I am going to try to describe some kits and outfits I have seen used in
different parts of the world by travellers and explorers, and in
different campaigns by army officers and war correspondents. Among the
articles, the reader may learn of some new thing which, when next he goes
hunting, fishing, or exploring, he can adapt to his own uses. That is my
hope, but I am sceptical. I have seldom met the man who would allow any
one else to select his kit, or who would admit that any other kit was
better than the one he himself had packed. It is a very delicate
question. The same article that one declares is the most essential to
his comfort, is the very first thing that another will throw into the
trail. A man's outfit is a matter which seems to touch his private
honor. I have heard veterans sitting around a camp-fire proclaim the
superiority of their kits with a jealousy, loyalty, and enthusiasm they
would not exhibit for the flesh of their flesh and the bone of their
bone. On a campaign, you may attack a man's courage, the flag he serves,
the newspaper for which he works, his intelligence, or his camp manners,
and he will ignore you; but if you criticise his patent water-bottle he
will fall upon you with both fists. So, in recommending any article for
an outfit, one needs to be careful. An outfit lends itself to dispute,
because the selection of its component parts is not an exact science. It
should be, but it is not. A doctor on his daily rounds can carry in a
compact little satchel almost everything he is liable to need; a
carpenter can stow away in one box all the tools of his trade. But an
outfit is not selected on any recognized principles. It seems to be a
question entirely of temperament. As the man said when his friends asked
him how he made his famous cocktail, "It depends on my mood." The truth
is that each man in selecting his outfit generally follows the lines of
least resistance. With one, the pleasure he derives from his morning
bath outweighs the fact that for the rest of the day he must carry a
rubber bathtub. Another man is hearty, tough, and inured to an
out-of-door life. He can sleep on a pile of coal or standing on his
head, and he naturally scorns to carry a bed. But another man, should he
sleep all night on the ground, the next day would be of no use to
himself, his regiment, or his newspaper. So he carries a folding cot and
the more fortunate one of tougher fibre laughs at him. Another man says
that the only way to campaign is to travel "light," and sets forth with
rain-coat and field-glass. He honestly thinks that he travels light
because his intelligence tells him it is the better way; but, as a matter
of fact, he does so because he is lazy. Throughout the entire campaign
he borrows from his friends, and with that _camaraderie_ and
unselfishness that never comes to the surface so strongly as when men are
thrown together in camp, they lend him whatever he needs. When the war
is over, he is the man who goes about saying: "Some of those fellows
carried enough stuff to fill a moving van. Now, look what I did. I made
the entire campaign on a tooth-brush."
As a matter of fact, I have a sneaking admiration for the man who dares
to borrow. His really is the part of wisdom. But at times he may lose
himself in places where he can neither a borrower nor a lender be, and
there are men so tenderly constituted that they cannot keep another man
hungry while they use his coffee-pot. So it is well to take a few things
with you--if only to lend them to the men who travel "light."
On hunting and campaigning trips the climate, the means of transport, and
the chance along the road of obtaining food and fodder vary so greatly
that it is not possible to map out an outfit which would serve equally
well for each of them. What on one journey was your most precious
possession on the next is a useless nuisance. On two trips I have packed
a tent weighing, with the stakes, fifty pounds, which, as we slept in
huts, I never once had occasion to open; while on other trips in
countries that promised to be more or less settled, I had to always live
under canvas, and sometimes broke camp twice a day.
In one war, in which I worked for an English paper, we travelled like
major-generals. When that war started few thought it would last over six
weeks, and many of the officers regarded it in the light of a picnic. In
consequence, they mobilized as they never would have done had they
foreseen what was to come, and the mess contractor grew rich furnishing,
not only champagne, which in campaigns in fever countries has saved the
life of many a good man, but cases of even port and burgundy, which never
greatly helped any one. Later these mess supplies were turned over to
the field-hospitals, but at the start every one travelled with more than
he needed and more than the regulations allowed, and each correspondent
was advised that if he represented a first-class paper and wished to
"save his face" he had better travel in state. Those who did not, found
the staff and censor less easy of access, and the means of obtaining
information more difficult. But it was a nuisance. If, when a man
halted at your tent, you could not stand him whiskey and sparklet soda,
Egyptian cigarettes, compressed soup, canned meats, and marmalade, your
paper was suspected of trying to do it "on the cheap," and not only of
being mean, but, as this was a popular war, unpatriotic. When the army
stripped down to work all this was discontinued, but at the start I
believe there were carried with that column as many tins of tan-leather
dressing as there were rifles. On that march my own outfit was as
unwieldy as a gypsy's caravan. It consisted of an enormous cart, two
oxen, three Basuto ponies, one Australian horse, three servants, and four
hundred pounds of supplies and baggage. When it moved across the plain
it looked as large as a Fall River boat. Later, when I joined the
opposing army, and was not expected to maintain the dignity of a great
London daily, I carried all my belongings strapped to my back, or to the
back of my one pony, and I was quite as comfortable, clean, and content
as I had been with the private car and the circus tent.
