberichte über die Veränderungen und Fortschritte im Militärwesen (Berlin, 1899), 6973. See also Siegfried Benignus, Deutsche Kraft in Südamerika: Historisch-wirtschaftliche Studie von der Konquista bis zur Gegenwart (Berlin, 1917), 5758. 9 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 11 September 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2. 10 German Consul (Punta Arenas) to Treskow, 18 September 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2; and Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 12 February 1897, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2. Harbou, "mentally stricken," had to be returned from Punta Arenas under escort. 11 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 26 September 1896 and 19 December 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 1. 12 Executive to Embassy, 11 September 1895, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 1. 13 Embassy (von Loehr) to Foreign Office, 15 November 1865, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 1. 14 Treskow to Foreign Office, 21 January 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 1; Treskow to HohenloheSchillingsfürst, 10 October 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2. 15 Internal memoranda, Military Cabinet, August 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2. 16 General von Hahnke to Rogalla von Bieberstein, 12 November 1896, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2; Imperial decrees of 31 May 1900 and 11 June 1901, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 4. 17 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 26 September 1897, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3; War Cabinet to Chancery, 29 November 1897, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. Charges of financial misdealings against both officers were later dismissed. 18 Bülow to William II, 25 August 1897, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 2; Foreign Office to Chancery, 23 October 1899, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. Contracts were renewed for Marcard, Herrmann, Below, Bertling, and Schulenburg-Wolfsburg. A decision on Kellermeister von der Lund was postponed until that officer explained his behavior to Körner's satisfaction. Lund apparently did not and in July 1898 was denied reentry into the Prussian army. 19 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 20 August 1897, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. "The victorious flag protects the goods." 20 Imperial decrees of 2 April and 5 December 1908, 1 June 1909, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. 21 Bodman to Bethmann Hollweg, 24 August 1909 and 20 April 1910, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. 22 Foreign Office to Bodman, 19 October 1909, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 3. 23 Juan Gabriel, A través de Chile (Buenos Aires, 1898), 80; Emilio Rodríguez Mendoza, Cómo si Fuera Ahora (Santiago, 1929), 213. 24 Virgilio Figueroa, "Jorge Boonen Rivera," Diccionario histrico: Biográfico y bibiográfico de Chile, 4 vols. (Santiago, 192531), 2:23335. 25 MG, 1892, 77. As there are no volume numbers, these will be cited by year. Decree of 4 September 1891, 5 September 1891, BOJG (Iquique), 292.

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26 Decrees 320 and 328, 12 and 16 September 1891, BOJG; see Decrees 232 and 247 of 5 and 8 October 1891 in BOJG, 429, 469. Also MG, 1892; Decree 199, 1 October 1891, BOJG 406. 27 Decree 747,29 October 1891, BOJG, 746. 28 Decree 90, 22 September, and Decree 295, 12 October 1891, BOJG, Decree 844, 4 November 1891, BOJG, 343, 519, 825. 29 Law of 26 December 1891 in Ricardo Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile desde 1810 hasta el 1 de Junio de 1912, 5 vols. (Santiago, 1912), 3:208. 30 Law of 4 February and 28 August 1893 in Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:25657, 272. Officers from the rank of major and above had to receive the permission of the senate to reenter the army. There were some exceptions to the law of 4 February 1893. Not included were those involved in the sinking of the Blanco Encalda, the capture of the Lynch, the executions at Los Cañas (the harsh repression meted out to a group involved in an antigovernment plot), anyone who sat on courts-martial, or those commanding generals, divisional commanders, or heads of Armas who organized these courts-martial and who approved of the sentences. Those apparently involved in subsequent plots would not get pensions; see Decree 2401 of 12 September 1910, in Recopilación, 32. 31 Decree 1,038, 9 November 1891, BOJG, 894. 32 Memorándum de la Revolución de 1891: Datospara la historia (Santiago, 1892), 4; MG, 1892, 2,77. 33 MG, 1892, 1314; MG, 1893, vi; Law of 3 February 1892, in Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:212; Law of 23 January 1894 in Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:301; MG, 189596, 100. 34 To receive one's entire salary as a pension one had to be a survivor of the 1838 war, be completely physically disabled, or be a sixty-year-old officer who had survived a battle and retired completely. Most pensions were a percentage of active duty salary: 0.25 percent for each year of service. See Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:329. 35 Law of 1 October 1904 in Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 4:7374. See also Decrees 1081 and 1102 of 14 and 22 October 1904, Recopilación, 410,41617. 36 Camara de Senado, CSSO, 2 September 1904, 1567. 37 See Decree 799 of 24 May 1901, Recopilación, 78; Decree 1736 of 26 November 1902, Recopilación, 310. 38 Decree 465 of 17 March 1903, Recopilación, 20513; Decree 1514 of 8 October 1903, Recopilación, 595. 39 Decree 15 of 8 January 1906, Recopilación, 3436; Decree 719 of 15 May 1906, Recopilación, 299302. 40 Decree 15 of 8 January 1906, Recopilación, 3437; and Decree 719 of 15 May 1906, Recopilación, 299302. 41 Decree 711 of 14 May 1906, Recopilación, 29495. At one time, there were five zones (Decree 799 of 24 May 1901), but this was reduced to four (Decree 1736 of 26 November 1902), Recopilación, 310. 42 Decree 2858 of 22 December 1911, Recopilación, 72445. 43 Decree 118 of 12 February 1909, Recopilación, 8185; Decree 2858 of 22 December 1911, Recopilación, 72445. 44 Decree 2858 of 22 December 1911, Recopilación, 73435; Las fuerzas armadas de Chile (Santiago, 1928), 794; Decree 886 of 22 April 1914, Recopilación, 799800.

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45 Decree 1300 of 28 August 1909, Recopilación, 87679; Decree 594 of 10 March 1911, Recopilación, 19697; Decree 2858 of 22 December 1911, Recopilación, 74042; Decree 123 of 20 January 1912, Recopilación, 92326. 46 Decree 2857 of 22 December 1911, Recopilación, 74445; Decree 123 of 20 January 1912 in Recopilación, 92326. 47 Decree 842 of 9 June 1909, Recopilación, 601. See Decree 81 of 31 January 1905, 45, created Batallón O'Higgins. It was formed by stripping men from the Esmeralda, Maipú, Carampangue, Chacabuco, and Pudeto Regiments. See also Decree 213 of 4 March 1905, Recopilación, 103. 48 A special committee was created in 1920, headed by Gen. Arístides Pinto Concha, to study the impact of the First World War on staffing and equipment and to integrate these changes. Decree 1961 of 10 August 1920, Recopilación, 119798; Decree 630 of 23 March 1920, Recopilación, 95357; see also Decree 29 October 1919, Recopilación, 576618. 49 Pablo Barrientos Gutiérrez, Historia del Estado Mayor Jeneral del Ejército (18111944) (Santiago, 1944), 17576. 50 Decree 131 of 24 September 1891, Roberto Montt and Horacio Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, decretos reglamentos y disposiciones de carácter jeneral del Ministro de Guerra, 18881893 (Santiago, 1895) 27677. 51 MG, 1892, 512; MG, 1893, 21. 52 Decree 131 of 24 September 1891, Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 27678; Decree 155 of 14 January 1892, in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 33643; Historia Militar, 7:212 (this institution, however, existed only on paper for years); Las Fuerzas Armadas de Chile: Album histórico (Santiago, n.d.), 58384. 53 MG, 18961897 (Santiago, 1897), 8; Gutiérrez, Historia del Estado, 189204. 54 Decree 593 of 2 April 1903, Recopilación, 25962. 55 Fuerzas armadas de Chile, 569. 56 Decree 702 of 12 May 1906, Recopilación, 28991. 57 MG, 1907, 59; Decree 509 of 3 May 1904, Recopilación, 199200; Decree 702 of 12 May 1906, Recopilación, 29091. 58 Historia del Ejército de Chile, 7:27071. 59 MG, 1907,3. 60 Reseña histórica de la Academia de Guerra, 18861936 (Santiago, 1936), 4555; Decree 1652 of 18 November 1903, Recopilación, 65152; 61 Decree 719 of 15 May 1906, Recopilación, 301; Decree 1139 of 27 July 1910, Recopilación, 58081; Reseñas históricas de las unidades e institutos del ejército de Chile (Santiago, 1987), 282. 62 Decree 719 of 15 May 1906, Recopilación, 301; Decree 619 of 14 April 1908, Recopilación, 566; Law 2771 of 7 February 1913, Recopilación, 14. 63 MG, 1914,1415. 64 "Decreto que discuelve la Guardia Nacional i ordena reorganizarla," in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 1423. 65 "Comisión para presentar un proyecto sobre reorganización de la Guardia Nacional," in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 41819. 66 MG, 189596, viiixi.

67 MG, 1899, 200. 68 Law of 15 February 1896, in Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:35255.

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69 MG, 1899, vvi, 1112, 3233. 70 MG, 1898, vvi; MG, 1899, 11. The Instituto was closed in 1899. 71 MG, 1898, 123; MG, 1899, 46. 72 MG, 1898, 37, 46, 6768, 102, 123; MG, 1899, 46, 303. 73 MG, 1900, 2829. 74 MERV, 14 January 1903. 75 MERV, 13 September 1904; MERV, 3 February 1903, 14 January 1904; Guillermo Chaparro, "La misión de nuestros oficiales," MECH, March 1909, 3016; MG, 1901, vi. 76 Jorge Boonen Rivera, Participación del ejército en el desarrollo y progreso del país (Santiago, 1917), 37, quoted in Enrique Brahm Gacia, "Del soldado romántico al soldado profesional: Revolución en el pensamiento militar chileno. 18851940," Historia 25 (1990), 31. 77 Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:5025. 78 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 168. 79 From Schäfer, Deutsche Militärhilfe, 117. The precise height measurement notwithstanding, the decree made sense in Prussia, where the soil was poor and desperately needed fertilizers. Chile, with its rich fields and access to nitrates, hardly required fifty-centimeter manure piles. 80 Körner to Castell, 14 July 1902, AA-PA, R 16642, Chile 1, vol. 29; Castell to Bülow, 27 September 1902, AAPA, R 16643, Chile 1, vol. 30; Castell to Bülow, 7 January 1903, citing at length Körner's letter to Castell of 22 December 1902, AA-PA, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 31; Castell to Bülow, 1 November 1902, AA-PA, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 31. 81 Körner to Castell, 31 October 1902, AA-PA, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 31. 82 Count von Leyden (Stockholm) to Foreign Office, 26 February 1903, AA-PA, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 31; Foreign Office to Prussian Military Cabinet, 22 May 1903, AA-PA, R 16633, Chile 1, vol. 31. 83 Castell to Bülow, 9 November 1901, AA-PA, R 16641, Chile 1, vol. 28; Foreign Office to Embassy Santiago, 19 January 1902, AA-PA, R 16641, Chile 1, vol. 28; Tirpitz to Foreign Office, 19 June 1901, AA-PA, R 16641, Chile 1, vol. 28. 84 Reichenau to Bülow, 5 March 1904, AA-PA, R 16646, Chile 1, vol. 33. 85 Decree 842 of 9 June 1909, Recopilación, 601; Decree 123 of 20 January 1912, Recopilación, 92326. 86 MG, 1892, xivxv; MG, 1898, 51, 5960; MG, 1904, 37, 282; MG, 1902, 20, 354, 363, 377, 43940, 447; MG, 1903, 25, 9596. 87 H.E., "Combat," 3 January 1920, MID 20083; Crisóstomo Pizarro, La huegla obrera en Chile (Santiago, 1986), 4950. When the army was called upon to shoot strikers in the Magallanes region, they refused. Naval elements, who were present, also did not act, but that may have been because the unit bugler refused to play "fire." The Carabineros, however, had fewer qualms. See Carlos Vega Delgado, La masacre en la Federacidn Obrerade Magallanes (Punta Arenas, 1996), 9192, 96; MERV, 25 February 1906; MERV, 9 July and 18 October 1902, 3 July 1903, 9 June 1904, 28 August 1912. 88 Decree 1954 of 2 December 1910, Recopilación, 1199; Decree 2282 of 22 September 1919, Recopilación, 53233. 89 Decree 465 of 17 March 1903, Recopilación, 213; Decrees 1617 and 1640 of 5 and 16 November 1903, Recopilación, 63839, 647; Decrees 40 and 113 of 13 January and 5 February 1906, Recopilación, 45, 67.

