“That painting of the charge of the Rough Riders up San Juan hill, and
your other Cuban pictures, must have been interesting work.”
“I saw Roosevelt just before but not during the charge. But when you
see one, you see all. The fighting to-day is done in long, thin lines;
the solid formations are no longer used. It makes too great a target.
You are never out of range, for the bullets carry a mile and a half.
Most of the fighting is done lying down, the front line advancing, and
the others harassing the enemy. To me there was nothing enjoyable about
it. A correspondent is worse off than the soldier. He has no means
of transportation. Fortunately, in Cuba, I secured a horse the day
before the battle. I made a great number of sketches, but lost one of
my sketch books while crawling on my hands and knees through the long
grass. It contained many bits of action, which I wanted. I suppose
it was spoiled, or maybe someone found it. But in my younger days, I
actually enjoyed being in the midst of an Indian fight. The climate is
so different, and entirely to my liking, out west.”
We rose and viewed the studio.
“How do you get that peculiar alkali, yellowish air of the plains?” I
asked, as we stood before an example of Mr. Remington’s art.
“Only by having lived there, and after a dint of study. That is a dust
study.”
“And those blue shadows are correct?”