Europe." My friend told me that he thought all this was fine military business while he was taking part in it, but later he learned there was nothing of value in it except good fellowship, and to make efficient soldiers for the work of war it is necessary to keep in step with a different type.

My personal experience in the militia confirms this view. In 1898 patriotism was at a white heat among the Massachusetts militia. Very few were gun-shy. They enlisted to fight and were anxious to get on to the firing-line. The spirit was fine. The regiments were as aggressive to butt into war as a flock of goats, and, as quick military assets, were about as valuable.

For years we had performed our annual tour of duty at Framingham. By practice we had acquired the habit of obeying, when in ranks, the orders laid down in the Drill Book for close-order movements. Out of ranks, not much attention was paid to orders. There was little need for any order, except an occasional admonition not to drink too much. The observance of such an order was, however, optional, because a man's stomach was considered his own property, and any attempt to control eating or drinking was, by common consent, an invasion of personal rights. The Quartermaster and Commissary Departments were ornamental. Hired men installed and broke camp, hired caterers prepared and served food. We

never did any marching, and transportation was unnecessary, as express companies delivered baggage at the tent door. We acquired guard-mounting and dress-parade habits, and some knowledge of drill. Public opinion condemned drill on hot days, but encouraged ball-playing. Weather permitting, we had about two hours on and twentytwo off, sometimes more than twenty-two off. The social instinct was satisfied, and that was considered sufficient. The outfit could not have pulled out and marched to Springfield. Some daring spirits might have reached there, supported by charity, but the rest of the column would have trailed out between Worcester and Framingham, like geese in the barley, and have gone home by train or trolley when they got hungry.

I remember some one proposed a practice march, but the wise State authorities frowned upon it, because its hardship would seriously interfere with recruiting. The camp was a jolly picnic, and we were not ashamed to go to it in uniform, because we knew no better.

The awakening came in 1898 when the United States took us in hand and attempted in a few days to build upon and expand regulations suitable for the conduct of a small army during a period of thirty-five years of peace. The system failed and went to pieces. The mere mass of untrained, disorganized, undisciplined, and badly officered men

who were assembled in the various Southern camps created panic and disorganization. We were far from home, without money, and without practice in doing the things necessary to care for ourselves under service conditions. The result was inevitable-sickness and demoralization.

The lessons of the Spanish War sank into the hearts of the militia. We appreciated the extravagance of sending untrained officers to command a willing bunch, anxious, but ignorant of how to fit themselves for war. After the war we were at Framingham again for a few years, until the Dick Bill passed when some wag hung on the musterfield gate the legend, "To Hell with Framingham and its traditions." No one needed a Daniel to interpret the writing on the wall. We all knew that hereafter a tour of duty must mean practice in the things useful in war, and that the rest was of no account. Intelligent officers and men began to ask themselves, "What is the best thing we can do, in the limited time at our disposal, to fit ourselves for field service?"

We are all familiar with the child who, beginning to understand objects in life, calls a horse a mooley cow. To his infantile mind cats, dogs, horses, cows and soldiers are nothing but the same kind of things moving about in much the same way. Later on, as experience enlarges, differentiations are made which put dogs in the dog class

and cows in the cow class. Unfortunately, only a few people have had experiences which force them to differentiate between a soldier and any man in uniform carrying a gun.

It is a common error to suppose that it is an easy matter to dress a million men in uniforms, give them rifles, and thereby create an army. American military history is usually written in this vein. It is the point of view of Sam Slick's father, who announced that "Bunker Hill was generally allowed to be the most splendid battle that ever was fought, and Doctor Warren the first soldier of his age, though he never fought afore."

When I define a soldier, I think of him in terms of his training. I see in the finished product the various processes through which the raw material goes in the making.

The rookie is put through a course of training to give him command of his muscles, develop strength, and ability to march naturally and freely under the burdens that he must carry in a campaign. Besides learning to use his own body, he must acquire skill in using his weapon; if a rifle, he must learn how to care for and use it, both as a shooting and stabbing weapon.

Colonel Dodge, in his life of Hannibal, gives us a picture of a Roman trained in this way:"They did not teach the young citizen the theory of war, but gave him a practical drilling

in what he would have to do when at seventeen years of age he would be drafted into the ranks. They had no schools or teachers of science; they considered such learning unnecessary certainly less excellent than the habit of obedience, coupled with strength and the expert use of arms. Thus they laid the foundation of exemplary discipline and a practical knowledge of what war was among the rank and file. The higher military education was left to the richer and more noble families to give by private instruction to their sons. But these sons, in common with all the rest, must report at given times on the field of Mars for drill. No exceptions were made. Here, under experienced drill-masters and headed by old soldiers, they were practiced in the soldier's setting-up, marching in correct time and style, the run, climbing heights and walls, singly and in squads, with and without arms and baggage, jumping ditches and obstacles, vaulting and swimming. They were taught the use of all the weapons they would be called on to handle, for which purpose heavy posts were set up at which the youths shot with bows, cast darts and spears, and on which they made sham attacks with the sword; and they were instructed how to use their shields so as to protect the body in every position. In these exercises all weapons were much heavier, Polybius says twice the weight of the actual ones, to inure the youth