han the complete annihilation of the enemy. "Had
we taken ten sail," said Nelson, "and allowed the eleventh to escape,
when it had been possible to have got at her, I could never have
called it well done." Jackson was of the same mind. "With God's
blessing," he said before the Valley campaign, "let us make thorough
work of it." When once he had joined battle, no loss, no suffering
was permitted to stay his hand. He never dreamed of retreat until he
had put in his last reserve. Yet his victories were won rather by
sweat than blood, by skilful manoeuvring rather than sheer hard
fighting. Solicitous as he was of the comfort of his men, he had no
hesitation, when his opportunity was ripe, of taxing their powers of
endurance to the uttermost. But the marches which strewed the wayside
with the footsore and the weaklings won his battles. The enemy,
surprised and outnumbered, was practically beaten before a shot was
fired, and success was attained at a trifling cost.

Yet, despite his energy, Jackson was eminently patient. He knew when
to refuse battle, just as well as he knew when to deliver it. He was
never induced to fight except on his own terms, that is, on his own
ground, and at his own time, save at Kernstown only, and there the
strategical situation forced his hand. And he was eminently cautious.
Before he committed himself to movement he deliberated long, and he
never attacked until he had ample information. He ran risks, and
great ones, but in war the nettle danger must be boldly grasped, and
in Jackson's case the dangers were generally more apparent than real.
Under his orders the cavalry became an admirable instrument of
reconnaissance. He showed a marked sagacity for selecting scouts,
both officers and privates, and his system for obtaining intelligence
was well-nigh perfect. He had the rare faculty, which would appear
instinctive, but which is the fruit of concentrated thought allied to
a wide knowledge of war, of divining the intention of his adversary
and the state of his moral. His power of drawing inferences, often
from seemingly unimportant trifles, was akin to that of the hunter of
his native backwoods, to whom the rustle of a twig, the note of a
bird, a track upon the sand, speak more clearly than written
characters. His estimate of the demoralisation of the Federal army
after Bull Run, and of the ease with which Washington might have been
captured, was absolutely correct. In the middle of May, 1862, both