And the mystery that always involved Jackson’s movements was undoubtedly the result of calculation, He knew the effect his sudden appearances and disappearances would have on the morale of the Federal generals, and he relied as much on upsetting the mental equilibrium of his opponents as on concentrating against them superior numbers.  Nor was his view confined to the field of battle and his immediate adversary.  It embraced the whole theatre of war.  The motive power which ruled the enemy’s politics as well as his armies was always his real objective.  From the very first he recognised the weakness of the Federal position—­the anxiety with which the President and the people regarded Washington—­and on this anxiety he traded.  Every blow struck in the Valley campaign, from Kernstown to Cross Keys, was struck at Lincoln and his Cabinet; every movement, including the advance against Pope on Cedar Run, was calculated with reference to the effect it would produce in the Federal councils; and if he consistently advocated invasion, it was not because Virginia would be relieved of the enemy’s presence, but because treaties of peace are only signed within sight of the hostile capital.

It has been urged that the generals whom Jackson defeated were men of inferior stamp, and that his capacity for command was consequently never fairly tested.  Had Grant or Sheridan, it is said, been pitted against him in the Valley, or Sherman or Thomas on the Rappahannock, his laurels would never have been won.  The contention is fair.  Generals of such calibre as Banks and Fremont, Shields and Pope, committed blunders which the more skilful leaders would undoubtedly have avoided; and again, had he been pitted against a worthy antagonist, Jackson would probably have acted with less audacity and greater caution.  It is difficult to conceive, however, that the fact would either have disturbed his brain or weakened his resolution.  Few generals, apparently, have been caught in worse predicaments than he was; first, when his army was near Harper’s Ferry, and Fremont and Shields were converging on his rear; second, when he lay in the woods near Groveton, with no news from Longstreet, and Pope’s army all around him; third, when he was marching by the Brock road to strike Hooker’s right, and Sickles’ column struck in between himself and Lee.  But it was at such junctures as these that his self-possession was most complete and his skill most marked.  The greater the peril, the more fixed became his purpose.  The capacity of the opponent, moreover, cannot be accepted as the true touchstone of generalship.  “The greatest general,” said Napoleon, “is he who makes the fewest mistakes,” i.e. he who neither neglects an opportunity nor offers one.