LITMIR.BIZ

      British soldiers visiting the U. S. troop-ship Sumner, en route to the Philippines.

      It was my opportunity to be with both the Boer and British armies in South Africa, and to observe the fighting qualities of the men on both sides. After the Boers evacuated Pretoria, and I remained to witness the British operations, I came to agree with Captain Slocum that “Tommy Atkins is a wonder.” He certainly is. During two years spent in Europe I saw the great manœuvres on Salisbury Plain and at Aldershot; I have seen the British soldier on foreign garrison service and in the field; and, last, I have seen him in Africa, confronted by new problems and fighting against modern weapons in the hands of thinking men. From the point of view of this experience I venture to draw certain comparisons and contrasts between him and the American soldier, whose fighting steps I have followed in half a dozen campaigns, against the Indians in the West and also in the war with Spain.

      The system of “crack” regiments in the British army has done much to injure the service of that country, as it has developed the “spit and polish” officer, as he is called in London—an imposing society soldier, useless in war. The men of these regiments are the pick of the nation, but unless there is an exceptional campaign they are not sent out. The Guards are usually ordered to the front long enough to get their medals, and then are sent home. During the last Soudan campaign the battalion of Guards was away from England only a few weeks, and were, as the late war correspondent, G. W. Steevens, said, “packed in ice, shipped to the front, and then shipped back.” During the Boer War the Guards have not had such an easy time, as it was necessary to use the whole army in active operations; and they have proved themselves good fighters when properly officered.

      There is one exception to the rule of pampering the “crack” regiments in the case of the Gordon Highlanders, for they have seen the hardest service of every campaign since the organization of the regiment. Their glory is in fighting rather than in polo and cricket, in campaigning rather than in dancing.

      The sturdy, practical soldiers have a large contempt for the youngster of birth who has received his commission through favoritism, and they never lose an opportunity of expressing it. While in Pretoria after the British occupation, I installed myself in one of the best houses in the city, having commandeered it when the owner, who was a British subject, fled. To make my position more secure I hung out a small American flag, so that I should not be disturbed. When the British entered the capital, General French’s cavalry division occupied the portion of the town in which my borrowed home stood, and I invited two or three of the officers of his staff to share the house with me. Some days after their acceptance an order was issued by the military governor to seize all horses in Pretoria, and a battalion of Guards was detailed to form a line across the city, making a clean sweep of every horse not already in governmental possession. I rode up to my door just as the line struck that vicinity, and the soldiers were leading out some of the horses belonging to the cavalry staff officers living with me. Lieutenant-Colonel Welsh, a thorough soldier, who has learned his profession by hard campaigning, was at the moment expostulating with a stupid officer of the Guards, who was just remarking, “Beastly business, this horse-stealing, but—aw—I have to do it, don’t you know?”

      “Well, you can’t have my horse,” exclaimed Colonel Welsh, with an emphasis that told the Guardsman he was some one of importance.

      That officer screwed his glass into his eye, looked about, and seeing the American flag, turned to Colonel Welsh, who was in full uniform, and said, “Oh, I say—are you the American consul fellow?”

      This was too much for the old soldier, who fairly exploded in his indignation; but his pity for the poor Londoner prompted him to explain, with an amusing manner, that he had the honor of holding the Queen’s commission, and that foreign consuls were not in the habit of wearing the British uniform.

      When the Ninth Infantry marched into Santiago to act as a guard of honor to General Shafter, and to participate in the raising of the flag over the palace, a Spanish officer standing by me on the cathedral steps asked if this was one of our “crack” regiments. I told him it was not, and he looked rather surprised.

      “You don’t mean to say you have any more like this, do you?” he inquired.