even Napoleon himself, brought about so many startling surprises as Wellington.  The passage of the Douro, the storm of the frontier fortresses, the flank attack at Vittoria, the passage of the Adour, the passage of the Bidassoa—­were each and all of them utterly unexpected by the French marshals; and those were by no means the only, or the most conspicuous, instances.  Was ever general more surprised than Massena, when pursuing his retreating foe through Portugal, in full anticipation of “driving the leopards into the sea,” he suddenly saw before him the frowning lines of Torres Vedras, the great fortress which had sprung from earth, as it were, at the touch of a magician’s wand?

The dispatches and correspondence of the generals who were opposed to Wellington are the clearest evidence of his extraordinary skill.  Despite their long experience, their system of spies, their excellent cavalry, superior, during the first years of the Peninsular War, both in numbers and training, to the English, it was seldom indeed that the French had more than the vaguest knowledge of his movements, his intentions, or his strength.  On no other theatre of war—­and they were familiar with many—­had they encountered so mysterious an enemy.  And what was the result?  Constantly surprised themselves, they at length hesitated to attack even isolated detachments.  At Guinaldo, in 1812, Marmont, with 30,000 soldiers, refused to assault a ridge occupied by no more than 13,000.  The morning of Quatre-Bras, when that important position was but thinly held, even Ney was reluctant to engage.  In the judgment of himself and his subordinates, who had met Wellington before, the fact that there were but few red jackets to be seen was no proof whatever that the whole allied army was not close at hand, and the opportunity was suffered to escape.  Other generals have been content with surprising the enemy when they advanced against him; Wellington and Jackson sought to do so even when they were confined to the defensive.

And in still another respect may a likeness be found.  Jackson’s regard for truth was not more scrupulous than Wellington’s.  Neither declined to employ every legitimate means of deceiving their enemies, but both were absolutely incapable of self-deception.  And this characteristic was not without effect on their military conduct.  Although never deterred by difficulties, they distinguished clearly between the possible and the impossible.  To gain great ends they were willing to run risks, but if their plans are carefully considered, it will be seen that the margin left to chance was small.  The odds were invariably in their favour.  In conception as in execution obstacles were resolutely faced, and they were constitutionally unable to close their eyes to contingencies that might prove ruinous.  The promise of great results was never suffered to cajole them into ignoring the perils that might beset their path.  Imagination might display in vivid colours