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Jacob A. Riis (1849–1914). Theodore Roosevelt, the Citizen. 1904.

Page 186

him. He was tall and straight, and of few words.
  “That man,” said Mr. Roosevelt, as he went across the field back to the camp, “represents probably the very best type of our people. He is a Methodist preacher, of the old circuitrider’s stock, strong, fearless, self-reliant. His people had been in all our wars before him, and he came as a matter of course. You should have seen him one morning sitting in the bombproof with his head just below the traverse, where the shrapnel kept cracking over his hat. They could n’t touch him, as he knew, and he sat there as unconcerned as if there were no such things as guns and battles, breaking the beans for his coffee with the butt of his revolver. He was n’t going into the fight without his coffee. He was a game preacher.”
  An hour later, when, after a visit to the two mascots of the regiment,—Josie, the mountain lion, and the eagle, Jack,—I was chatting with Lieutenant Ferguson, a young Englishman who won signal distinction in battle, the flap of the tent was raised and a tall trooper darkened the entrance. He came to make a report, and stood silently at attention while the officer examined