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90 MERV, 20 February 1903; DILUS, 10 May 1911. 91 MG, 1904, xxv, gives the names of two officers attached to the Guardia Territorial de Petorca and Cachapoal. 92 MERS, 6 and 13 February 1913. A large number of Paraguayan officers, for example, trained in Chile; see the article by Jorge Igual published in El Grito del Puelo, 17 March 1911 (Guayaquil) in MERV, 25 March 1911; Ferenc Fischer, "La expansión indirecta de la ciencia militar alemana en América Latina del Sur: La cooperación militar entre Alemania y Chile y las misiones militares geromanófilas chilenas en los países latinoamericanas, 18851914," Tordseillas y sus consecuencias: La política de las grandes potencias europeas respecto a América Latina, 14941899 (Frankfurt, 1995), 24360; Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "German Military Influence in South America," 2 March 1911, WCD, 63704. Alberto claimed that the kaiser saw that establishing close ties to the Chilean military would allow German consumer goods to enter Chile more easily. See Lara, Los oficiales alemanas, 3; MERS, 30 December 1911. 93 MG, 1909, 5354. 94 Embassy (Santiago) to Bülow, 11 February 1907, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6. 95 Embassy (Santiago) to Foreign Office, 9 March 1907; von Buch to Bülow, 11 February 1907, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6. 96 Foreign Office memorandum, 6 June 1907, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6 (in fact, the first Chilean officers to go to Austria-Hungary returned convinced "that the Austrians could learn more by coming to Chile!"); Bodman to Bülow, 7 March 1908, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 7; Foreign Office memoranda of December 1907, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6; Bodman to Bülow, 19 September 1907, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6. Deinert thereafter "succumbed to drink," was challenged to a duel, and disgraced himself by refusing the challenge; Bodman to Bülow, 7 March 1908, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, no. 122, vol. 6. 97 Quiroga and Maldonado, 70; MERV, 1 and 8 July 1907; I. Tellez, Recuerdos Militares (Santiago, 1949), 217. One newspaper referred to this mania as "the delirium tremens of Germanization," MERS, 4 November 1911; MERV, 12 and 23 February, 8 May 1907; Gosling to Grey, Santiago, 29 March 1909, PRO, Kew, FO 371/611. 98 MERS, 27 January 1910; MERV, 23 May 1911; MERV, 30 January 1912; MERS, 25 January 1910; MERS, 27 January 1910; MERV, 27 May 1920. 99 MERV, 26 April 1908; MERV, 23 February 1907. 100 MERV, 26 and 27 April 1908; MERS, 13 and 31 March 1911; MERV, 12 February 1907; MERV, 27 April 1908; MERV, 11 September 1908; Téllez, Recuerdos Militares, 221. 101 Reichenau to Bülow, 15 September 1904, AA-PA, R 16646, Chile 1, vol. 34. Inter pocula: "between cups." 102 MERV, 29, 30, 31 August 1909; La Lei quoted in MERV, 24 February 1910, CSSE, 28 January 1910, in MERS, 29 January 1910. See also CDS, 27 and 29 January 1910, in MERS; also, 28 and 30 January 1910, CSSO, 29 January 1910, CSSO, 178994, and 2 February 1910, CSSO, 1925. 103 CDSO, 24 October 1913, 6871; 22 January 1914, CDSO, 211822; MERV, 19 March 1914. 104 La Unión (Santiago), 26 March 1920. The paper also claimed that old age, not the legislature, had forced Körner to retire; MERS, 7 November 1910.

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105 MERS, 6 October 1910; H.E. Capt. Earl Briscoe, "Anniversary of the Chilean Independence," 12 October 1912, MID, 64983, 101. 106 MERS, 7 November 1910. 4 How Körner's Army Failed 1 Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "The Infantry," no. 60, 12 June 1909, United States, WCD, 56410; "The Cavalry," no. 67, 25 July 1909, WCD 556411. 2 Copy of "Field, Siege and Machine Guns: Chilian Army," Santiago, 20 May 1909, WCD, 55781. 3 Gosling to Grey, Santiago, 29 March 1909, PRO, Kew, FO 371/611; Eduardo Poirer, Chile en 1908 (Santiago, 1909), 290; "Cavalry Report," 19 June 1909, WCD, 556410. 4 MG, 1915, 166; MG, 1914, 199, 23435. San Bernardo's landowners, for example, would not permit the army to practice on their property because of the damage it inflicted (MERV, 9 February 1898); MERV, 13 December 1901; Decree 412 of 29 March 1906, in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 189. 5 MG, 1914, 199; MERV, 28 October and 17 November 1901, 7 and 21 October 1905, 2 February 1917; MERS), 17 March and 24 April 1911. 6 MG, 1921,21. 7 MG, 1907, 8384; MERS, 15 April 1911; MG, 1912, 259. 8 MERV, 9 February 1902, 14 and 27 November 1902, 16 September 1905, 19 and 26 April 1908; MERV, 27 February 1913; MERV, 19 April 1908, 21 February 1916; M.A., "Summary of events for February, 1914," FO 371/1922; MERS, 2 February 1915. 9 MERV, 19 April and 14 May 1908; MERV, 9 September 1905; MERV, 20 April 1908; Decree 475 of 16 May 1900, Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 843; MERV, 24 January 1918; Decree 899 of 25 June 1910, in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 46970; MG, 1905, 6162. 10 MERV, 19 April 1908; MERV, 19 April 1911. 11 MERS, 13 April 1915. 12 MERV, 24 January 1918. 13 MERS, 27 August 1920. Units of the military contributed funds toward this goal as well. 14 MERV, 27 April 1910. 15 MERV, 15 July 1910. 16 MERV, 14 and 15 July 1910; Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 4:325. 17 MERV, 5 November 1910 and 17 January 1912. 18 MERV, 9 September 1905 and 1 June 1912. 19 M.A., "Summary of Events for the months of August, September and October, 1913," FO 371/1589, 5; MERV, 19 April 1911; MERS, 20 April 1911.

20 MERS, 19 January 1913; MERV, 22 May 1908; MERS, 15 January 1912; MERV, 17 January 1912; M.A., "Summary of Events for the months of August, September, and October 1913," FO 371/1589, 4; MERS, 23 March 1913. 21 MERS, 11 and 15 April 1915; MERS, 8 and 28 April 1915; MERV, 14 April 1915. 22 MERS, 1 January and 2 February 1915. 23 A. W. Chilton, Military Attaché, to Director, MID, Santiago, 22 July 1920, 26570-11/2; E.U., "Chilean Mobilization," 20 September 1920, MID, 200858; Chilton to Director, Santiago, 20 July 1920, MID, 26570-11/1; MG, 1921, 1617.

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24 Sáez Morales, Recuerdos, 1:32; U.S. military attaché, Peru, "Chilian Mobilization," 4 September 1920, MID 200855; La Provincia de Tarapacá (Iquique), 1 September 1920. 25 La Provincia de Tarapacá, 1 September 1920. 26 H.E., "General Military Conditions," Santiago, 16 September 1920, MID 200857. 27 CDSO, 24 August 1920, 132024; CSSO, 12 August 1920, 757; F. L. Case to unknown, Lima, 4 September 1920 (Case was the U.S. military attaché to Peru who had received permission to inspect the Chilean units from Chilean authorities); MID 200855; CDSO, 8 August 1920, 1015. 28 CDSO, 12 September 1920, 1091; Sáez Morales, Recuerdos, 1:32; MERV, 1 September 1900. 29 MERV, 5 November 1908, 19 and 20 January 1909, 4 and 8 May 1911; MG, 1912, 13; MG, 1916, 5; MG, 1921, 19. 30 MG, 1904, 191; MG, 1905, 67; CDSO, 21, 23, and 24 July 1900, 89697, 92596, 95455; La Defensa (Viña del Mar), 7 June 1907 (Onan was the son of Judah); CSSO, 30 November 1906, 76061, 9067; MERV, 17 October 1909. 31 MG, 1904, 135; MERV, 19 May 1907. 32 MERS, 10 May 1912 and 3, 4, and 5 April 1913; MERS, 9 April 1913; MERV, 25 May and 30 June 1911; MG, 1917, 15. 33 Dr. José Salas, "Sobre la profilaxia de las efermedades venéras en el Ejército," in MECH, July 1911, 36; MERS, 24 July 1911. 34 MERS, 12 and 17 February, 8 November 1911. 35 MERS, 25 October 1911. 36 Carlos Vega Delgado, La masacre en la Federación Obrera de Magallanes (Punta Arenas, 1996), 37, noted that the officers of the Batallón Magallanes still flogged draftees even for minor offenses; I. Téllez, Recuerdos militares (Santiago, 1949), 3132; A. Braun, Mis memorias del Año Veinte (Santiago, 1979), 4344; J. Valdéz Cange, Sinceridad: Chile Intimo 1910 (Santiago, 1910), 15354; Coronel Monreal, La escuela militar en 1890: Reminiscencias (Talca, 1924), 50; Guillermo Labarca, Mirandoaloceano: Diario de un Conscripto (Santiago, 1911), 46; MG, 1907, 9697; in 1904, 9 percent of Second Division decamped for more bucolic pastures, MG, 1904, 122; MG, 1909, 79, 91. 37 MERV, 9 January 1913; Labarca, Mirando al oceano, 40; MERV, 1 July 1913. 38 CDSO, 16 June 1907, 210; MG, 1916, 64; Carlos Alfaro, Album Gràfico e Histórico del Regimiento de Caballería No. 1 Granaderos, "General Bulnes" (Iquique, 1927), 112. 39 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 13174, quoted in and translated by Patricio Quiroga and Carlos Maldonado, El prusianismo en las fuerzas armadas chilenas (Santiago, 1988), 213; MERV, 3 January 1905, 22 February 1906; O. Barbosa, "Lei de Servicio Militar Obligatorio del Perú en relación con la lei chilena," MECH, 90; MG, 1912, 91; MG, 1913, 77; MERS, 18 September 1911. 40 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 213; AN, Ministerio de Guerra, Oficina del Ministerio de Guerra, vol. 533, Santiago, 26 September 1901; MERV, 2 August 1902; MG, 1904, 135; MERV, 9 April 1904, 25 May 1905, 17 May 1907. 41 CDSO, 4 June 1904, 35; Tobías Barros, Vigilia de armas (Santiago, 1920), 89; MERV, 30 October, 4 November 1917, 6 May 1918; Claudette Borgagorry and Marta Bianchi, "Los francés de la Octava Región y la Gran Guerra," Atenea 472 (1995), 21718. 42 MERS, 19 May 1907; MERV, 12 April, 4 May 1919; CDSE, 23 October 1918, 145; MERV, 12 April 1917.

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43 MG, 1910, 78; MG, 1914, 2021; MG, 1915, 2024; MG, 1916, 6, 2024; MERV, 3 January 1912. 44 CDSO, 20 November 1919, 451; CDSO 191112, 16 November 1911, 393; MG, 1913, 151; MERV, 26 June 1906, 5 November 1907; La Defensa, 7 June 1907; CSSO, 5 February 1912, 147071. 45 MERV, 26 June 1907; La Lei (Santiago), cited in MERV, 21 September 1909; MERS, 21 November 1911. 46 Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "Important Military Events in Chile during the Month of February, 1911," Santiago, 11 March 1911, WCD 61826. 47 O. Barbosa, "Algunas observaciones sobre las disposiciones que reglamentan el Servicio Militar Obligatorio," MECH (July 1908), 199; MG, 1914, 1921; MG, 1915, 1724; MG, 1913, 46; MERV, 1 May 1911; MG, 1913, 4647; CDSO, 28 August 1918, 238990; CDSE, December 9, 1920, 74647. 48 CSSO, 27 July 1920, 50810. 49 H.E., 1st Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "Strength of the Chilian Army. Gl.," 31 December 1911, WCD, 556419; MG, 1916, 1112; D. Bari, "El problema de nuestras reservas," MECH (1917), 331; MG, 1921, 19; MG, 1921, 19. 50 MG, 1915, 15; Capt. Earl Briscoe, "Anniversary of the Chilean Independence," 12 October 1912, WCD, 64983. 51 MG, 1913, 81; MG, 1909, 107. 52 MG, 1905,9; MG, 1909, 4, 181. 53 MG, 1915, 31; MG, 1921, 71. According to a report from the U.S. military attaché, the number of men graduated from the Escuela Militar was as follows: 1915 = 84, 1916 = 86, 1917 = 97, 1918 = 105, 1918 = 97 (a special course), 1919 = 66, 1920 = 56 (Edward J. Sparks to Director, Santiago, 17 September 1921, MID, 22770-3); "Se abre un curso en la Escuela Militar" and "Curso especial en la Escuela Militar," Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 33235, 35053; Decree 914 of 7 May 1907, 48384; Decree 443 of 1907, 26162; Decree 432 of 23 March 1909; Decree 2411 of 20 August 1912, 136061; Decree 2128 of 14 August 1913, 411; MG, 1907, 45; Decree 1514 of 30 November 1900, Recopilación, 123; Decree 1644 of 28 December 1906, Recopilación, 83435; Decrees 433 and 914 of 18 March and 7 May 1907, Recopilación, 26163,48385; Decree 459 of 4 April 1908, Recopilación, 48586; Decree 2128 of 14 August 1913, Recopilación, 41114. 54 Alberto Muñoz, "El problema de nuestra educación militar," MECH, April 1914, 12729, quoted in Horacio Aravena, "La Escuela Militar a través de sus 150 años," Boletín de la Academia Chilena de la Historia 76 (1967), 149; Barros, Vigilia de armas, 48; Dr. J. Valdéz Cange, Sinceridad: Chile íntimo, 1910 (Santiago, 1910), 145, 152; Luis Correa Prieto, El Presidente Ibañez (Santiago, 1962), 3940; Sáez Morales, Recuerdos, 1:14; R. González, "Estudio comparativo sobre las Escuelas Militares del Perú, Arjentina, Brasil i Chile," MECH (1919), 483. 55 "Escalafón de oficiales de reserva," MG, 1901, 80. 56 23 Dec. 1901, Recopilación, 111; Decree 1570, 31 December 1901, Recopilación, 6869; Decrees 808, 82021, 827, and 908 of 22, 29, 31 July and 12 August 1902, Recopilación, 1428, 1434, 143637, 1469, respectively; Decree 1211 of 8 July 1903, Recopilación, 1212; Decree 24 of 11 January 1905, Recopilación, 467; Decree 914 of 7 May 1907, Recopilación, 48385; Decree 1239 of 29 April 1912, Recopilación, 1123; Decree 1514 of 8 October 1903, Recopilación, 55960; Decree 867 of 26 July 1901, Recopilación, 105;

