Yes, we saw that famous bridge. The Duke was always great in passing rivers. Witness his services in India. Witness the Douro, the Bidassoa, the Nivelle, the Nive, and now the Adour. Sufficient attention, perhaps, has not been directed to this subject. Take two feats out of the number, and view them together—the passage of the Adour, and the passage of the Bidassoa: both original ideas; both ideas that no mere tactician would have conceived or brought to bear; and both vindicating their claim to a distinguished record, by taking an able, gallant, and vigilant opponent by surprise. Who, but the Duke, would have dreamed of passing the Bidassoa at its mouth, without a bridge? Who, but the Duke, would have dreamed of passing the Adour at its mouth, by such a bridge as we now beheld? One thing is clear: _Soult_ did not dream of either one passage or the other. Obs. 1.—The execution, in each case, was off-hand, dashing, and daring. The preparation, in both, was deliberate, mature, and secret. Obs. 2.—The distinguishing excellence of the Duke’s strategy did not, however, consist in the mere exploit of throwing an army across a wide and rapid stream, in the face of an enemy assembled in force—though this, in itself, is among the most difficult operations of war; but in the combined, extensive, and successful movements which uniformly attended the achievement. In short, the subject claims a distinct volume. All the Duke’s passages of rivers, effected in the face of the enemy, should be brought into one view, and studied together. Such a work, properly executed, would merit a place in every military library. However, don’t think I’m going to inflict on you a detailed description of the oft-described bridge which we had now to pass. Suffice it to say, the bridge consisted of small vessels, moored side by side, all across the river. These vessels answered the purpose of piers; that is, they supported the gangway of planks, which formed the passage across.