Jacob A. Riis (1849–1914). Theodore Roosevelt, the Citizen. 1904.
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| by his grateful fellow-citizens with the call to “step up higher.” Once more the right had prevailed, and the counsel of expediency been shamed. Roosevelt’s Rough-Riders had written their name in history. |
| “They were the finest fellows, and they were dead game. It was the privilege of a lifetime to have commanded such a regiment. It was a hard campaign, but they were beautiful days— and we won.” |
| We were lying in the grass at his tent, under the starry August sky. Taps had been sounded long since. The Colonel’s eye wandered thoughtfully down the long line of white tents in which the lights were dying out one by one. From a darker line in front, where a thousand horses were tethered, quietly munching their supper, came an occasional low whinnying. That and the washing of the surf on the distant beach were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the night. A bright meteor shot athwart the sky, leaving a shining trail, and fell far out beyond the lighthouse. We watched it in silence. I know what my thoughts were. He knew his own. |