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Decrees 808 and 908 of 22 July and 12 August 1902, Recopilación, 1428 and 1469; Decree 889 of 18 May 1906, Recopilación, 1210. 57 MG, 1915, 127; MG, 1917, 22; MG, 1916, 1112; MG, 1915, 32; MG, 1917, 1415, 22; MG, 1916, 1112; CDSO, 3 and 10 January 1919, 1714, 196364. 58 MERV, 6 May 1906; MG, 1912, 95; MG, 1915, 127; MERS, 28 January 1912. 59 Barros, Vigilia de armas, 4851; ''Lei de ascensos en el Ejército," 23 September 1890, in Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 199; MERV, 14 January and 3 February 1908; Gen. Juan de Dios Vial Guzmán, "Política militar," MECH, September 1911, 447; CDSO, 28 January 1920, 1952. 60 MERV, 14 January 1908; Muñoz, "El problema de nuestra educación militar," 128; MG, 1904, 6. 61 MERV, 30 August 1909. 62 According to an 1882 law, infantry officers received lower salaries than officers serving with the other combat arms (Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 3:525); Decree of 1902, Recopilación, 274; Decree of 1904, Recopilación, 4023; Decree of 1914, Recopilación, 741; Decree of 1916, Recopilación, 990; Decree of 1920, Recopilación, 84384; Decree 65 of 28 January 1905, Recopilación, 39; MERS, 6 February 1916; CDSO, 10 February 1915, 2426; CDSO, 10 February 1915, 2426. 63 MG, 1915, 14041, 169, 21315; MG, 1921, 12, 19; MG, 1911, 138; MG, 1913, 88. 64 MG, 1909, 39; MERS, 31 March 1911; Reseña histórica de la Academia de Guerra, 18861936 (Santiago, 1936), 115. 65 Reseña histórica de la Academia de Guerra, 117. 66 MERS, II January 1912; MERV, 14 July 1917. 67 MG, 1906, 17. 68 MERV, 6 May 1907; MERS, 19 December 1912; Muñoz, "El problema de nuestra educación militar," 73; "Reglamento para la Escuela de Clases," 29 November 1892, Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 42832; MERV, 27 January 1917; Marcial Urrutia, "El porvenir de nuestros sub-oficiales," MECH, November 1914, 78485; CSSO, 12 July 1920, 338; CSSO, 20 July 1920, 423. 69 MG, 1914, 11415; MG, 1915, 202; Decree 1954 of 2 December 1910, in Recopilación, 1199, called for the Batallón Magallanes to take one regular soldier from each of the army's infantry companies; MG, 1910, 146. 70 Decree 938 of 21 June 1906, in Recopilación, 39192. They were called groups and although they relied on horses they were assigned to two infantry units: the Yungai, Third of the Line, and the Valdivia, the Eighth of the Line. See Decree 599 of 9 March 1912, Recopilación, 1004; Decree 2526 of 29 October 1919, Recopilación, 576; MG, 1915, 215, 21718; MG, 1913, 6566; MG, 1912, 62; MG, 1915, 41; Decree 2556 of 31 October 1916, Recopilación, 122728. 71 Tobías Barros Ortiz, Vigilia de Armas (Santiago, 1920), 84; MG, 1914, 229; MG, 1913, 4547; MG, 1915, 169, 21315. 72 See Holger H. Herwig, The First World War: Germany and Austria-Hungary 19141918 (London, 1997), 59; MERV, 26 April 1908. 73 MG, 1911, 138; MG, 1913, 8889; MERS, 26 August 1911; MERS, 16 July 1911. 74 MG, 1901, 15354; MG, 1907, 7273. 75 A. W Chilton to Director, Santiago, 3 January 1920, MID, 200932.

76 MG, 1921, 47. 77 MG, 1915, 69.

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78 MG, 1904, 157. 79 MG, 1902, 4245; Estadística Comercialde la Repúblicade Chile (Santiago, 1919), 32; MG, 1912,3132. 80 MG, 1913, 1023, 13668; MG, 1917, 51, 5354; MG, 1917, 62; MERV, 9 April 1912. 81 MG, 1911, 17779; MG, 1913, 101, 1056; MG 1898, 42, 46; MG, 1912, 3135, 44, 129, 13435, 17577, 182, 234, 24445, 282, 286. 82 MG, 1914, 61, 187; MG, 1915, 6971, 293; MERS, 6 March 1915. 83 MG, 1921, 38, 66. 84 Dr. José A. Salas, "Sobre la profilaxia de las enfermedades venéreas en el Ejécito," MECH, July 1911, 400; MERV, 13 March 1918; MERS, 26 June 1921; Carlos Sáez Morales, Yasívamos (Santiago, 1938), 140. 85 Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 22122; MG, 189596, 2526; MG, 1899, 46, 100. 86 MG, 1901, 68; MG, 1902, 7578; Sinopsis Estadística de la República de Chile de 1918 (Santiago, 1919), 63; MG, 1914, 225. 87 MG, 1900, 8385; MG, 1903, 161; MG, 1901, 68, 97. 88 MG, 1902, 50, 55, 7578. 89 R. Benaprés, "Comentarios del Servicio de Trenes," MECH, 1920, 305; MG, 1907, 9394; MG, 1909, 116; MG, 1910, 87; Decrees 988 and 989 of 18 May 1907, Recopilación, 513; MG, 1910, 157; MG, 1915, 17475; MG, 1916, 20. 90 MG, 1911, 1024; "El servicio de la Intendencia Jeneral del Ejército en las Maniobras de 1915," MECH, July 1915, 547650; MECH, August 1915, 60915. 91 MG, 1914, 17273; MG, 1907, 121; Arturo Ahumada, El ejército y la revolución del 5 de septiembre de 1924 (Santiago, 1931), 43; "El servicio de la Intendencia Jeneral del Ejército en las Maniboras de 1915," MECH, July 1915, 552. 92 MG, 1915, 22728; MG, 1907, 120. 93 C. Millas, Los secretos que divulga un secretario privado de los ministros deguerra (Santiago, 1923), 6069; A. Vergara Vicuña, "Discuros en sesión de 30 de Marzo de 1921 [sic]. Consideraciones generales respecto del aprovisionamiento de víveres de la Cuarta Division del Ejército" and "Discurso pronunciado en sesión en 18 de Abril de 1922Aprovisionamiento de la IV División," in Tres Años en elfrente político (Santiago, 1925), 12538, 14760; MG, 1917, 110; A. Victor Tirado, "Nuestras futuras baterias de Montaña de 7.5 cm L 14," MECH, July 1914, 453. 94 MG, 1898, 177; MG, 1907, 64, 9293; MG 1905, 9596; MG, 1904, 1014; MG, 1912, 36970; MG, 1911, 150; MG, 1912, 164, 21213, 26470; MG 1913, 133, 199; MG, 1914, 7475, 175, 24851. 95 MG, 1896, 26; MG, 1901, 1920. 96 MG 1916, 70; MG, 1911, 150. 97 MG, 1903, 173; MG, 1911, 19, 150. 98 MG, 1911, 60; MG, 1915,97; MG, 1917, 11011; MG, 1911, 99; MG 1912, 12425; MG, 1904, 105, 12930; MG, 1905, 5354, 95.

99 MG, 1895, 52; MG, 1892, 18; MG, 1901, 115, 123. Estanislao del Canto, who favored fabricating a new rifle in Belgium, intimated that Körner used his influence in favor of the Mauser Company. See Armando Donoso, "El Jeneral Estanislao del Canto," Pacífico Magazine 9 (1917), 54. 100 Pedro Charpin, "Material de artilleria," MECH, 1907, 324, 328, 33135.

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101 MG, 1899, xxi, 4849; MG, 1906, 6; MG, 1904, 103; MG 1905, 5354; MG 1912, 12627; MG, 1921, 9899. 102 Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "War Material. Chilian," 9 June 1910, WCD, 198212; H.E., "Condition of Munitions Supply in Chile," 30 June 1919, MIB; MG, 1912, 23031; MG, 1912, 12627. 103 MG, 1904, 102, 127; MG, 1910, 178; MG, 1911, 109; MG, 1912, 171; MG, 1915, 295. 104 MG, 1911, 15051; MG, 1915, 14647; MG, 1913, 140. 105 MG, 1915, 241. 106 MG, 1910, 73, 93; MG, 1911, 183; MG, 1912, 229; MG, 1914, 182, 264; MG, 1907, 51, 125; MG, 1921, 20, complained that "a great number of cannons" had carbonized barrels that needed to be repaired. 107 MG, 1915, 26870; MG, 1904, 12829; MG, 1898, 165; MG, 1913, 10910. 108 MERS, 7 January, 7 March, and 27 October 1911. 109 MG, 1916, 36; J. Palacios Hurtado, "El servicio del Tren del Ejército," MECH, 1915, 43; R. Wegemann, "Como se organizarían los trenes i columnas de una división," MECH, 1915, 1921; and R. Wegemann, "Como se organizarían los trenes i columnas de una división," MECH, 1914, 91217; MG, 1902, 79; Decree 2526 of 29 October 1919 in Recopilación, 618. 110 Rafael Poblete, "Importancia i empleo del automóvil en la guerra moderna," MECH, 1919, 30538. 111 MG, 1902, 79; MG, 1911, 59; MG, 1903, 173; MG, 1911, 59; MG, 1912, 14, 17374; Palacios Hurtado, "El servicio del Tren del Ejercito," MECH, December 1914, 932; A. Olivares, "Modificaciones en nuestra bagajes columnas i trenes," MECH, 1918, 499; MERS, 20 April 1911; Olivares, "Modificaciones en nuestra bagajes columnas i trenes," 498518; MG 1911, 16768. 112 Santiago, Castro, "La tática i las tropas técnicas," MECH, 1911, 305; MG, 1916, 3; MG, 1915, 106; MG, 1914, 142; C. Hinjosa, "Las tropas de Ferrocarrileros en campaña," MECH, February 1915, 81. 113 MG, 1917, 18; see also MG, 1915, 166, 25660; MG, 1913, 75. 114 T. Barros Ortiz, Recogiendo los pasos (Santiago, 1914), 19798; H. E., "Combat," 19 December 1919, WCD, 25637. 115 Tellez, Recuerdos Militares, 217. 116 Muñoz, "El problema de nuestra educación militar," 72. 117 "Annual Report," 1922, FO 371/7206, 19; Donoso, "El Jeneral Estanislao del Canto," 54. 5 The Art of the Deal 1 HAK-WA, 7f14448, "Erfahrungen im Kriegsmaterialgeschäft mit dem Auslande," 10501 NIK 9.9.1937, 918. 2 Beckmann joined Krupp's Gunnery Division II in February 1901, became director of all firing ranges in 1912, and from 1917 to 1926 worked in various Krupp bureaus (information courtesy of the HAK-WA). For an age in which there existed no regulatory agencies, no Internal Revenue Service, no income taxes, and no public audit of private financial records, this document, submitted to the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg for the case against Krupp, is of critical importance. In an