Throughout the Greek war, as there were no horses to be had for love or
money, we walked, and I learned then that when one has to carry his own
kit the number of things he can do without is extraordinary. While I
marched with the army, offering my kingdom for a horse, I carried my
outfit in saddle-bags thrown over my shoulder. And I think it must have
been a good outfit, for I never bought anything to add to it or threw
anything away. I submit that as a fair test of a kit.
Further on, should any reader care to know how for several months one may
keep going with an outfit he can pack in two saddle-bags, I will give a
list of the articles which in three campaigns I carried in mine.
Personally, I am for travelling "light," but at the very start one is
confronted with the fact that what one man calls light to another savors
of luxury. I call fifty pounds light; in Japan we each were allowed the
officer's allowance of sixty-six pounds. Lord Wolseley, in his
"Pocketbook," cuts down the officer's kit to forty pounds, while
"Nessmut," of the _Forest and Stream_, claims that for a hunting trip,
all one wants does not weigh over twenty-six pounds. It is very largely
a question of compromise. You cannot eat your cake and have it. You
cannot, under a tropical sun, throw away your blanket and when the night
dew falls wrap it around you. And if, after a day of hard climbing or
riding, you want to drop into a folding chair, to make room for it in
your carry-all you must give up many other lesser things.
By travelling light I do not mean any lighter than the necessity demands.
If there is transport at hand, a man is foolish not to avail himself of
it. He is always foolish if he does not make things as easy for himself
as possible. The tenderfoot will not agree with this. With him there is
no idea so fixed, and no idea so absurd, as that to be comfortable is to
be effeminate. He believes that "roughing it" is synonymous with
hardship, and in season and out of season he plays the Spartan. Any man
who suffers discomforts he can avoid because he fears his comrades will
think he cannot suffer hardships is an idiot. You often hear it said of
a man that "he can rough it with the best of them." Any one can do that.
The man I want for a "bunkie" is the one who can be comfortable while the
best of them are roughing it. The old soldier knows that it is his duty
to keep himself fit, so that he can perform his work, whether his work is
scouting for forage or scouting for men, but you will often hear the
volunteer captain say: "Now, boys, don't forget we're roughing it; and
don't expect to be comfortable." As a rule, the only reason his men are
uncomfortable is because he does not know how to make them otherwise; or
because he thinks, on a campaign, to endure unnecessary hardship is the
mark of a soldier.
In the Cuban campaign the day the American forces landed at Siboney a
major-general of volunteers took up his head-quarters in the house from
which the Spanish commandant had just fled, and on the veranda of which
Caspar Whitney and myself had found two hammocks and made ourselves at
home. The Spaniard who had been left to guard the house courteously
offered the major-general his choice of three bed-rooms. They all were
on the first floor and opened upon the veranda, and to the general's
staff a tent could have been no easier of access. Obviously, it was the
duty of the general to keep himself in good physical condition, to obtain
as much sleep as possible, and to rest his great brain and his limbs
cramped with ten days on shipboard. But in a tone of stern reproof he
said, "No; I am campaigning now, and I have given up all luxuries." And
with that he stretched a poncho on the hard boards of the veranda, where,
while just a few feet from him the three beds and white mosquito nets
gleamed invitingly, he tossed and turned. Besides being a silly
spectacle, the sight of an old gentleman lying wide awake on his
shoulder-blades was disturbing, and as the hours dragged on we repeatedly
offered him our hammocks. But he fretfully persisted in his
determination to be uncomfortable. And he was. The feelings of his
unhappy staff, several of whom were officers of the regular army, who had
to follow the example of their chief, were toward morning hardly loyal.
