Throughout The Greek War, As There Were No Horses To Be Had For Love
Or Money, We Walked, And I
Learned then that when one has to carry
his own kit the number of things he can do without is
Extraordinary.
While I marched with the army, offering my kingdom for a horse, I
carried my outfit in saddle-bags thrown over my shoulder. And I
think it must have been a good outfit, for I never bought anything to
add to it or threw anything away. I submit that as a fair test of a
kit.
Further on, should any reader care to know how for several months one
may keep going with an outfit he can pack in two saddle-bags, I will
give a list of the articles which in three campaigns I carried in
mine.
Personally, I am for travelling "light," but at the very start one is
confronted with the fact that what one man calls light to another
savors of luxury. I call fifty pounds light; in Japan we each were
allowed the officer's allowance of sixty-six pounds. Lord Wolseley,
in his "Pocketbook," cuts down the officer's kit to forty pounds,
while "Nessmut," of the Forest and Stream, claims that for a hunting
trip, all one wants does not weigh over twenty-six pounds. It is
very largely a question of compromise. You cannot eat your cake and
have it. You cannot, under a tropical sun, throw away your blanket
and when the night dew falls wrap it around you. And if, after a day
of hard climbing or riding, you want to drop into a folding chair, to
make room for it in your carry-all you must give up many other lesser
things.
By travelling light I do not mean any lighter than the necessity
demands. If there is transport at hand, a man is foolish not to
avail himself of it. He is always foolish if he does not make things
as easy for himself as possible. The tenderfoot will not agree with
this. With him there is no idea so fixed, and no idea so absurd, as
that to be comfortable is to be effeminate. He believes that
"roughing it" is synonymous with hardship, and in season and out of
season he plays the Spartan. Any man who suffers discomforts he can
avoid because he fears his comrades will think he cannot suffer
hardships is an idiot. You often hear it said of a man that "he can
rough it with the best of them." Any one can do that. The man I
want for a "bunkie" is the one who can be comfortable while the best
of them are roughing it. The old soldier knows that it is his duty
to keep himself fit, so that he can perform his work, whether his
work is scouting for forage or scouting for men, but you will often
hear the volunteer captain say: "Now, boys, don't forget we're
roughing it; and don't expect to be comfortable." As a rule, the
only reason his men are uncomfortable is because he does not know how
to make them otherwise; or because he thinks, on a campaign, to
endure unnecessary hardship is the mark of a soldier.
In the Cuban campaign the day the American forces landed at Siboney a
major-general of volunteers took up his head-quarters in the house
from which the Spanish commandant had just fled, and on the veranda
of which Caspar Whitney and myself had found two hammocks and made
ourselves at home. The Spaniard who had been left to guard the house
courteously offered the major-general his choice of three bed-rooms.
They all were on the first floor and opened upon the veranda, and to
the general's staff a tent could have been no easier of access.
Obviously, it was the duty of the general to keep himself in good
physical condition, to obtain as much sleep as possible, and to rest
his great brain and his limbs cramped with ten days on shipboard.
But in a tone of stern reproof he said, "No; I am campaigning now,
and I have given up all luxuries." And with that he stretched a
poncho on the hard boards of the veranda, where, while just a few
feet from him the three beds and white mosquito nets gleamed
invitingly, he tossed and turned. Besides being a silly spectacle,
the sight of an old gentleman lying wide awake on his shoulder-blades
was disturbing, and as the hours dragged on we repeatedly offered him
our hammocks. But he fretfully persisted in his determination to be
uncomfortable. And he was. The feelings of his unhappy staff,
several of whom were officers of the regular army, who had to follow
the example of their chief, were toward morning hardly loyal. Later,
at the very moment the army moved up to the battle of San Juan this
same major-general was relieved of his command on account of illness.
Had he sensibly taken care of himself, when the moment came when he
was needed, he would have been able to better serve his brigade and
his country. In contrast to this pose is the conduct of the veteran
hunter, or old soldier. When he gets into camp his first thought,
after he has cared for his horse, is for his own comfort. He does
not wolf down a cold supper and then spread his blanket wherever he
happens to be standing. He knows that, especially at night, it is
unfair to ask his stomach to digest cold rations. He knows that the
warmth of his body is needed to help him to sleep soundly, not to
fight chunks of canned meat. So, no matter how sleepy he may be, he
takes the time to build a fire and boil a cup of tea or coffee. Its
warmth aids digestion and saves his stomach from working overtime.
Nor will he act on the theory that he is "so tired he can sleep
anywhere." For a few hours the man who does that may sleep the sleep
of exhaustion.
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