Militia-men might hesitate, waver and run away; regulars might fail when most they should have been relied upon; commanders might blunder, wrangle and even show the white feather, but the valor of one man can often save a host from disgrace; the desperation of a forlorn hope outlives the cowardice of an army.

So through the war, marked as it was with records of American imbecility and British inhumanity, the development of the national courage went slowly forward. Out of unsteadiness grew discipline, out of foolish boastings came stern determination, out of faintheartedness sprang valor. The irresponsible State detachments, amenable to their own officers, jealous of the regulars and of the war-department officers, gradually merged their personalities and their local names of "Fusileers," Hussars," and "Rifles" into the broader title of American Soldiers and proved, in such fights as Chippeway, their right to the name of warriors and in such engagements as New Orleans their appreciation of what that name really meant.

We have now got an enemy who fights as bravely as ourselves," wrote an English officer after the battle of Chippeway. "They have now proved to us that they only wanted to acquire a little discipline; they have now proved to us what they are made of; and they are the same sort of men as those who captured whole armies under Burgoyne and Cornwallis; they are neither to be frightened nor to be silenced."

The great battle of the war was unquestionably the action. at New Orleans. Had but the ocean cable then spanned the Atlantic, like a living cord uniting the nations, the news of peace flashed beneath the waters would have rendered New Orleans unnecessary. But on the other hand it would have from the crest of the American soldier one of his

most proudly-worn trophies; it would have taken from the hereditary taunt of the hater of England its severest sting. Bloody and unnecessary though it was, it stands in history as so notable a monument to the skill of a great commander and the valor of a volunteer army that it finds fitting mention in the story of the American Soldier.

As first looked at this battle of New Orleans seems full of inconsistencies. Ten thousand British regulars, the bravest and most hardy of the veteran fighters of Wellington's Peninsular Army, with a record of six years of uninterrupted success, were to face in fight less than five thousand soldiers drawn from the fighting stock of a nation deficient at that time in all the elements that constitute successful warfare. To be sure the undisciplined five thousand were shielded behind mud-breastworks; but what was that to the valiant warriors who had stormed the fortifications at Toulouse, and Badajos, and Ciudad Rodrigo? With the exception of Wellington no general officer in the British army was counted the equal of Sir Edward Packenham. Opposed to him was a leader unskilled in the science of war, sadly deficient in the knowledge of tactics and utterly lacking in those personal qualifications necessary to what is known as the courtesy of camps. He was in the eyes of the brilliant British general only "a grizzled old bush-fighter whose name had never been heard of outside of his own swamps.'

But it is the unexpected that is always happening. If Jackson was lacking in the art of war he was possessed of that higher military genius that rises superior to science and to tactics. His conquest of the warlike Indian tribes of the South had taught him a wariness that could never know surprise, an energy that was tireless, and a courage that was as unfaltering

as it was obstinate. With almost no support from the demoralized national government, drawing his soldiery (with the exception of seven hundred regulars) from the widely-scattered settlements of the southern border, he massed his men behind a low line of mud-breast works, manned his guns with frontier fighters who were sharp of eye and sure of aim and waited for the morning.

It was the eighth of January, 1815. "At last," says Mr. Roosevelt," the sun rose. As its beams struggled through the morning mist they glinted on the sharp steel bayonets of the English, where their scarlet ranks were drawn up in battle array, but four hundred yards from the American breastworks. There stood the matchless infantry of the island king, in the pride of their strength and the splendor of their martial glory; and as the haze cleared away they moved forward, in stern silence, broken only by the angry, snarling notes of the brazen bugles. At once the American artillery leaped into furious life; and, ready and quick, the more numerous cannon of the invaders responded from their hot, feverish lips. Unshaken amid the tumult of that iron storm the heavy red column moved steadily on toward the left of the American line, where the Tennesseeans were standing in motionless, grim expectancy. Three fourths of the open space was crossed, and the eager soldiers broke into a run. Then a fire of hell smote the British column. From the breastwork in front of them the white smoke curled thick into the air, as, rank after rank, the wild marksmen of the backwoods rose and fired, aiming low and sure. As stubble is withered by flame, so withered the British column under that deadly fire; and, aghast at the slaughter, the reelfiles staggered and gave back. Packenham, fit captain for

:

rous host, rode to the front, and the troops, rallying

round him, sprang forward with ringing cheers. But once again the pealing rifle-blast beat in their faces; and the life of their dauntless leader went out before its scorching and fiery breath.

"With him fell the other general who was with the column, and all of the men who were leading it on; and, as a last resource, Keane brought up his stalwart Highlanders; but in vain the stubborn mountaineers rushed on, only to die as their comrades had died before them, with unconquerable courage, facing the foe, to the last. Keane himself was struck down; and the shattered wrecks of the British column, quailing before certain destruction, turned and sought refuge beyond reach of the leaden death that had overwhelmed their comrades.

ANDREW JACKSON.

"Nor did it fare better with the weaker force that was to assail the right of the American line. This was led by the dashing Colonel Rennie, who, when the confusion caused by the main attack was at its height, rushed forward with impetuous bravery along the river bank. With headlong fury Rennie flung his men at the breastworks and, gallantly leading them, sword in hand, he, and all around him, fell, riddled through and through by the balls of the riflemen. Brave though they were, the British soldiers could not stand against the singing, leaden hail, or if they stood it was but to die. So in rout and wild dismay they fled back along the river bank, to the main army."

"By eight o'clock," says Mr. Thompson, "the harvest was over; the red field of the eighth of January had been mowed. In front of Humphrey's batteries stretched the tangled wind

rows of mangled dead; prone beneath the deadly riflemen of Beale's little command the red-coats lay in heaps; the swaths cut down by Carrol and Adair were horrible to see. What slaughter; what a victory! Over two thousand British lay dead or helpless on the field. And what of Jackson's little army? How many killed? Just eight men! How many wounded? Thirteen men, and no more!"

But

It was a victory as complete as it was surprising. while the creoles of New Orleans fought with a valor all the more desperate because they were defending their homes from pillage, while the rifles of Tennessee and Kentucky spread a havoc that was as certain as it was terrible, while the pirates of Barataria and the sailor-volunteers added alike picturesqueness and ferocity to that dim fighting in a fog it must not be forgotten that the credit of the victory at New Orleans mainly belongs to the man whose foresight planned and whose courage effected the result - Andrew Jackson, the general.

It was a brilliant close to a war that lacked brilliancy. It was a dramatic ending to a conflict that, upon the land at least, had, for the most part, been listless and tame indeed; it was the final vindication, in an era when such a setting right seemed almost impossible, of the pluck and the bravery, the steadfastness and the valor of the American Soldier.

Great generals rise but seldom above the level of their troops. Signal victories, attained by the indomitable will of one leader, are almost exceptions in history. Without the rank and file the commander would be less than a unit. But the battle of New Orleans was one of these exceptions. The genius of its valiant leader rose superior to all obstacles.

The credit for the one victory of the War of 1812 rightly s to one man Andrew Jackson of Tennessee - “who,”