Later, at the very moment the army moved up to the battle of San Juan
this same major-general was relieved of his command on account of
illness. Had he sensibly taken care of himself, when the moment came
when he was needed, he would have been able to better serve his brigade
and his country. In contrast to this pose is the conduct of the veteran
hunter, or old soldier. When he gets into camp his first thought, after
he has cared for his horse, is for his own comfort. He does not wolf
down a cold supper and then spread his blanket wherever he happens to be
standing. He knows that, especially at night, it is unfair to ask his
stomach to digest cold rations. He knows that the warmth of his body is
needed to help him to sleep soundly, not to fight chunks of canned meat.
So, no matter how sleepy he may be, he takes the time to build a fire and
boil a cup of tea or coffee. Its warmth aids digestion and saves his
stomach from working overtime. Nor will he act on the theory that he is
"so tired he can sleep anywhere." For a few hours the man who does that
may sleep the sleep of exhaustion. But before day breaks he will feel
under him the roots and stones, and when he awakes he is stiff, sore and
unrefreshed. Ten minutes spent in digging holes for hips and
shoulder-blades, in collecting grass and branches to spread beneath his
blanket, and leaves to stuff in his boots for a pillow, will give him a
whole night of comfort and start him well and fit on the next day's
tramp. If you have watched an old sergeant, one of the Indian fighters,
of which there are now too few left in the army, when he goes into camp,
you will see him build a bunk and possibly a shelter of boughs just as
though for the rest of his life he intended to dwell in that particular
spot. Down in the Garcia campaign along the Rio Grande I said to one of
them: "Why do you go to all that trouble? We break camp at daybreak."
He said: "Do we? Well, maybe you know that, and maybe the captain knows
that, but I don't know it. And so long as I don't know it, I am going to
be just as snug as though I was halted here for a month." In camping,
that was one of my first and best lessons--to make your surroundings
healthy and comfortable. The temptation always is to say, "Oh, it is for
only one night, and I am too tired." The next day you say the same
thing, "We'll move to-morrow. What's the use?" But the fishing or
shooting around the camp proves good, or it comes on to storm, and for
maybe a week you do not move, and for a week you suffer discomforts. An
hour of work put in at the beginning would have turned it into a week of
ease.
When there is transport of even one pack-horse, one of the best helps
toward making camp quickly is a combination of panniers and bed used for
many years by E. F. Knight, the _Times_ war correspondent, who lost an
arm at Gras Pan. It consists of two leather trunks, which by day carry
your belongings slung on either side of the pack-animal, and by night act
as uprights for your bed. The bed is made of canvas stretched on two
poles which rest on the two trunks. For travelling in upper India this
arrangement is used almost universally. Mr. Knight obtained his during
the Chitral campaign, and since then has used it in every war. He had it
with Kuroki's army during this last campaign in Manchuria. {6}
A more compact form of valise and bed combined is the "carry-all," or any
of the many makes of sleeping-bags, which during the day carry the kit
and at night when spread upon the ground serve for a bed. The one once
most used by Englishmen was Lord Wolseley's "valise and sleeping-bag."
It was complicated by a number of strings, and required as much lacing as
a dozen pairs of boots. It has been greatly improved by a new
sleeping-bag with straps, and flaps that tuck in at the ends. But the
obvious disadvantage of all sleeping-bags is that in rain and mud you are
virtually lying on the hard ground, at the mercy of tarantula and fever.
The carry-all is, nevertheless, to my mind, the most nearly perfect way
in which to pack a kit. I have tried the trunk, valise, and
sleeping-bag, and vastly prefer it to them all. My carry-all differs
only from the sleeping-bag in that, instead of lining it so that it may
be used as a bed, I carry in its pocket a folding cot. By omitting the
extra lining for the bed, I save almost the weight of the cot. The
folding cot I pack is the Gold Medal Bed, made in this country, but which
you can purchase almost anywhere. I once carried one from Chicago to
Cape Town to find on arriving I could buy the bed there at exactly the
same price I had paid for it in America. I also found them in Tokio,
where imitations of them were being made by the ingenious and
disingenuous Japanese. They are light in weight, strong, and
comfortable, and are undoubtedly the best camp-bed made. When at your
elevation of six inches above the ground you look down from one of them
upon a comrade in a sleeping-bag with rivulets of rain and a tide of
muddy water rising above him, your satisfaction, as you fall asleep, is
worth the weight of the bed in gold.
