te and picturesque a set of men as
ever wore the uniform of war.

* * * * *

Because we had no Volunteers with us, we were not granted even one little
word-spattering newspaper scribe, and so relinquished at the outset any
fugitive hopes of glory that otherwise might have been entertained. We were
out for business,--hard marching, hard living, hard fighting,--and the
opening vista was fringed with gore. We were none of us the darlings of any
particular State, nor the precious offspring of a peripatetic statesman
with a practised pull. We were at no time decimated by disease through
ignorant or insubordinate disregard of the primary principles of hygiene.
We didn't write long wailing letters home because we were obliged to sleep
on the damp ground, and had neither hot rolls, chocolate, nor marmalade for
breakfast. We were ragged, hungry, tough, and faithful. In other words, we
were regular army men, and, most distinctly, _not_ Volunteers.

[Illustration: Statue of Columbus, Mayaguez.]

There is a personality peculiar to the professional soldier, even though
he be but a half-fledged recruit, that defies analysis and baffles
description. He is of course built from the same clay as his brother of the
Volunteers; but the latter is a tin god, and the former is a devil. Yet the
difference does not spring from anything more fundamental than environment,
and therein lies the solace of the other fellow. Putting aside all odious
comparisons and limiting myself to a view of the regular army man as I know
him, I can simply say that in the eight months during which I underwent
in his company hard knocks and privations without number I could not have
found a more truly satisfactory comrade and friend. He doesn't, on the
average, know much about books; nor did he ever hear of the Etruscan
Inscriptions or the Pyramidal Policy of the Ancient Egyptians. He takes a
grim delight in smashing the English language into microscopic atoms at a
single blow. He is more fond of women, horses, and prize-fighting than is
good for him. He will steal when he is hungry, lie to save his skin, curse
most terribly on trifling provocation, and spend, to his last sou markee,
his hard-won wage on adulterated drink.

"He's a devil an' a ostrich
an' a orphan-child in one."

But he will stand his ground in action while there is ground to stand on;
he will throw his life away at a moment's notice for the flag, or a chosen