Rough Riders | Page 5

saddles, and uniforms that we needed
from the various armories and storehouses. Then I went down to San
Antonio myself, where I found the men from New Mexico, Arizona,
and Oklahoma already gathered, while those from Indian Territory
came in soon after my arrival.
These were the men who made up the bulk of the regiment, and gave it
its peculiar character. They came from the Four Territories which yet
remained within the boundaries of the United States; that is, from the
lands that have been most recently won over to white civilization, and
in which the conditions of life are nearest those that obtained on the
frontier when there still was a frontier. They were a splendid set of men,
these Southwesterners--tall and sinewy, with resolute, weather-beaten
faces, and eyes that looked a man straight in the face without flinching.
They included in their ranks men of every occupation; but the three
types were those of the cowboy, the hunter, and the mining
prospector--the man who wandered hither and thither, killing game for
a living, and spending his life in the quest for metal wealth.
In all the world there could be no better material for soldiers than that
afforded by these grim hunters of the mountains, these wild rough
riders of the plains. They were accustomed to handling wild and savage
horses; they were accustomed to following the chase with the rifle, both
for sport and as a means of livelihood. Varied though their occupations
had been, almost all had, at one time or another, herded cattle and
hunted big game. They were hardened to life in the open, and to
shifting for themselves under adverse circumstances. They were used,
for all their lawless freedom, to the rough discipline of the round-up
and the mining company. Some of them came from the small frontier
towns; but most were from the wilderness, having left their lonely
hunters' cabins and shifting cow-camps to seek new and more stirring
adventures beyond the sea.
They had their natural leaders--the men who had shown they could
master other men, and could more than hold their own in the eager
driving life of the new settlements.
The Captains and Lieutenants were sometimes men who had
campaigned in the regular army against Apache, Ute, and Cheyenne,

and who, on completing their term of service, had shown their energy
by settling in the new communities and growing up to be men of mark.
In other cases they were sheriffs, marshals, deputy-sheriffs, and
deputy-marshals--men who had fought Indians, and still more often had
waged relentless war upon the bands of white desperadoes. There was
Bucky O'Neill, of Arizona, Captain of Troop A, the Mayor of Prescott,
a famous sheriff throughout the West for his feats of victorious warfare
against the Apache, no less than against the white road-agents and
man-killers. His father had fought in Meagher's Brigade in the Civil
War; and he was himself a born soldier, a born leader of men. He was a
wild, reckless fellow, soft spoken, and of dauntless courage and
boundless ambition; he was staunchly loyal to his friends, and cared for
his men in every way. There was Captain Llewellen, of New Mexico, a
good citizen, a political leader, and one of the most noted
peace-officers of the country; he had been shot four times in pitched
fights with red marauders and white outlaws. There was Lieutenant
Ballard, who had broken up the Black Jack gang of ill-omened
notoriety, and his Captain, Curry, another New Mexican sheriff of fame.
The officers from the Indian Territory had almost all served as marshals
and deputy-marshals; and in the Indian Territory, service as a
deputy-marshal meant capacity to fight stand-up battles with the gangs
of outlaws.
Three of our higher officers had been in the regular army. One was
Major Alexander Brodie, from Arizona, afterward Lieutenant-Colonel,
who had lived for twenty years in the Territory, and had become a
thorough Westerner without sinking the West Pointer--a soldier by
taste as well as training, whose men worshipped him and would follow
him anywhere, as they would Bucky O'Neill or any other of their
favorites. Brodie was running a big mining business; but when the
Maine was blown up, he abandoned everything and telegraphed right
and left to bid his friends get ready for the fight he saw impending.
Then there was Micah Jenkins, the captain of Troop K, a gentle and
courteous South Carolinian, on whom danger acted like wine. In action
he was a perfect game-cock, and he won his majority for gallantry in
battle.
Finally, there was Allyn Capron, who was, on the whole, the best
soldier in the regiment. In fact, I think he was the ideal of what an

American regular army officer should be. He was the fifth in descent
from