My carry-all is of canvas with a back of waterproof. It is made up of
three strips six and a half feet long. The two outer strips are each two
feet three inches wide, the middle strip four feet. At one end of the
middle strip is a deep pocket of heavy canvas with a flap that can be
fastened by two straps. When the kit has been packed in this pocket, the
two side strips are folded over it and the middle strip and the whole is
rolled up and buckled by two heavy straps on the waterproof side. It is
impossible for any article to fall out or for the rain to soak in. I
have a smaller carry-all made on the same plan, but on a tiny scale, in
which to carry small articles and a change of clothing. It goes into the
pocket after the bed, chair, and the heavier articles are packed away.
When the bag is rolled up they are on the outside of and form a
protection to the articles of lighter weight.
The only objection to the carry-all is that it is an awkward bundle to
pack. It is difficult to balance it on the back of an animal, but when
you are taking a tent with you or carrying your provisions, it can be
slung on one side of the pack saddle to offset their weight on the other.
I use the carry-all when I am travelling "heavy." By that I mean when it
is possible to obtain pack-animal or cart. When travelling light and
bivouacking by night without a pack-horse, bed, or tent, I use the
saddle-bags, already described. These can be slung over the back of the
horse you ride, or if you walk, carried over your shoulder. I carried
them in this latter way in Greece, in the Transvaal, and Cuba during the
rebellion, and later with our own army.
The list of articles I find most useful when travelling where it is
possible to obtain transport, or, as we may call it, travelling heavy,
are the following:
A tent, seven by ten feet, with fly, jointed poles, tent-pins, a heavy
mallet. I recommend a tent open at both ends with a window cut in one
end. The window, when that end is laced and the other open, furnishes a
draught of air. The window should be covered with a flap which, in case
of rain, can be tied down over it with tapes. A great convenience in a
tent is a pocket sewn inside of each wall, for boots, books, and such
small articles. The pocket should not be filled with anything so heavy
as to cause the walls to sag. Another convenience with a tent is a
leather strap stretched from pole to pole, upon which to hang clothes,
and another is a strap to be buckled around the front tent-pole, and
which is studded with projecting hooks for your lantern, water-bottle,
and field-glasses. This latter can be bough ready-made at any military
outfitter's.
Many men object to the wooden tent-pin on account of its tendency to
split, and carry pins made of iron. With these, an inch below the head
of the pin is a projecting barb which holds the tent rope. When the pin
is being driven in, the barb is out of reach of the mallet. Any
blacksmith can beat out such pins, and if you can afford the extra
weight, they are better than those of ash. Also, if you can afford the
weight, it is well to carry a strip of water-proof or oilcloth for the
floor of the tent to keep out dampness. All these things appertaining to
the tent should be tolled up in it, and the tent itself carried in a
light-weight receptacle, with a running noose like a sailor's kit-bag.
The carry-all has already been described. Of its contents, I consider
first in importance the folding bed.
And second in importance I would place a folding chair. Many men scoff
at a chair as a cumbersome luxury. But after a hard day on foot or in
the saddle, when you sit on the ground with your back to a rock and your
hands locked across your knees to keep yourself from sliding, or on a box
with no rest for your spinal column, you begin to think a chair is not a
luxury, but a necessity. During the Cuban campaign, for a time I was a
member of General Sumner's mess. The general owned a folding chair, and
whenever his back was turned every one would make a rush to get into it.
