batteries gave protection to the right.  The distribution of the troops, the orders, and the amount of latitude accorded to subordinate leaders, followed the best models.  The front was so apportioned that each brigadier on the fighting-line had his own reserve, and each divisional general half his force in third line.  The orders indicated that counterstrokes were not to be pushed so far as to involve the troops in an engagement with the enemy’s reserves, and the subordinate generals were encouraged, without waiting for orders, and thus losing the occasion, to seize all favourable opportunities for counterstroke.  The methods employed by Jackson were singularly like those of Wellington.  A position was selected which gave cover and concealment to the troops, and against which the powerful artillery of a more numerous enemy was practically useless.  These were the characteristics of Vimiera, Busaco, Talavera, and Waterloo.  Nor did Jackson’s orders differ from those of the great Englishman.

The Duke’s subordinates, when placed in position, acted on a well-established rule.  Within that position they had unlimited power.  They could defend the first line, or they could meet the enemy with a counter-attack from a position in rear, and in both cases they could pursue.  But the pursuit was never to be carried beyond certain defined limits.  Moreover, Wellington’s views as to the efficacy of the counterstroke were identical with those of Jackson, and he had the same predilection for cold steel.  “If they attempt this point again, Hill,” were his orders to that general at Busaco, “give them a volley and charge bayonets; but don’t let your people follow them too far.”

But it was neither wise strategy nor sound tactics which was the main element in Pope’s defeat; neither the strong effort of a powerful brain, nor the judicious devolution of responsibility.  A brilliant military historian, more conversant perhaps with the War of Secession than the wars of France, concludes his review of this campaign with a reference to Jackson as “the Ney of the Confederate army."* (* Swinton.  Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac.) The allusion is obvious.  So long as the victories of Napoleon are remembered, the name of his lieutenant will always be a synonym for heroic valour.  But the valour of Ney was of a different type from that of Jackson.  Ney’s valour was animal, Jackson’s was moral, and between the two there is a vast distinction.  Before the enemy, when his danger was tangible, Ney had few rivals.  But when the enemy was unseen and his designs were doubtful, his resolution vanished.  He was without confidence in his own resources.  He could not act without direct orders, and he dreaded responsibility.  At Bautzen his timidity ruined Napoleon’s combinations; in the campaign of Leipsic he showed himself incapable of independent command; and he cannot be acquitted of hesitation at Quatre Bras.