'You open up and let my men through.' Which was done. And the younger officers and enlisted men of the regulars sprang up and followed us, and we went up the hills with a rush."

His influence with his men, as a body and as individuals, was tremendous. The late Judge Knowlton, Chief Justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court, said to me soon after Mr. Woodrow Wilson's election to the presidency, "He is a man of ability and determination; but I think we must not expect the highest things of him." But Theodore Roosevelt's regiment and the whole nation were learning "to expect the highest things of him." And he never failed them. The high and heroic duties he always welcomed. He shared the hardships of the march, he led his men into the thickest of the fight, he gave them himself, in absolute sympathy and devotion. And the many

anecdotes which came out after the war of his affection for those then mustered-out veterans of the Cuban campaign - humorous, indeed, some of them simply revealed how the hearts of the men and their commander had been welded indissolubly together in that furnace of privations and perils at Guasimas and San Juan.

The man's frankness shines out clearly in his own plain words, as he wrote them. He says, "I was not satisfied with that Guasimas fight. I had

moved my men this way and that, as best I could, but I could get no clear knowledge of the exact conditions and needs of the situation. After it was over, seated with Generals Wheeler, Lawton, and Chaffee, they expressed appreciation of my leadership. I was really expecting disapproval; but I took their approval as coolly as I could, and concealed the relief I really felt."

We heard many commendatory things said, in the recent World War, about the unique, effective "morale" of the French armies. Officers and men fraternized, yet discipline was maintained. That problem of morale was solved in a similar way by Colonel Roosevelt in the Spanish War. His personality was such that he was on close terms with his enlisted men, yet his word was law. Respect for his courage, intelligence and sympathy was what did this, -the sympathy not least of the three. Afterward, when Roosevelt was Governor of New York, he took a trip through the West, and at one of the stations, a big, bronzed cowboy boarded the train. Roosevelt recollected him, shook hands, and said to a friend beside him, "This is the very man I was just telling you about." The smiling cowboy asked, "Telling him about Santiago?" "Yes." Then the man turned to the interested friend and said, "Well, maybe he didn't tell you about that night when we was lying out in the

trenches, soaked through with rain, and he came out of his tent and gave me his blanket? And maybe he didn't tell you how he took off his poncho and gave it to another fellow?" Roosevelt tried to recall it. "Did I really?" he rejoined. "Did I do that? I'd quite forgotten it."

But the enlisted man had not forgotten it. Few of those men did. Their leader became their ideal and idol; and intense was the worship which they - even to this day-offer him and his memory. I have received several communications, during the writing of this book, from veterans of the Rough Riders. One of these is so delightful, so distinctly an "original contribution", that I gave it verbatim. Not alone what the writer says, clearly and with affection, but what he implies, often unconsciously, is of interest. Reading between the lines brings out subtle meanings.

Buffalo, N. Y., Sept. 28th. My dear Mr. Gilman:

I am sure I would be pleased to comply with your request of saying something big and good of the man that is gone, but not forgotten by any of the "Boys of his Regiment," as he used to call us. In speaking of us in Camp, or on the march it was his saying, "Bully, my boys!" He always spoke of us as his "Boys," and he certainly was proud of his Regiment, and on those charging drills of which he loved to see good horsemanship, and if

any of the troopers got unhorsed he would smile, and remark, "That was a Bully throw, are you hurt any?" and then pass it off with a thorough Roosevelt laugh, for he loved the serious part, as well as the test of man, with beast. He loved the rough and ready, and how he loved to see the Cowboys straddle bucking horses. After drills, the Boys of the Regiment would start those stunts, and he certainly was a first grand-stander for all that sort of horse sport, our Regiment against any other outfit, as he knew he could rely on his "Boys" to turn the trick on any horse living. When he would pass us, while we were at mess or play, we would hail him with, "Colonel, won't you have a bite with us?" He would stand for a second, meditating what to say, and with a big broad grin, say, "Certainly, my Boys." And then and there we would fix him some of our good solid 1898 Grub, and on a tin plate. He would stand and certainly eat and enjoy it with us, and then say, "It tasted fine, Boys," and walk off as pleased as a school-boy, for he knew we all loved him.

Just before being mustered out of service of the Rough Riders, and the boys feeling good and in prime condition, thinking of Home, there came to camp a lot of those smarty gentry from the city, called Jewelry Fakers of the smallest and lowest types, to foist off phoney two-dollar watches on the boys, ready to leave for their homes in the West. The biggest part of our Troopers were Cow-boys, and wished to bring home some souvenir, and especially a gold watch and chain, as they thought, at a bargain-from five to ten dollars a piece, when they actually were only worth one dollar,

price cut. I sauntered over to see what was going on, and one of these chaps was doing a land office business with his cheap and phoney snide jewelry. I spoke up and said, "Boys, you all have bought watches, and got fooled badly. Now to prove it. He is under arrest and in my charge. We will proceed to give him a general camp court-martial, under the rules of Roosevelt's Rough Riders, at this present day and hour." So we placed him on a soap-box. The boys all around camp flocked over to see what the rumpus was about, for Roosevelt's boys were ever on the alert for any fun. Well, after telling the man of what he was charged, of course I made it as strong as I could. He was quickly found guilty of defrauding the Rough Riders, and separating them from their hardearned U. S. dollars, and he was to be "tossed up skyward in a real horse blanket by those basely defrauded boys of the West." I gave the word and the Cowboy yell to let him have his medicine. He got down on his knees, with hands uplifted as though he was going to his death. A blanket was brought in, and every inch of it was held by them for the toss. He was grabbed no gentle way, and heaved into the blanket, and such hollering! He went up in the air like a rocket, time and time again, with the delight of the boys, and you can imagine every time he went up, out came things from his clothing, such as phoney watches, rings, and the cheapest kind of jewelry, and the boys' hard-earned money.

When nearly through with him, Col. Theodore Roosevelt happened to look over to see what all the yelling was about, and I suppose he thought