One time we were discussing what, in the light of our experience of that
campaign, we would take with us on our next, and all agreed, Colonel
Howze, Captain Andrews, and Major Harmon, that if one could only take one
article it would be a chair. I carried one in Manchuria, but it was of
no use to me, as the other correspondents occupied it, relieving each
other like sentries on guard duty. I had to pin a sign on it, reading,
"Don't sit on me," but no one ever saw the sign. Once, in order to rest
in my own chair, I weakly established a precedent by giving George Lynch
a cigar to allow me to sit down (on that march there was a mess
contractor who supplied us even with cigars, and occasionally with food),
and after that, whenever a man wanted to smoke, he would commandeer my
chair, and unless bribed refuse to budge. This seems to argue the
popularity of the contractor's cigars rather than that of the chair, but,
nevertheless, I submit that on a campaign the article second in
importance for rest, comfort, and content is a chair. The best I know is
one invented by Major Elliott of the British army. I have an Elliott
chair that I have used four years, not only when camping out, but in my
writing-room at home. It is an arm-chair, and is as comfortable as any
made. The objections to it are its weight, that it packs bulkily, and
takes down into too many pieces. Even with these disadvantages it is the
best chair. It can be purchased at the Army and Navy and Anglo-Indian
stores in London. A chair of lighter weight and one-fourth the bulk is
the Willisden chair, of green canvas and thin iron supports. It breaks
in only two pieces, and is very comfortable.
Sir Harry Johnson, in his advice to explorers, makes a great point of
their packing a chair. But he recommends one known as the "Wellington,"
which is a cane-bottomed affair, heavy and cumbersome. Dr. Harford, the
instructor in outfit for the Royal Geographical Society, recommends a
steamer-chair, because it can be used on shipboard and "can be easily
carried afterward." If there be anything less easy to carry than a
deck-chair I have not met it. One might as soon think of packing a
folding step-ladder. But if he has the transport, the man who packs any
reasonably light folding chair will not regret it.
As a rule, a cooking kit is built like every other cooking kit in that
the utensils for cooking are carried in the same pot that is used for
boiling the water, and the top of the pot turns itself into a frying-pan.
For eight years I always have used the same kind of cooking kit, so I
cannot speak of others with knowledge; but I have always looked with
envious eyes at the Preston cooking kit and water-bottle. Why it has not
already been adopted by every army I do not understand, for in no army
have I seen a kit as compact or as light, or one that combines as many
useful articles and takes up as little room. It is the invention of
Captain Guy H. Preston, Thirteenth Cavalry, and can be purchased at any
military outfitter's.
The cooking kit I carry is, or was, in use in the German army. It is
made of aluminum,--weighs about as much as a cigarette-case, and takes up
as little room as would a high hat. It is a frying-pan and coffee-pot
combined. From the Germans it has been borrowed by the Japanese, and one
smaller than mine, but of the same pattern, is part of the equipment of
each Japanese soldier. On a day's march there are three things a man
must carry: his water-bottle, his food, which, with the soldier, is
generally carried in a haversack, and his cooking kit. Preston has
succeeded most ingeniously in combining the water-bottle and the cooking
kit, and I believe by cutting his water-bottle in half, he can make room
in his coffee-pot for the food. If he will do this, he will solve the
problem of carrying water, food, and the utensils for cooking the food
and for boiling the water in one receptacle, which can be carried from
the shoulder by a single strap. The alteration I have made for my own
use in Captain Preston's water-bottle enables me to carry in the
coffee-pot one day's rations of bacon, coffee, and biscuit.
[Picture: The component parts of the Preston cooking kit]
[Picture: German Army cooking kit after use in five campaigns. All of
these articles pack inside the kettle]
In Tokio, before leaving for Manchuria, General Fukushima asked me to
bring my entire outfit to the office of the General Staff. I spread it
out on the floor, and with unerring accuracy he selected from it the
three articles of greatest value. They were the Gold Medal cot, the
Elliott chair, and Preston's water-bottle. He asked if he could borrow
these, and, understanding that he wanted to copy them for his own use,
and supposing that if he used them, he would, of course, make some
restitution to the officers who had invented them, I foolishly loaned
them to him. Later, he issued them in numbers to the General Staff. As
I felt, in a manner, responsible, I wrote to the Secretary of War, saying
I was sure the Japanese army did not wish to benefit by these inventions
without making some acknowledgment or return to the inventors. But the
Japanese War Office could not see the point I tried to make, and the
General Staff wrote a letter in reply asking why I had not directed my
communication to General Fukushima, as it was not the Secretary of War,
but he, who had taken the articles. The fact that they were being issued
without any return being made, did not interest them. They passed
cheerfully over the fact that the articles had been stolen, and were
indignant, not because I had accused a Japanese general of pilfering, but
because I had accused the wrong general. The letter was so insolent that
I went to the General Staff Office and explained that the officer who
wrote it, must withdraw it, and apologize for it. Both of which things
he did. In case the gentlemen whose inventions were "borrowed" might, if
they wished, take further steps in the matter, I sent the documents in
the case, with the exception of the letter which was withdrawn, to the
chief of the General Staff in the United States and in England.