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internal memorandum, "The Significance of the Friedr. Krupp Co. for German Industry," the armaments tycoon crowed that as a private firm, it did not have to publish annual reports. Krupp instructed his directors "to keep the purchases of war materials strictly secret." 3 HAK-WA 7f1148, 6166. 4 HAK-WA 7f1148, 17. 5 HAK-FA 3 B70, Briefivechsel Krupp . . . und Verschiedenen Personalia, 18871901. 6 HAK-WA 7f1148, 2831. 7 HAK-WA 7f1148, 2, 2026, 3334, 4252, 60. 8 José Manuel Balmaceda to Carlos Antúnez, Santiago, 9 October 1888; in the possession of William F. Sater. 9 HAK-WA 4/1051, "Kontrakte zwischen Friedr. Krupp, Essen, und der Republik Chile vom 9. Oktober und 8. Nov. 1872 über Lieferung von 4 Feld-u. 12 Gebirgsgeschützen nebst Zubehör." 10 Gutschmid to Bismarck, 23 April 1888, 11 and 16 January 1889, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp für die Chilenische Regierung, vol. 1, Nr. 344. 11 Betzhold to Krupp, 27 December 1889, HAK-WA 4/2036, Briefwechsel F A. KruppMajor Betzhold 18891900. 12 See Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 34; and Jürgen Hell, "Deutschland und Chile von 18711918," Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Universität Rostock, vol. 14 (1965): 87. 13 Foreign Office note of 12 September 1889, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. 14 HAK-FA 3B70, Briefwechsel Krupp . . . 18871901; BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 2, no. 344. 15 Gutschmid to Bismarck, 14 February 1890, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 2, no. 344. 16 HAK-WA 4/2284, Briefwechsel FA. KruppA. Schinzinger 8.3.18831.8.1911. 17 The technical results of the contest are detailed in Schinzinger to Gutschmid, 27 March 1890, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, Nr. 344. They were published in "Das Vergleichsschiessen zwischen Krupp und de Bange bei Batuco in Chile" Militär-Wochenblatt (1890): 157994. 18 Schinzinger to Gutschmid, 27 March 1890, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . vol. 1, no. 344; also, HAKFA 4C193, Privatbureau Dr. Gustav Krupp v. B. u. H. Chile. Allgemein; Gutschmid to Bismarck, March 1890, BAAP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. Two months later, the Francophiles on the commission submitted a minority report in favor of Canet, which had not taken part in the test! 19 Foreign Office to Krupp, 6 May 1890, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. 20 Schinzinger (Santiago) to Krupp, 20 March 1890, HAK-WA 4/2284. "You may fly to touch me." 21 Gutschmid to Caprivi, 15 April 1890, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. 22 HAK-FA 3B70; Gutschmid to Caprivi, 4 January 1891, BA-AP, Die Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. 23 Schinzinger to Krupp, 20 January 1892, HAK-WA 4/2284, Briefwechsel KruppSchinzinger.

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24 HAK-WA 4/2284, Briefwechsel KruppSchinzinger. 25 Gutschmid to Foreign Office, 15 January 1892, AA-PA, R 16630, Chile 1, vol. 17. 26 A. Wilckens, Hundert Jahre Deutscher Handel und Deutsche Kolonie in Valparaíso 18221922 (Hamburg, 1922), 127. 27 Gutschmid to Foreign Office, 19 September 1891, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344; Lauter to Frau Krupp, 10 September 1892, HAK-FA 3C11, Briefe Adolf Lauteran FA. Krupp. 28 Voigts-Rhetz to Caprivi, 28 July 1892, BA-AP, Lieferungen der Firma Krupp . . . , vol. 1, no. 344. 29 HAK, Geheim. 5.a.VII f.862 Chile. 30 Internal memorandum, Krupp Rechnungs-Revisions-Bureau, "Schinzingers Reiserechnung," HAK-FA 3B70, Briefwechsel Krupp . . . , 18871901. 31 HAK-FA 3B70, Briefwechsel Krupp . . . , 18871901, Chile "Auslagen." Krupp's notes are undated, in pencil, from his private notes. 32 Krupp to Ernst Hengstenberg (Valparaíso), 2 January 1894, HAK-FA 3C225, Privatbureau F.A. Krupp. Chile. Vertretung 18921894. 33 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 7273, 23637. 34 Carlos Rivera Jofre, Santiago, 7 January 1895, in AN, Legación de Chile en Francia, vol. 2306. 35 Hollmann (Washington) to Caprivi, 20 September 1891, AA-PA, R 17182, Ver. Staat. v. Amerika No 5. Militär und Marineangelegenheiten, interview dated 19 September 1891; Gutschmid to Caprivi, 13 October 1891, AA-PA, R 16628, Chile 1, vol. 15. 36 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 4043. Given that the Mauser and Loewe archives were destroyed during the Second World War, this story has been reconstructed on the basis of the records of the German Foreign Office as well as those of the Chilean Commission in Paris (as researched by Schaefer). 37 Galo Irarrazaval, minister of foreign relations, Berlin, 24 July 1895 (secret), Legacidn de Chile en Francia, vol. 317 (italics in original). 38 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 45. 39 7 January 1895 in AN, Legación de Chile en Francia, vol. 2306; Armando Donoso, Recuerdos de cincuenta años (Santiago, 1947), 39394; and his "El Jeneral del Canto," 54; Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 4546; Waltraud Winkelbauer, Die Österreichisch-Chilenischen Beziehungen vom Vormärz bis zum Ende der Habsburgermonarchie (Cologne, 1988), 18485. The material was delivered by the Patronen-, Zündhütchen- und Metallwarenfabik in Hirtenberg, formerly Keller & Co. 40 Galo Irarrazaval-Errazuriz, Berlin, 24 and 29 July 1892, AN, Legacion de Chile en Francia, vol. 317. 41 MERV, 8 February 1904; Ludw. Loewe & Co. Actiengesellschaft Berlin 18691929 (Berlin, 1930), 3234. 42 See Robert W. D. Ball, Mauser Military Rifles of the World (Iola W1, 1996), 80. 43 DW & MF Berlin to Foreign Office, 2 November 1900, AA-PA, R 6640, Chile 1, vol. 27; Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 7273. 44 Giskra to Foreign Office, 24 June 1906, HHSA, Vienna, Gesandschaftsberichte Santiago 1, 19031907.

45 Giskra to Goluchowski, 12 July 1906, HHSA, Vienna, Gesandschaftsberichte Santiago 1, 19031907, PA XXXXVII 3, Chile: Berichte, Weisungen 19051908; Giskra to Foreign Office, 6 and 7 August, and 24 October 1906, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 1.

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46 Giskra to Ballhausplatz, 15 November 1906, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 47 Giskra to Foreign Office, 24 October 1906, ÖSA-KA, Vienna, Kriegsministerium, 7A104/42. 48 Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 27 January 1907 and 26 June 1907, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte1. 49 Foreign Office to Styrcea, 4 July and 21 August 1907, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 1. 50 Technical-Military Comité to War Ministry, 1 July 1907, ÖSA-KA, Kriegsministerium, 7.A10428/3. 51 Foreign Office to War Ministry, 4 June 1907, and War Ministry memorandum of 16 July 1907, ÖSA-KA, Kriegsministerium, 7.A10428/3. 52 Steyr to War Ministry, 25 July 1907, ÖSA-KA, Kriegsministerium, 7A10428/32. 53 Kosegarten to Foreign Office, 1 and 5 June 1907, AA-PA, R 16650, Chile 1, vol. 37; Bodman to Bülow, 29 September 1907, AA-PA, R 16650, Chile 1, vol. 37; Kosegarten to Foreign Office. 54 Bodman to Bülow, 30 January 1908, AA-PA, R 16651, Chile 1, vol. 38. 55 Bodman to Bülow, 22 July 1908, AA-PA, R 16651, Chile 1, vol. 38. 56 Kolowrat-Krakowsky-Liebstensky to Aehrenthal, 14 November 1908, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 1. 57 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 31 October 1911, AA-PA, R 16651, Chile 1, vol. 44. 58 Windisch-Graetz's reports of 3 and 4 May 1911, ÖSA-KA, Vienna, De 25, Nr. 1180, Berichte des Prinzen Windisch-Graetz. The prince filed the formal reports after his return to Austria. 59 Windisch-Graetz's reports of 6 May and 1 July 1911, ÖSA-KA, Vienna, De 25, Nr. 1180, Berichte des Prinzen Windisch-Graetz. 60 ÖSA-KA, Vienna, De 25, Nr. 1180, Berichte des Prinzen Windisch-Graetz. The Berlin parade had taken place on 6 June. 61 Embassy to Foreign Office, 23 June 1910 and 9 July 1911, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16; and Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 19 July 1911, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 62 Erckert to Foreign Office, 24 August 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44. 63 Foreign Office memoranda of 25 and 31 August and 20 September 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44; report signed 6 October 1911, in MERV, 10 April 1912. 64 Report signed 6 October 1911, in MERV, 10 April 1912. 65 MERS, 19 October 1911; Steyr to Aehrenthal, and Aehrenthal to Styrcea, 31 October 1911, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 66 Steyr to Aehrenthal, and Aehrenthal to Styrcea, 31 October 1911, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16; MERV, 14 April 1912. 67 MERV, 7 January 1912; Engineer Rechl to Styrcea, 8 December 1911, and Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 21 January 1912, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16; CDSO, 18 April 1912, quoted in MERV, 19 April 1912; MERS, 28 March 1912. 68 MERS, 1, 2, 9, and 10 April 1912, DILUS, 14 April 1912; CSSO, 24 October 1904, 1035. 69 MERS, 9 November 1911.

70 Mario Matus Gonzalez, Tradición y Adaptación. Vivencia de los Sefaradies en Chile (Santiago, 1993), 55; MERS, 31 March and 24 April 1912; DILUS, 7, 15, and 24 April 1912. 71 Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 19 July 1911, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 72 Windisch-Graetz's diary, 22 to 31 August 1911, ÖSA-KA, De 25 Nr. 1180, Export 1911. 73 MERS, 11 October 1911; Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 16869 (the

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order was for thirty thousand rifles, four thousand carbines, and thirty million bullets); Erckert to Foreign Office, 29 October 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44. 74 Foreign Office memorandum, 4 November 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44. 75 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfean Südamerika, 16970. 76 DW & MF to Erckert, 11 April 1912, AA-PA, R 16658, Chile 1, vol. 45. 77 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 12 February 1912, AA-PA, R 16658, Chile 1, vol. 45; Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 21 January 1912, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 78 MERV, 24 April 1912. 79 La Mañana (Santiago), 2 April 1912. 80 Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 19 July 1911, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 81 Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 19 July 1911, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 82 Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 19 July 1911, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 83 Report of the Comisión Permanente de Presupuesto, in CSSE, Documentos Parlamentarios, 2 January 1914, 423. 84 Erckert cables to Foreign Office, 4 May and 5 July 1912, AA-PA, R 16658, Chile 1, vol. 45. 85 Krupp somewhat lamely denied that Eccius had ever made the remark; Krupp to Foreign Office, 1 August 1912, and Foreign Office to Santiago, 2 August 1912, AA-PA, R 16658, Chile 1, vol. 45. See also Brunn, "Deutscher Einfluss und Deutsche Interessen," 334. 86 Styrcea to Berchtold, 6 May 1914, commenting on Prince Henry's goodwill mission to Chile, HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 2. 87 War Ministry memorandum, 10 December 1913, ÖSA-KA, 2A/W4377/154, 19 3. 88 See, for example, his report to the Foreign Office of 31 January 1912, ÖSA-KA, 2A/W4377/154, 1913. 89 Estado Mayor Jeneral, Breve información sobre el ejército del Perú (Santiago, 1911), 11 1617; CDSO, 27 July 1909, 1430; Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "War Material. Chilian," Santiago, 9 June 1910, U. S. MIC, 198212; Anguita, Leyes promulgadas en Chile, 4:313. 90 Bernhard Menne, Krupp or The Lords of Essen (London, 1937), 17677. 91 MERV, 9 April 1909. 92 Bodman to Bülow, 20 January 1909, AA-PA, R 16652, Chile 1, vol. 39. 93 Bodman to Bülow, 14 February 1909, AA-PA, R 16652, Chile 1, vol. 39. 94 Bodman to Bülow, 24 May 1909, AA-PA, R 16652, Chile 1, vol. 39. 95 Cited in Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 160; CSSO, 28 October 1912, 195. It did not help Schneider-Creuzot's cause when its new "Powder B" proved to be unstable and caused an accidental explosion that destroyed the battleship Iéna in 1907; CSSO, 11 August 1909, 78990. 96 Bodman to Bülow, 15 June 1909, AA-PA, R 16652, Chile 1, vol. 39. 97 Krupp to Schoen, 20 August 1909, AA-PA, R 16653, Chile 1, vol. 40.