In importance after the bed, cooking kit, and chair, I would place these
articles:
Two collapsible water-buckets of rubber or canvas.
Two collapsible brass lanterns, with extra isinglass sides.
Two boxes of sick-room candles.
One dozen boxes of safety matches.
One axe. The best I have seen is the Marble Safety Axe, made at
Gladstone, Mich. You can carry it in your hip-pocket, and you can
cut down a tree with it.
One medicine case containing quinine, calomel, and Sun Cholera
Mixture in tablets.
Toilet-case for razors, tooth-powder, brushes, and paper.
Folding bath-tub of rubber in rubber case. These are manufactured to
fold into a space little larger than a cigar-box.
Two towels old, and soft.
Three cakes of soap.
One Jaeger blanket.
One mosquito head-bag.
One extra pair of shoes, old and comfortable.
One extra pair of riding-breeches.
One extra pair of gaiters. The former regulation army gaiter of
canvas, laced, rolls up in a small compass and weighs but little.
One flannel shirt. Gray least shows the dust.
Two pairs of drawers. For riding, the best are those of silk.
Two undershirts, balbriggan or woollen.
Three pairs of woollen socks.
Two linen handkerchiefs, large enough, if needed, to tie around the
throat and protect the back of the neck.
One pair of pajamas, woollen, not linen.
One housewife.
Two briarwood pipes.
Six bags of smoking tobacco; Durham or Seal of North Carolina pack
easily.
One pad of writing paper.
One fountain pen, _self-filling_.
One bottle of ink, with screw top, held tight by a spring.
One dozen linen envelopes.
Stamps, wrapped in oil-silk with mucilage side next to the silk.
One stick sealing-wax. In tropical countries mucilage on the flap of
envelopes sticks to everything except the envelope.
One dozen elastic bands of the largest size. In packing they help to
compress articles like clothing into the smallest possible compass
and in many other ways will be found very useful.
One pack of playing-cards.
Books.
One revolver and six cartridges.
The reason for most of these articles is obvious. Some of them may need
a word of recommendation. I place the water-buckets first in the list
for the reason that I have found them one of my most valuable assets.
With one, as soon as you halt, instead of waiting for your turn at the
well or water-hole, you can carry water to your horse, and one of them
once filled and set in the shelter of the tent, later saves you many
steps. It also can be used as a nose-bag, and to carry fodder. I
recommend the brass folding lantern, because those I have tried of tin or
aluminum have invariably broken. A lantern is an absolute necessity.
When before daylight you break camp, or hurry out in a wind storm to
struggle with flying tent-pegs, or when at night you wish to read or play
cards, a lantern with a stout frame and steady light is indispensable.
The original cost of the sick-room candles is more than that of ordinary
candles, but they burn longer, are brighter, and take up much less room.
To protect them and the matches from dampness, or the sun, it is well to
carry them in a rubber sponge-bag. Any one who has forgotten to pack a
towel will not need to be advised to take two. An old sergeant of Troop
G, Third Cavalry, once told me that if he had to throw away everything he
carried in his roll but one article, he would save his towel. And he was
not a particularly fastidious sergeant either, but he preferred a damp
towel in his roll to damp clothes on his back. Every man knows the
dreary halts in camp when the rain pours outside, or the regiment is held
in reserve. For times like these a pack of cards or a book is worth
carrying, even if it weighs as much as the plates from which it was
printed. At present it is easy to obtain all of the modern classics in
volumes small enough to go into the coat-pocket. In Japan, before
starting for China, we divided up among the correspondents Thomas Nelson
& Sons' and Doubleday, Page & Co.'s pocket editions of Dickens,
Thackeray, and Lever, and as most of our time in Manchuria was spent
locked up in compounds, they proved a great blessing.
In the list I have included a revolver, following out the old saying that
"You may not need it for a long time, but when you do need it, you want
it damned quick." Except to impress guides and mule-drivers, it is not
an essential article. In six campaigns I have carried one, and never
used it, nor needed it but once, and then while I was dodging behind the
foremast it lay under tons of luggage in the hold. The number of
cartridges I have limited to six, on the theory that if in six shots you
haven't hit the other fellow, he will have hit you, and you will not
require another six.
This, I think, completes the list of articles that on different
expeditions I either have found of use, or have seen render good service
to some one else. But the really wise man will pack none of the things
enumerated in this article. For the larger his kit, the less benefit he
will have of it. It will all be taken from him. And accordingly my
final advice is to go forth empty-handed, naked and unashamed, and borrow
from your friends. I have never tried that method of collecting an
outfit, but I have seen never it fail, and of all travellers the man who
borrows is the wisest.
Footnotes:
{1} From "A Year from a Reporter's Note Book," copyright, 1897, by
Harper & Brothers.
{2} From "A Year from a Reporter's Note Book, copyright, 1897, Harper &
Brothers."
{3} For this "distinguished gallantry in action," James R. Church later
received the medal of honor.
{4} Some of the names and initials on the trees are as follows: J. P.
Allen; Lynch; Luke Steed; Happy Mack, Rough Riders; Russell; Ward; E. M.
Lewis, C, 9th Cav.; Alex; E. K. T.; J. P. E.; W. N. D.; R. D. R.; I. W.
S., 5th U. S.; J. M. B.; J. M. T., C, 9th.
{5} A price list during the siege:
SIEGE
OF
LADYSMITH,
1899-1900.
_I certify that the following are the correct and highest prices realised
at my sales by Public Auction during the above Siege_,
JOE DYSON,
_Auctioneer_.
LADYSMITH,
FEBRUARY 21_st_, 1900.
Pounds s. d.
14 lbs. Oatmeal 2 19 6
Condensed Milk, 0 10 0
per tin
1 lb. Beef Fat 0 11 0
1 lb. Tin 0 17 0
Coffee
2 lb. Tin 1 6 0
Tongue
1 Sucking Pig 1 17 0
Eggs, per dozen 2 8 0
Fowls, each 0 18 6
4 Small 0 15 6
Cucumbers
Green Mealies, 0 3 8
each
Small plate 1 5 0
Grapes
1 Small plate 0 12 6
Apples
1 Plate 0 18 0
Tomatoes
1 Vegetable 1 8 0
Marrow
1 Plate 0 11 0
Eschalots
1 Plate 0 19 0
Potatoes
3 Small bunches 0 9 0
Carrots
1 Glass Jelly 0 18 0
1 lb. Bottle 1 11 0
Jam
1 lb. Tin 1 1 0
Marmalade
1 dozen Matches 0 13 6
1 pkt. 1 5 0
Cigarettes
50 Cigars 9 5 0
0.25 lb. Cake 2 5 0
"Fair Maid"
Tobacco
0.5 lb. Cake 3 5 0
"Fair Maid"
1 lb. Sailors 2 3 0
Tobacco
0.25 lb. tin 3 0 0
"Capstan" Navy
Cut Tobacco
{6} The top of the trunk is made of a single piece of leather with a rim
that falls over the mouth of the trunk and protects the contents from
rain. The two iron rings by which each box is slung across the padded
back of the pack-horse are fastened by rivetted straps to the rear top
line of each trunk. On both _ends_ of each trunk near the top and back
are two iron sockets. In these fit the staples that hold the poles for
the bed. The staples are made of iron in the shape of the numeral 9, the
poles passing through the circle of the 9. The bed should be four feet
long three feet wide, of heavy canvas, strengthened by leather straps.
At both ends are two buckles which connect with straps on the top of each
trunk. Along one side of the canvas is a pocket running its length and
open at both ends. Through this one of the poles passes and the other
through a series of straps that extend on the opposite side. These
straps can be shortened or tightened to allow a certain "give" to the
canvas, which the ordinary stretcher-bed does not permit. The advantage
of this arrangement is in the fact that it can be quickly put together
and that it keeps the sleeper clear of the ground and safeguards him from
colds and malaria.