98 Böhler to War Ministry, 12 May 1909, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16; and ÖSA-KA, Kriegsministerium 1909, 7A 10424; Seidler to Aehrenthal, 8 and 14 June 1909, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 99 Erckert to Foreign Office, 31 October 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44. 100 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 162. 101 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 163. Ambassador Desprez informed Paris that five of the eight commission members now favored Krupp.

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102 Seidler to Aehrenthal, 10 January 1910, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16; Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 163; Pedro Montt to Augusto Matte, Santiago, 17 January 1910, AN, Fondos Varios, vol. 204; CSSO, 17 August 1909, 818. 103 La Lei (Santiago), 8 January 1910. 104 CDSE, 27 January 1911, 171923; CDSE, 11 and 12 February 1911; "Aufstellung Krupp über seine Waffenlieferungen an Chile," AA-PA, R 3877, Preussen 1 Nr 3 Nr 3 Prinz Heinrich von Preussen, vol. 13. 105 Seth L. Purrepont to Secretary of State, Santiago, 4 August 1910, RDS, 191029, 825.24; Seidler to Aehrenthal, 12 November 1909, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 106 War Ministry to Foreign Office, 23 March 1910, HHSA, F 94, Karton 16. 107 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 266, n. 46; internal memorandum, Foreign Office, 12 December 1911, AA-AP, Waffenlieferungen dt. Firmen an fremde Regierungen (Amerika), vol. 1. See also Hell, "Deutschland und Chile von 18711918," 9091. 108 Rheinische Metallwaren- und Maschinenfabrik to Foreign Office, 18 and 21 January 1910, AA-PA, R 16653, Chile 1, vol. 40. 109 Telegram from Chilean Minister to Santiago, Paris, 2 December 1909, in AN, MRE, vol. 1376, 7 December 1909; Menne, Krupp or The Lords of Essen, 239. 110 Renato Sanchez to Minister of War, Viña del Mar, 24 February 1912; Antonio to Huneeus-Minister of War, Santiago, 12 December 1912, in AN, MRE, Oficios dirigidos al M. de Guerra y de Marina, vol. 1601; Styrcea to Aehrenthal, 23 June 1910. HHSA, Gesandschaftsberichte 1. 111 Krupp memorandum, 30 April 1910, Allgemein. Krupp memorandum, 22 August 1911 HAK-FA 4, C193, Privatbureau Dr. Krupp v. B. u. H. Chile. 112 CSO 19 August 1912, 65657; CSSO 21 October 1912, 11314; MERS, 22 August 1912. 113 MERS, 15 and 17 October 1912. 114 MERS, 20 and 21 October 1912. 115 MERS, 23 October 1912. 116 MERS, 1 and 3 November 1912. 117 MERS, 30 October 1912 and 4, 6, and 23 November 1912. 118 MERS, 25, 27, 29, and 30 December 1912. 119 MERS, 5 April 1912; CDSO, 3 January 1913, 137476; CSSO, 21 October 1912, 117; Public Records Office, Kew, FO 371/1588/217; "Annual Report of 1912," 7 FO 371/1588/325. 120 CSSO, 21 and 28 October 1912, 11718, 198; MERV, 22 July 1912; C., "Contracts for War Material in Chile," 17 August 1912, RDS, 825.25; Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 73; William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp, 15871968 (Boston, 1964); 166; "Summary of Recent Events for the Month of April, 1913," FO 371/1589/822, 3; MERV, 17 February 1910; CSSO, 28 October 12, 202, 204; MERS, 17 February 1910; MERV, 6 January 1914. In fairness, the Germans were not the only ones to play that game; Armstrong apparently paid some £50,000 to ensure that it won a contract to build two battleships for the Chilean fleet. See C., "Contracts for War Material in Chile," 17 August 1912, RDS, 825.25. 121 La Razón Santiago, 29 October 1912; La Unión (Valparaíso), 9 July 1912. 122 Erckert to Foreign Office, 13 July 1912, AA-AP, Waffenlieferungen . . . (Amerika), vol. 1.

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123 Erckert to Foreign Office, 23 January 1913, AA-PA, R 16659, Chile 1, vol. 46. 124 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 31 October 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44. 125 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 12 February 1912, AA-PA, R 16658, Chile 1, vol. 45. 126 HAK, 48/51, 48/94 Besuche; HAK-WA 48 Besuchwesen. 127 HAK-WA 6Y Besuche; and HAK-WA 48/94 Besuche; Erckert to Foreign Office, 7 April 1911, AA-PA, R 16657, Chile 1, vol. 44; HAK-WA 7.f.1448; Beckmann, "Erfahrungen im Kriegsmaterial-Geschäft," NIK 1051, 9.9.1937, 60; Fokker Aeroplanbau to Embassy Santiago, 28 November 1913, AA-AP, Waffenlieferungen . . . (Amerika), vol. 2. 128 Erckert to Foreign Office, 1 January and 18 December 1912, AA-AP, Militärwesen Chile, Nr. 122, vol. 8. 6 Domestic Corruption 1 Embassy Valparaíso to Bethmann Hollweg, 6 June 1910, BA-AP, no. 298, Lieferungen nach Chile 19091918, vol. 1. 2 Körner to the banks, 31 October 1911, and Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 15 May 1912, BA-AP, no. 298, Lieferungen nach Chile 19091918, vol. 1. 3 See the flood of reports by Ambassador von Erckert, summer 1912, BA-AP, no. 298, Lieferungen nach Chile 19091918, vol. 1. 4 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 26 April 1913, BA-AP, no. 298, Lieferungen nach Chile 19091918, vol. 1. 5 Oberschlesische Eisenindustrie A.G. to Bethmann Hollweg, 8 April 1913, AA-AP, no. 298, adh. C. Waffenlieferungen deutscher Firmen an fremde Regierungen-Amerika 19071917, vol. 2. 6 Erckert to Bethmann Hollweg, 28 April 1913, BA-AP, Lieferungen nach Chile, vol. 1; and monthly summary of events for the month of April 1913, PRO, Kew, FO 371/1589/822. 7 Erckert to Chancellor, 23 April 1913, AA-AP, Lieferungen nach Chile, vol. 1. 8 Enrique Mac-Iver, Discurso sobre la crisis moral de la República (Santiago, 1900), 18. 9 Atilio A. Boron, La evolución del régimen electoral v sus efectos en la representación de los interespopulares: El caso de Chile (Santiago, 1971), Cuadro 3. Generally, the percentage of voters varied between 4.2 and 6.4 percent. 10 MERS, 14 and 17 October 1911; Columbano Millas, Los secretos que divulga unsecretario privado de los ministros de guerra (Santiago, 1923), 222; MERS, 6 May 1913. 11 MERS, 8 May 1912. 12 Decree of 767 of 22 March 1912, Recopilación, 104546; Decrees 222 and 223 of 29 May 1905, Recopilación, 1078; Decree 2160 of 3 December 1915, Recopilación, 68182; Decree 472 of 6 March 1912, Recopilación, 98485; MG, 1915, 229. 13 Decree 766 of 22 March 1912, Recopilación, 104546. 14 MERS, 16 June and 26 August 1913; MERS, 26 July and 16, 17, and 29 August 1913; MERS, 16 June 1913. 15 MERS, 20 January 1910. 16 MERS, 8 May 1912; MERS, 1 March 1913; MERS, 2224 December 1912.

17 Decree 3050 of 26 December 1916, Recopilación, 1310; MG, 1917, 3637, 110; Decree 943 of 24 April 1917, Recopilación, 165. 18 MERV, 21, 22, and 24 October 1911. 19 MERV, 5 November 1910 and 17 January 1912.

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20 Schaefer, Deutsche Militärhilfe an Südamerika, 73, 23637. 21 Hervey, Dark Days in Chile, 192. 22 Montt and Fabres, Recopilación de leyes, 22122; MG, 1899, 46. 23 MERV, 21 April 1904; CDSO 6 December 1901, 784. 24 CSSO, 27 August 1902; Decree of 26 August 1902, Recopilación, 298; Decree 430 of 16 March 1902, Recopilación, 2428. 25 Decree 604 of 19 April 1901, Recopilación, 334; Decrees 56 and 58 of 19 January 1901, Recopilación, 13132; Decree 953 of 22 June 1901, Recopilación, 45960; Decree 311 of 11 June 1902, Recopilación, 437; Decrees 1845, 1857, and 1868 of 26 and 27 December 1902, Recopilación, 1024, 1029, 1034. 26 Decree 398 of 1 March 1901, Recopilación, 259; Decrees 1848 and 1858 of 27 and 30 December 1902, Recopilación, 1030, 1040; Decree 1387 of 3 October 1901, Recopilación, 617. 27 Decree 116 of 5 February 1905, Recopilación, 58; Decree 1187 of 2 August 1910, Recopilación, 604; Decree 117 of 4 February 1904, Recopilación, 5556; 28 Decrees 119, 325, and 366 of 7 January and 18 and 28 February 1901, Recopilación, 115, 229, 244; Decree 233 of 31 January 1902, Recopilación, 408; Decree 926 of 19 January 1901, Recopilación, 450; Decree 14 of 7 January 1901, Recopilación, 116; Decree 2399 of 30 December 1907, Recopilación, 1578. 29 Decree 824 of 5 April 1913, Recopilación, 16374. The shoe factory, which opened on 3 July 1913, had the capacity to produce two hundred pairs of shoes per dayat a time when its Prussian equivalent put out three thousand pairs per day (MERS 4 July 1913). See also Decree 402 of 11 April 1905, Recopilación, 171; Decree 1257 of 6 September 1900, Recopilación, 550. The military also hired a German tailor to work at the Escuela de Clases. 30 Decree 1258 of 31 August 1901, Recopilación, 57274; Decree 25 of 17 January 1910, Recopilación, 48; Decree 320 of 18 February 1901, Recopilación, 227. 31 CSSO, 1 February 1914, 411. 32 Decrees 56 and 491 of 19 January and 30 March 1901, Recopilación, 13132, 291; Decree 1340 of 1 March 1901, Recopilación, 253; Decree 1367 of 29 September 1901, Recopilación, 610; MERS, 31 January 1910. 33 Decree 663 of 31 March 1902 Recopilación, 597; Decree 663 of 3 April 1902, Recopilación, 59798; Decree 603 of 20 March 1902, Recopilación, 561; Decree 591 of 20 March 1902, Recopilación, 55557; Decree 855 of 21 April 1902, Recopilación, 67476, and March 1902, Recopilación, 551. 34 Decrees 169 and 1161 of 30 January and 28 July 1900, Recopilación, 18990, 513; Decrees 324 and 824 of 18 February and 28 May 1901, Recopilación, 229, 415. 35 Decree 308 of 24 March 1904, Recopilación, 12527. 36 Decree 1814 of 27 December 1903, Recopilación, 719; Decree 1278 of 4 September 1901, Recopilación, 58081; Decree 1696 of 28 November 1903, Recopilación, 670; Decree 288 of 15 March 1906, Recopilación, 137; Decrees 1302 and 1356 of 11 and 14 September 1906, Recopilación, 62223, 660; MG, 1907, 120. 37 Decree 1025 of 11 October 1905, Recopilación, 378; Decrees 104244 of 19 July 1906 and Decree 1581 of 30 November 1906, Recopilación, 43536, 792. 38 MERS, 2 September 1916. 39 CDSE, 11 and 29 December 1913 and 1 and 7 January 1914, 91314, 1356, 1369, 1494

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1502; CSSE, 2 February 1916, 916; CDSE, 29 December 1913, 136870; CSSE, 31 January 1916, 916. 40 CSSE, 9 February 1916, 1001; CSSE, 8 February 1916, 98990; CSSE, 2 February 1916, 988. 41 MERV, 19 April 1911; CSSE, 17 January 1917; CSSE, 16 and 19 January 1917, 807, 9069; Presupuesto de Guerra, 12 January 1920, Recopilación, 726; ''Motor Trucks in Use in the Chilean Army," Santiago, 5 September 1912, WCD, 713221. 42 CSSE, 14 January 1914, 842; CDSE, 1 January 1914, 142932. 43 MERS, 8 May 1912. 44 CSSE, 2 February 1914, 4049. 45 Decree 1927 of 3 July 1912, 123843; CSSE, 1 February 1914, 402; MERV, 7 January 1914. 46 MG, 1914, 78; MG 1915, 27; MG 1916, 23. 47 Decree 2986 of 13 December 1913, Recopilación, 55556; Decree 5 bis of 3 January 1914, Recopilación, 65859. 48 CDSE, 29 January 1920, 199699; MERV, 2 February 1920; Decree 10340 of 11 January 1918, Recopilación, 1211; and Decree 2881 of 23 October 1920, Recopilación, 146768. 49 Las fuerzas armadas de Chile (Santiago, 1928), 635; legislative subcommittee, Recopilación, 1919, 749. 50 MERS, 2 February 1920; CSSE, I February 1914, 403. 51 CDSE, 24 August 1916, 2364; CDSE, 1 April 1916, 3374. 52 CSSE, 5 January 1917, 678; MV, 15 April 1911; CSSE, 5 January 1917, 67577; MERS, 23 and 26 November and 7 December 1916; Presupuesto de Guerra, 42d session, 12 January 1920, Recopilación, 728. 53 CDSO, 9 August 1920, 1015; MERS, 19 August 1920; CSSO, 24 August 1920, 827; CDSO, 8 September 1920, 1779; CDSO, 24 July 1920, 132024; CSSE, 7 October 1920, 2627. 54 CSSE, 2 and 14 January 1914, 402, 842; CSSE, 15 February 1916, 101626. 55 CSSE, 9 February 1916, 999; "Mensaje leido por S.E. el Presidente de la República en la apertura de las sesiones ordinarias del congreso nacional el 1 de junio de 1919," Recopilación, 1919, 718; Millas, Los secretos que divulga, 46, 61, 68, 78. 56 CSSE, 30 March 1916, 172830; Decree 1172 of 13 December 1905, Recopilación, 42930. 57 Congressional subcommittee report, Recopilación, 1919, 728. 58 Report of the Comisión mixta de presupuestos, 12 November 1917, 53233; subcommittee report 1919, Recopilación, 72930; ministerial circular, no. 582 of 22 January 1919, Recopilación, 705. 59 MERS, 1 January 1916; MERS, 13 March 1913; Decree 20332 of 25 August 1913, 374, 477; MERS, 19 December 1921. 60 Millas, Los secretos que divulga, 68. 61 Körner, "Die historische Entwicklung," 152. 62 CDSO, 12 July 1907, 65657; 7 August 1907, 1108, 111011, 111516; 4 September 1907, 1790.

63 Arturo Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion del 5 de septiembre de 1924 (Santiago, 1931), 19; Gonzalo Vial, Historia de Chile (18911973), 2 vols. (Santiago, 1982), 2:819; Basilio Maturana, "Los ascensos en el ejército," May 1908, 13036; H.E., 1st Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "Classification, Appointment and Promotion of the Personnel of the Chil-

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ean Army. Laws at Present in Force. Proposed Changes," 26 December 1910, WCD, 556420. 64 MERV, 31 August 1908; Sáez Morales, Recuerdos, 1:34; CDSO, 8 September 1904, 174445; CDSE, 29 January 1903, 1504. 65 CDSO, 7 August 1907, 111516, 1118. 66 MERV, 28 July 1909, 9 February 1910; MERV, 2 October 1915; MG, 1915, 126; MERV, 2 October 1915; MERS, 15 July 1913. 67 CDSO, 29 August 1918, 2471; MERV, 11 November 1914; MERS, 13 June 1916. 68 MERV, 16 July 1913; MERV, 2 October 1915; MERV, 28 July 1909; Decree 1057 of 7 June 1916, Recopilación, 96061; Decree 820, 14 November 1910, 1129; Decree 707, 27 March 1913, 142, Recopilación; Decree 1057 of 7 June 1916, Recopilación, 1916, 96061; MERS, 7 June 1916; MERS, 31 January 1912. 69 Decree 4667 of 24 May 19 7, Recopilación, 514; MERS, 9 June 1916; MERS, 20 December 1916; MG, 1921, 27. 70 Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion, 48; MERV, 13 March 1909; MERS, 8 March 1912; 29 May 1913; CDSO, 21 June 1910, 31920; MERV, 4 February 1907 and 31 May 1913. 71 Reichenau to Bülow, 24 August 1905, AA-PA, R 16648, Chile 1. Allqemeine Angelegenheiten Chiles 18791920, vol. 35. 72 H.E., 1st Lt. Francis A. Ruggles, "Classification, Appointment and Promotion of the Personnel of the Chilian Army. Laws at Present in Force. Proposed Changes," WCD, 26 December 1910, 10. 73 Rodríguez Mendoza, 221; Alejandro Lira, Memorias (Santiago, 1950), 62. 74 Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion, 2325; Sáez Morales, Recuerdos, 1:3839; Rodríguez Mendoza, 24855. 75 FERR, 23 July 1911. 76 FERR, 14 July 1911. 77 See Decrees 25 and 163 of 12 January and 6 February 1907, Recopilación, 37, 131; MERS, 12 July 1911. 78 FERR, 22 July 1911; MERV, 21 July 1911. 79 MERS, 4, 12, 1417, and 19 July 1911; FERR, 23 July 1911; Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion, 20; FERR, 22 and 23 July 1911. 80 Rodríguez Mendoza, 212, emphasis in original; FERR, 23 July 1911. 81 Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion, 29; Vial, Historia de Chile, 2:6046; Alejandro Walker Valdes, Revolucion? . . . La verdad sobre el Motin Militar (Santiago, 1919), 64; H.E., "Developments in the Military Complot," Santiago, 20 May 1919, MID 200815; Enrique Monreal, Historia documentada del período revolucionario (Santiago, 1929), 35. 82 Vial, Historia de Chile, 2:6067. 83 MERS, 5 January 1911; MERS, 12 April 1912; Lira, Memorias, 5556. 84 Millas, Los secretos que divulga, 177, 210. 85 MERS, 12 April and 23, 24 August 1912; MERS, 27 July 1912. 86 Decree 492 of 31 March 1916, Recopilación, 87071.

87 "Necesidad de reformar el sistema de elección presidencial," Revista Chilena de Historia y Geografía, 50 (1924): 31, translated in Arturo Valenzuela, Political Brokers in Chile (Durham, 1977), 195. 88 Ahumada, El ejército y la revolucion, 45.

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Conclusion 1 Körner to Gen. Karl von Bülow, 24 June 1900, AA-PA, R 16640, Chile 1, Allgemeine Angelegenheiten Chiles 18791920, vol. 27. In 1914, Bülow would command one of the two German armies that swept through Belgium en route to Paris as part of the Schlieffen plan. 2 Niemöller to Erckert, 1 July 1914, AA-PA, R 16640, Chile 1. Allgemeine Angelegenheiten Chiles 18791920, vol. 27. 3 Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Kriegsarchiv, Generalstab 320, Orientierungsblatt, Gen. Stab. 9. Abt. Februar 1914. 4 Perhaps the best example of this phenomenon was the cult of Arturo Prat, a naval officer who died in the War of the Pacific and whose popularity increased in direct proportion to the public's disenchantment with the Parliamentary Regime. See William F. Sater, The Heroic Image in Chile: Arturo Prat, Secular Saint (Los Angeles, 1973) . 5 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 6 April 1899, AA-AP, Nr. 122, Die deutschen Militärinstrukteure in Chile 18951914, vol. 3. 6 Treskow to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, 18 December 1898, AA-PA, R 16639, Chile 1, vol. 26. 7 Dr. Oscar Stübel to Hohenlohe-Schillingsfirst, 14 February 1900, AA-PA, R 16639, Chile 1, vol. 4. 8 C., "Contracts for War Material in Chile," RDS, 17 August 1912, 825.25. 9 Historia del Ejército de Chile, 10 vols. (Santagio, 198086), 3:393415.

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Index A Academia de Guerra. See War Academy Academy of War. See War Academy Aehrenthal, Alois Lexa von, 152, 15859, 164 Aguirre, José Antonio, 199 Aguirre, Manuel, 50 Ahumada, Arturo, 201 Ahumada, Roberto, 174 air force: Chilean, 74, 80, 130; Prussian, 2223 Alcérreca, José Miguel, 5556 Alemany, Julio, 19394 Alemparte, Justo Arteaga, 30 Alessandri, Arturo, 199 Alfonso, Paulino, 196 Altamirano, Juan Pablo, 186 Altamirano, Luis, 155, 157, 161, 167 Amor, Amador Navarro, 50 Araucanians, 28, 30, 35, 40; and the War of the Pacific, 31, 37 Argentina: army of, 26; artillery tests in, 161; and Chile, 4, 72, 82, 85, 88, 110, 121, 126, 14041, 142, 143, 203; and the cholera epidemic, 183; conscription in, 108;

German military missions in, 3; weapons ordered by, 14445, 146, 155, 196; and World War I, 7 armories, Prussian, 2425 Armstrong, Guillermo, 199, 200 Armstrong-Newcastle, 150, 162, 207, 232n.120 Arriagada, Alberto, 70 Arriagada, Marco A., 4344 arsenals, Chilean, 4142, 12628, 227n.106 artillery: Chilean, 26, 35, 38, 4041, 74, 75; reform of, 61; revolution in, 160 Artillery and Engineer School, 20, 32 Austria-Hungary, 11, 12, 18, 207; and the Chilean arms market, 14750, 15060, 163 Austro-Prussian War, 24, 31 B Baden-Powell, R. S. S., 96 Baeza, Florencio, 141, 144 Balmaceda, Enrique, 199 Balmaceda, José Manuel, 42, 149; and the 1891 Revolution, 45, 46, 4750, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56; Körner's betrayal of, 45, 60, 65, 206; and Krupp, 138, 139; and Mannlichers, 42, 136, 148 Balmacedistas, 44, 55, 93, 143 Bansa, Edward, 64, 217n.17 Baquedano, Manuel, 31, 39 Barbosa, Orozimbo, 52, 53, 54, 5556, 104 Barcelo, Luis, 16970

Bari, José María, 148, 152, 196; Chilean army viewed by, 92, 117; and the Krupp-Ehrhardt artillery duel, 161; and the Reinhardt saddle order, 181; and weapons purchases, 170 Barrios, Arturo, 192, 197

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Barros, Tobías, 106 Barros Luco, 152, 155 Barros Merino, Tobías, 114, 116; Skoda toured by, 148 Bascuñan, Ascancio, 72 Battle of Yungay, 29 Battle of Arica, 40 Battle of Concón, 59, 60, 67, 75 Battle of Königgrätz, 8 Battle of Los Loros, 29 Battle of Placilla, 5556, 59, 66, 67 Battle of San Francisco, 50 Battle of Sedan, 32 Bautista Halty, Juan, 184 Beckmann, Arthur, 134, 136, 22728n.2 Bello, Alejandro, 80 Below, Günther von, 61, 64, 217n.18 Bennett, Juan, 161 Berger, Carlos, 183 Berguño, Emilio, 100 Bertling, Hans, 207 Bethmann Hollweg, Theobald von, 177 Betzhold, Gustav, 137, 141 Bieberstein, Hermann Rogalla von, 61, 64, 207, 217n.17 Bischoffshausen, Erich von, 91 Bismarck, Otto von, 12, 32 Blanco Encalada, Manuel, 29 Bodman, Hans von und zu, 6566, 91, 149, 150, 161, 16263 Bohlen und Halbach, Gustav Krupp von, 163

Bolivia, 3, 7, 26, 95, 108; and Chile, 4, 3031, 33, 37, 1012, 138, 203 Boonen Rivera, Jorge, 61; on conscription, 83; and El Culenar, 189; and del Canto, 6667; and the 1891 Revolution, 4546, 55; Körner's criticisms of, 8687; and Krupp, 134, 141; and the Krupp-Ehrhardt artillery duel, 161, 164; and weapons purchases, 25, 144, 152, 15354, 15758, 170 Borges, Jorge Luis, 124 Boxer Rebellion, 203 Brazil, 3, 7, 110; weapons ordered by, 146, 155 Briscoe, Earl, 94 Britain, 18, 207 Brockdorff-Ahlefeld, Thilo von, 64, 207 Bros. Böhler, Roth, 147, 163, 164 Bulnes, Gonzalo, 169, 197 Bulnes, Manuel, 29, 197 Bülow, Bernhard von, 6465, 150, 237n.1 C Cabrera, Jorge, 89 cadet schools, 1415 Caldera, Pompeyo, 1067 Canet, 143, 228n.8 Case, F. L., 223n.27 Castro, Luis, 186 cavalry: Chilean, 24, 35, 38, 40, 75, 99100;

producing equipment for, 180; Prussian, 22 Cavalry School, 79 centennial, 2, 27, 94, 9899, 116 Chevalley, Abel, 167 Chile: civilizing mission of, 88; corruption in, 176, 17779, 201, 205, 237n.4; economic nationalism of, 17980; German advisors in, 4; and German industry, 17677, 181; German influence resented in, 9091, 92; German military mission in, 89; Germans residing in, 34; health conditions in, 3334; inhabitants of, as soldiers, 2829, 213n.2; and Krupp weapons purchases, 16566, 175; military budget in, 115, 117, 118, 2045; military caste in, 35; military reputation of, 89; and the Prussian-German military system, 23, 11; Prussian-German small arms used in, 7; as the Prussia of the Pacific, 57, 59; social and political structure of, 3; and Spain, 28, 2930; views of Prussian general staff on, 2627; workforce of, 33; and World War I, 7 Chilean army: attempts of reform within, 4243; changing structure of, 7280, 219n.47;

composition of, 18831920, 6, 70; continuing German influence on, 2078; corruption in, 176, 182, 201; desertion from, 104, 115; education in, 7980; and failure to assimilate German reforms, 2045; female followers of, 42; and German arms exports, 201; German

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influence resented by, 9092; harshness of life in, 1045, 111, 11415, 223n.36, 225n.62; history of, 2831; lack of purpose in, 11819; manpower problems of, 102, 11516, 118, 225n.69; military caste in, 35; mobilization of, 1012, 203; nonmilitary tasks of, 8788, 105, 115, 205; organization of, 35, 214n.18; post 1891, 6672; private soldiers in, 114; problems with, 45, 8789, 94, 95, 99100, 1012, 13031; promotion in, 11112; reform of, 1, 2627, 6162, 72, 2034; responsibilities of, 3637; size of, 36; supply system in, 102, 12226, 18081, 18293, 205, 234n.29; and transportation, 12830; as viewed by contemporaries, 9596; as viewed by German officers, 2627, 2034; as viewed by Körner, 93 Chilean Communist Party, 103 Chilean Military School, 32 Chilean Student Federation (FECH), 101 China, 7 cholera, 183 Círculo Militar, 4243 civilians, dependence of Chilean army on, 98, 12122, 129, 222n.13 civil war (1859), 41

Clausewitz, Carl von, 8, 19 Colombia, 3, 7 Concha, Malaquías, 103, 194 Congressionalists, 45; and the 1891 Revolution, 45, 48, 49, 50, 53, 54, 55, 56, 59, 95, 122, 126, 133, 143, 206; and Mannlichers, 148; post1891, 69 conscription, 3, 45; in Chile, 26, 57; conditions in, 18; enforcement of, 1067; exemptions from, 8384; failure of, 95, 1029, 117, 130, 132; forced, 47; hostility toward, 1056; and inadequate training, 116, 118, 225n.70; and Körner, 83, 102, 106, 206; modifications to, 1078; Prussian, 17, 18; social agenda of, 83 Conservatives, 29, 34, 200 Constitution of 1833, 80 corps commanders, 1314 Correa Bravo, Agustín, 105 Correa Roberts, Hernán, 200 Correa Sanfuentes, Juan de Dios, 183, 18586 Cortes, Luis, 185 Cousiño, Luis, 98 Cox Méndez, Ricardo, 165 Cuevas, Arturo, 199 Culenar, El, 18890

cumulative vote, 178 D Dartnell, Pedro, 191 Dávila, Roberto, 113 de Bacourt, Henri, 13839 de Bange, Charles Ragon, 137, 13839, 140 Deinert, Felix, 91, 207, 221n.96 de la Barra, Eduardo, 92 del Canto, Estanislao, 25, 199; and Boonen Rivera, 6667; on the Chilean army, 131; and the 1891 Revolution, 48, 5255, 56, 59, 95; and Körner, 5455, 66, 226n.99; and weapons purchases, 25, 141, 144, 145 del Canto, Julio César, 199 del Solar, Vicente, 61 Denmark, 11, 12 Departamento de Administración, 12324, 125, 126 de Pizarro, Lorenza Ocampo, 6768 der SchulenburgWolfsburg, Hans von, 64 desertion, 104, 115 Desprez, Paul, 164, 231n.101 Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken. See DW & MF Díaz Garcés, Joaquín, 153, 157, 200201 Don Emilio. See Körner, Emil, 3 don Ladislao's War, 1012, 121, 126 draft. See conscription Dublé Almeida, Diego, 137 DW & MF, 7, 144, 161, 165, 23031n.73; and Austria-Hungary's interest in Chile, 149, 155, 156; and the Chilean market, 145, 146, 15152, 153, 157, 158, 159, 171;

and Körner, 174, 205 E Eastman, Tomás, 100 Eccius, Otto, 159, 231n.85

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Echeverría, José, 50 economic nationalism, 17980 Ecuador, 3, 7 Edkahl, Wilhelm, 6 Ehrhardt, Heinrich, 25, 150, 16074, 166, 189, 231n.101 1891 Revolution, 4546, 95, 133, 178, 183; aftermath of, 5457; final stages of, 5254; first stages of, 4749; and Körner, 4546, 52, 53, 5455, 5658, 65, 95, 122, 133, 206; recruitment for, 4647, 4950; supplies and medical services during, 5051, 122; War Academy graduates in, 11213; weapons used in, 50, 5152, 143, 215n.59 Encina, Francisco, 213n.2 Engel, John J., 177 engineer battalions, 23, 35, 37, 41, 74 Erckert, Friedrich Carl von, 2, 164, 171, 172, 175, 17677; and weapons purchases, 150, 151, 155, 15657, 159, 174 Errázuriz, Federico, 66, 67 Errázuriz, Ladislao, 101, 102, 191 Escala, Erasmo, 3031 Escuela de Artilleria, 112 Escuela de Clases, 79, 90, 111 Escuela Militar, 30, 39, 50, 70, 79, 80, 111, 112, 114; and the commissioned rebels of 1891, 68; curriculum of, 43; education at, 40, 1089; and the General Staff, 76;

and Körner, 43, 59, 117; and the minister of war, 77; number of graduates of, 109, 224n.53; Prussian officers teaching at, 90 Espinosa, Julio Bañados, 56 Ewing, Alfredo, 105 F Fabres, Alberto, 186, 187 Fabrique Nationale d'Armes de Guerre, 144 FECH (Chilean Student Federation), 101 fencing, 42, 43 Finland, 95 First World War. See World War I flogging, 104 Foreigner's Club, 55 France, 11, 12, 193; and Chile, 132; and the Chilean army, 207; as a military model, 78; pay received by soldiers of, 18; and World War I, 7 Francis Joseph II, 16364 Franco-Prussian War of 187071, 7, 21, 31, 34, 132; and Körner, 32; and the Prussian medical corps, 24 Frederick II, 8, 41 Frederick William I, 8 Freire, Amable, 187 French, John, 100 Friedrich Alfred Krupp, 25 Fuller, David, 185

G Gacitua, Alfredo, 170 Gallieni, Joseph, 129 Gana, José Francisco, 139, 140 Generalstab. See General Staff General Staff, 21, 23, 69, 113; assessment of Chile by, 26; chief of, 1112; Chilean, 7576; criticism of, 92; entities of, 12; and Körner, 54, 59, 60, 7577, 213n.10; and the minister of war, 77; nobility among, 32; and Peru, 37; and the Prussian military, 9; reform of, 61, 78; and Riesco, 85; sections of, 1213; and the seven stages of mobilization, 13; and the War Academy, 19, 114 German instructors, 6166; and arms exports, 61, 65; closed fraternity among, 6364, 6465, 66; complaints raised by, 6263; infighting among, 6364; medals awarded to, 64 Germany: and Chilean arms orders, 91, 201; creation of technological market by, 4, 5; export of goods from, 89, 132, 221n.92;

military reputation of, 60; as model for Latin America, 3; motivation for military missions of, 3. See also Prussia; Prussian military Gewehr, 88, 21 Giskra, Carl von, 14748 Goñi, Roberto, 92 Gras rifles, 7, 126 Gruson, Hermann, 25 Gustingorry, Guillermo, 186 Gutiérrez, E., 185

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Gutschmid, Felix von: and Körner, 45, 46, 59, 60; and Krupp, 133, 137, 138, 139, 140; and Schinzinger, 14041 H Hanover, 3132, 61 Hanoverian Riding Institute, 24 Harbou, Sigismund von, 62, 64, 217n.10 Harms, Carlos, 170 Hartrott, Viktor von, 2, 65, 6566, 98, 162, 164 Haussner, Konrad, 160 Henry, Prince of Germany, 7, 203, 204 Herrmann, Erich, 17, 61, 217n.18 Herstal, 145, 146 Hervey, Maurice, 46, 5152 Hindenburg, Paul von, 19, 32, 100 Hirtenberg, 151, 155, 15759 Hochstetter, Robert, 150 Hotchkiss weapons, 147, 149 Howitzer, 23 Huneeus, Alejandro, 153, 154, 155, 157 Huneeus, Antonio, 166 I Independence Day. See centennial infantry: Chilean, 35, 38, 41, 61, 75, 112, 225n.62; Prussian, 21 inspector general, 93; Körner as, 7879, 89

Intendencia e Comisario Jeneral, 12223 Intendencia Jeneral, 76 Intendencia Jeneral del Ejército, 50, 122 Irarrazaval, Alfredo, 93 Italy, 18 J Japanese army, 7, 8, 19, 32, 92, 204 Jöden, Alexander von, 61 Joffre, Joseph, 100 Johnson Gana, Carlos, 185 Jomini, Antoine Henri, 8 Junta, 49, 55, 67 Junta Militar, 199200 Jüterbog, 61 K Kadetten-Anstalt, 43 Kaiser Wilhelm Academy for Military Medical Education, 24 Kiesling, Hans Edler von, 12, 66, 164, 207, 208 Knauer, Hans von, 207 Kolowrat-Krakowsky-Liebstensky, Johann, 150 König, Abraham, 34, 201 Königsmarck, Walther von, 61, 64 Königstein, Leo, 151 Körner, Emil: army created by, 45; attempts to remain in the army by, 93; betrayal as career choice of, 206; and Chile's arms supplies, 25, 42, 126, 148, 149; and Chile's cadet school, 14; and the Chilean army's contingents, 7274, 219n.47;

Chilean army reformed by, 3, 26, 27, 28, 3233, 5758, 59, 60, 67, 94, 110, 13031, 2012; and the command structure of the Chilean army, 7577, 79; and corruption, 176; death of, 94; devotion to Germany of, 132, 161, 165; early career of, 20, 31, 32; education of, 19, 3132, 213n.10; and the 1891 Revolution, 4546, 52, 53, 5455, 5658; errors made by, 132; financial interests of, 13233, 143, 144, 182, 202, 205, 206; and German exports, 65, 14243, 176, 182; and the German instructors, 62, 63, 64, 65, 217n.18; and Germany's Boxer Rebellion, 203; initial reforms of Chilean army of, 4245; international tensions manipulated by, 142, 144, 146; and the Mannlicher rifle, 5657, 14344; manpower reforms of, 115117; marriage of, 46; and Mauser rifles, 126, 143, 14647, 156, 226n.99; mentioned, 11, 13, 88, 196, 208; military mission of, 4; Military School viewed by, 109; opposition to, 8489, 220n.79; power held by, 79; and report of Chilean army deficiencies, 8990; resignation threatened by, 91; retirement of, 93, 174, 221n.104; and Schinzinger, 140; selected as Chile's military instructor, 3233, 213n.10; self-praise by, 55 Körner, Louis and Alwine, 31

Kosegarten, Max, 149, 15152, 155, 15657 Kriegsakademie. See War Academy Kriegsministerium. See War Ministry Krupp, Bertha, 25, 163

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Krupp, Friedrich Alfred, 150, 176, 196; and the Argentinean weapons order, 144; bribes by, 14142, 229n.31; and Chile, 13334, 16768, 206; and Eccius, 231n.85; versus Ehrhardt, 16074, 231n.101; and Körner, 42, 134, 137, 141, 14243, 147, 149, 151, 161, 164, 165, 17274, 188, 205, 206; military courted by, 13334; monopoly held by, 7, 25; mountain guns built by, 16770; and Nuremberg, 22728n.2; sales tactics of, 13436 Krupp weapons, 26, 89, 116, 204; purchased by Chile, 65, 74, 80, 126, 127, 128, 154; sold by Chile to Turkey, 148; testing of, 13840; as viewed by Ruggles, 96 L labor unrest, 8788, 105, 220n.87 lances, 22, 96 Larraín Alcalde, Patricio, 50, 77, 79, 205 Larraín Claro, Carlos, 15758 Ledesma, Enrique, 196 Lee-Enfield, 21 Leon Luco, Ramón, 151, 158, 159, 168, 170 Lettow-Vorbeck, Paul von, 64, 207 Liberals, 29, 34 Liga Militar, 19798, 200 Lipowsky, Hugo, 153

Lira, Alejandro, 197, 200 Löbell, Heinrich von, 61 Loewe, Isidor, 146 Loewe, Ludwig, 7, 42, 89, 133, 144, 205; destruction of archives of, 229n.36 Lopetegui, Fernando, 184 Lothes, Karl, 207 Loyalists, 46, 47 Lund, Albrecht Kellermeister von der, 63, 64, 217n.18 M M1903 Springfield, 21 Mac-Iver, Enrique, 83, 115, 177 maneuvers, 9698, 99100, 124, 129, 222n.4 Mannlichers, 21, 145, 146; in the 1891 Revolution, 42, 50, 52, 5657, 126, 136, 143, 148; replaced by Mausers, 7, 14344; sold by Chile to Bulgaria, 148 Mapuche Indians. See Araucanians Marcard, Henry, 61, 64, 217n.18 Marin, A., 110 Mason, Theodore B. M., 41 Mathieu, Beltrán, 106 Matta, Guillermo, 32 Matte Pérez, Augusto, 159, 165, 177; and weapons purchases, 145, 152, 156, 157, 164, 170, 171 Mauser, Wilhelm and Peter Paul, 133, 206, 229n.36 Mauser rifle, 7, 21, 26, 149, 151, 154, 176, 204; Argentinean order for, 144, 229n.36; and Körner, 126, 149, 226n.99; Peruvian order for, 144, 229n.36; purchased by Chile, 26, 65, 127, 133, 151, 154

Maxim, Hiram, 22 Maxim machine guns, 117, 146 Meckel, Jakob, 19, 32 medical corps, 6, 24, 76, 1192 Medina, Arturo, 152 Medina, Ernesto, 161 Mena, Pedro N., 189 Mendoza, Emilio Rodríguez, 199 Militärkabinett. See Military Cabinet Military Academy, 4344, 46, 61, 111 Military Cabinet, 9, 1011, 12, 13, 64, 213n.10 Military School, 61, 109 Millas, Columbano, 193 Modified Field Gun 96, 23 Mohs, Hans von, 65, 162, 164 Moltke, Helmuth von, 11, 12, 23, 55, 61, 213n.10, 216n.5 Moltke, Otto von, 34 Montero, Julio, 186 Montt, Jorge, 66, 68, 70, 93, 144, 218n.30 Montt, Pedro, 65, 16465; and artillery testing, 161, 162, 164; promotion of, 194, 197; and weapons purchases, 147, 16465 Moore, Manuel, 199 Morandé, Pedro, 188 Muñoz, Alberto, 110

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N National Congress, 45, 5960 National Guard, 38, 50, 62, 102, 110; and the 1891 Revolution, 46, 47; 1898 mobilization of, 82, 122; exemptions from, 8182, 83; and the General Staff, 77; and Germany's Boxer Rebellion, 203; nonmilitary services performed by, 80; and registry, 1089; restructuring of, 8182; and the War of the Pacific, 3738, 68 Navarrette, Mariano, 199 NCO. See noncommissioned officer corps noncommissioned officer corps, 16, 17, 44, 79, 111, 115 Noncommissioned Officer School, 44, 61, 76, 79 Novoa, Guillermo, 161 Núñez, José Ramón, 51 O officer corps, 6, 35, 3842; and the Balmacedista officers, 68, 218n.30; and character, 15, 16; corruption in, 193201, 2056; education of, 39, 4344; German training of, 204; and Körner, 5, 39, 41, 4344, 72, 93, 193, 194; nonmilitary tasks performed by, 88; pension received by, 70, 218n.34; post1891, 6768, 6970, 71, 72;

promotion in, 1516, 11112, 176, 19495, 197; Prussian, 1416; ratio to enlisted men of, 3839; shortages in, 10914; styles of combat of, 40; transfers among, 19495 O'Grady, Gilbert, 63 On War (Clausewitz), 8 Ortega, José Luis, 124, 186 Ortúzar, José Manuel, 19697, 205 Österreichische Waffenfabriks-Gesellschaft. See ÖWG ÖWG, 14445, 151, 152, 155, 156 P Palacios, Nicolás, 213n.2 Palacios, Vicente, 181 Palacios Baeze, Vicente, 148 Paraguay, 3, 7 Parliamentary Regime, 3, 6, 17880, 183, 199, 201, 206; public disenchantment with, 237n.4 Parque y Maestranza, 76 Parra, Sofanor, 195 Partido Demócrata, 103 Pérez-Gacitúa, Lindor, 25, 91 Peru: army of, 26; and Chile, 4, 3031, 33, 36, 37, 41, 1012, 138, 147, 154, 160, 203; conscription in, 108; military colleges of, 110; purchase of horses by, 129; and the War of the Pacific, 95; weapons ordered by, 144, 155, 160;

and World War I, 7 Peruvian-Bolivian campaign, 40 Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation, 29 Peruvian War, 52 Pfuel, Kurt von, 2, 94 Phillips, Enrique, 88 Pinochet, Cañat, 190 Pinto Agüero, Guillermo, 194 Pinto Concha, Arístides, 167, 181, 199, 219n.48; and German instructors, 9091; and weapons purchases, 152, 154, 155, 157, 158, 159 Poblete, Rafael, 129 Ponce, Tucapel, 100 Portales, Diego, 29 Prat, Arturo, 237n.4 press-gangs, 47 Prussian military, 6; command structure of, 914; cost of, 2526; education of, 1415, 1617, 1820, 24; evolution of, 8; as model, 7; organization of, 20, 35; personnel of, 1418; reorganization of, 11617; service branches of, 2027 Prussian War Academy, 32 Puelma, Francisco, 46 R Radical Party, 171 Railroad Battalion, 74

railroad system, 23, 9798, 12930 Ralston, David B., 3, 27 rations, 12225 Recabarren, Luis Emilio, 103 Rechl, Maximilian, 153 Reichenau, Franz von, 86, 93, 19697 Reinhardt Company, 181 Revista Militar (Círculo Militar), 4243 Rheinische Metallwaren- und Machinenfabrik, 150, 164

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Rheinmetall, 150, 164 Riesco Errázuriz, Germán, 8586, 200 Riese, Alexis, 145, 147 Robles, Eulogio, 48 Rodríguez, Aníbal, 158, 165, 200 Rogister, Friedrich Edler von, 61 Roldan, Alejandro, 186 Roon, Albrecht von, 55, 61, 216n.5 Rosselot, Alejandro, 171 Roth, Ernst, 64 Rüdenhausen, Siegfried Castell von, 85 Rudolphy Brothers, 185, 187 Ruffer, G. von, 6566 Ruggles, Francis, 96 Ruiz, Arturo, 59 Russia, 18 S Sáez Morales, Carlos, 102, 110, 194 Salomon, Ernst von, 15 Sanfuentes, Juan Luis, 190 San Martín, Juan José, 3940 Santa Cruz, Andrés, 29 Santa María, Domingo, 31, 42 Santa María, Gustavo Ross, 107 Scharnhorst, Gerhard von, 10 Schellendorf, Bronsart von, 64 Schellendorf, Walther Bronsart von, 61 Schinzinger, Albert, 147, 174, 175; and Argentinean weapons order, 144, 145, 146;

and the Chilean contract, 136, 13738, 139, 14041, 161; expenses of, 14142; and Krupp's ''art of the deal, 13536 Schlieffen, Alfred von, 12 Schneevoight, Hugo, 64 Schneider-Canet, 169 Schneider-Creuzot, 7, 150, 16061, 162, 166, 167, 231n.95 Schoen, Baron von, 166, 171 Schoen, Wilhelm von, 163 Schriever, August, 14445 Seidler, Friedrich Johann von, 164, 165 Serrano, Luis, 19899 Servicio Sanitario, 76 Setti, Luciano, 186 Shoenmeyer, Alfredo, 198 Siemens-Schuckert, 176 Silesian wars (174063), 8 Silva Chavez, José María, 41 Silva Cruz, Carlos, 179 Silva Renard, Roberto, 152, 157, 161, 170, 188 Sipman, Friedrich, 6 Skoda Works, 143, 14647, 14849, 150, 151, 62 Sloman, H. B., 176 Social Democratic Party, 16 Soto, José María, 48 Sotomayor, Emilio, 32 Soublette, Guillermo, 195 Soviet Union, 95 Spain, 28, 2930 St. Cyr, 7, 8, 43 Steyr, 15253, 154, 155, 156, 157

Styrcea, Johann von, 149, 157, 159, 167; and Chile's arms supplies, 148, 152, 15455, 15859 Subercaseaux Vicuña, Ramón, 14647, 156 supply corps, 18283; and Körner, 18384, 192, 193 T Tagle, Isías, 50 Telegraph Battalion, 74, 75 Téllez, Indalicio, 84, 92, 104, 109 Tirpitz, Alfred von, 25 Tocornal, Ismael, 171 Toro Concha, Victor, 187 Treskow, Ernst Heinrich von, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 205 Turkey, 148 U uniforms: Chilean, 26, 27, 3536, 72, 92, 12526, 181; Prussian, 2122 United States, 18, 38 Urrutia, Fidel, 194, 197 Urrutia, Jorge, 104 Urrutia, Marcial, 115 Uruguay, 7 U.S. Army, 96 U.S. Military Academy, 8 V Valenzuela, Marcos, 50 Velasco, Fanor, 47 Velásquez, José, 51, 55, 138 venereal disease, 121

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Venezuela, 7 Vergara, Ramón Antonio, 121, 148 Vergara, Salvador, 77 Vergara Lois, Carlos, 186 veterinary science, 24, 61 Vickers-Sheffield, 150, 162 Vicuña, Claudio, 168, 169 Vorwerk & Co., 133, 141 W Waldersee, Alfred von, 23 Walker Martínez, Carlos, 162, 165 Walker Martínez, Joaquín, 201 War Academy, 79, 80, 11214; and the General Staff, 76, 78; and Körner, 59, 117, 213n.10; and the minister of war, 77; Prussian, 1920; Prussian officers teaching at, 90 war games. See maneuvers War Ministry, 9, 10, 12, 200 War of the Pacific, 6, 37, 38, 50; and Chile, 4, 3031, 33; and the Chilean army, 40, 47, 51; and the Chilean supply corps, 122, 182; and Chile's General Staff, 75; Germans fighting in, 3435; Grieve guns captured in, 36; Krupp contract during, 136, 138; National Guard in, 80;

and Peruvian and Bolivian incompetence, 95; veterans of, 67, 218n.30 Welczek, Hanno von, 14950 William I, 10, 60 William II, 10, 11, 27, 140, 163; on the army's function, 1718; and Chile, 2, 3233; and Chileans' training in Germany, 91; as commander of the Prussian military, 9, 13; and German arms exports, 61; and German instructors, 64, 65; and Körner, 6061, 151, 167, 202; and Krupp, 25, 139 Windisch-Graetz, Franz, 15051, 155, 230n.58 World War I, 7, 12, 14, 21; and Chile, 199, 207; and the Chilean army, 75, 106, 219n.48; and Germany's arms export, 175; and Körner, 31; and noncommissioned officers, 16 Wrangel, Fritz von, 64 Y Yáñez, Eledoro, 97, 100, 108 Z Zañartu, Darío, 161, 162, 164 Zippelius, Hans, 207 Zippelius, Otto, 207, 208

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page_248 Page 248 In Studies in War, Society, and the Military The Rise of the National Guard The Evolution of the American Militia, 18651920 Jerry Cooper In the Service of the Emperor Essays on the Imperial Japanese Army Edward J. Drea

You Can't Fight Tanks with Bayonets Psychological Warfare against the Japanese Army in the Southwest Pacific Allison B. Gilmore The Grand Illusion The Prussianization of the Chilean Army William F. Sater and Holger H. Herwig

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