I
“A Reg’lar Boy”
In Roosevelt, the statesman, still lived “Ted,” the boy. To see this
fact in all its clearness one has only to let his thoughts go back to
the period when Roosevelt was President and follow him on a camping
expedition with his boys and their cousins, come from miles around to
share in the expedition.
The beach is reached; the fishing poles are put out; the catch is
brought in. Thereupon Roosevelt himself turns cook. It is a big job,
for there are many boys and their appetites are keen; but the cook is
equal to the task. Then night steals on them. The campfire grows to
enormous proportions. Around it the boys sit, listening with breathless
interest to the wonder tales of hunting and cow-punching that come from
the President who for his boys’ sake has made himself a lad again.
As we recall this scene we remember that the sons of Roosevelt fought
for righteousness in France. We recall, too, that campfires and roughly
cooked food were the order of the day in the paths these and millions
of other boys traveled, and we wonder if, as they bivouacked, there
did not come to them the memory of those nights when as boys their
father led them out on a hard trail and then, in night-wrapped woods,
stood guard over them as they rolled themselves in their blankets and
fell into that sound sleep which had no room for the terrible dreams
war engenders.
It is when such pictures present themselves to our minds that we say to
ourselves that Bayard Taylor wrote facts as well as poetry when he said:
“The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring!”
If a person who knew nothing of Roosevelt’s antecedents were asked to
express an opinion as to the type of boy he was, that person, reasoning
from Roosevelt’s great vigor and the intensity with which he threw
himself into outdoor pursuits, would say that he was a strong, healthy
lad.
The reverse, however, is the case. From earliest infancy Theodore
Roosevelt had been subject to attacks of asthma that weakened him
physically and hindered his growth. He confesses that as a little
fellow he was timid, and that when larger boys strove to exercise over
him that domination which the boy of an older age thinks himself
privileged to exercise over a younger lad, he was backward in opposing
them. It was his physical weakness that prevented him from going to
school and that led him to be placed under the instruction of various
tutors.
“Bill” Sewall, the old woodsman and hunter, who figures in several
of Roosevelt’s books, and who, for over forty years had been a close
friend of Roosevelt, said after the Colonel’s death:
“No, Theodore’s death did not surprise me. Men thought that he was
strong and robust. He wasn’t. It was his boundless energy, his
determination and his nerves that kept Theodore Roosevelt turning out
the enormous quantities of work he did. Really, he suffered from heart
disease all his life.”
There dwelt in the boy Roosevelt an indomitable will. He also possessed
a love for sports, travel and adventure such as could only be enjoyed
with a strong body. Into his ken came the heroes of Captain Mayne
Reid’s novels and also the heroes of Fenimore Cooper’s “Leatherstocking
Tales.” He wanted to be like these men. Young as he was, he was keen
enough to realize that to enter upon the career of which he dreamed he
must have a sound constitution and overflowing energy. His will assumed
control of his feeble body. His mind spurred his heart, limbs and
lungs. He determined that the next bullying lad would have to contend
with a boy with stronger muscles and heavier frame. Even as he resolved
the springs of bodily vigor became loosed in the young boy. The town
house became too small to hold him. Jacob Riis relates that a woman who
lived next door to the Roosevelts told him that one day she saw young
Theodore hanging out of a second-story window, and ran in a desperate
hurry to tell his mother. What Ted’s mother said as she hurried off to
rescue her son made a lasting impression on this woman: “If the Lord
had not taken care of Theodore he would have been killed long ago.”
In addition to the streets of New York beautiful Long Island was his
for roving, for here his family spent the summer. He ran races with
his chums; stole rides on his father’s mounts; swam, rowed and sailed
on Long Island Sound. He explored the hills, caves and woods of his
country home. He had sisters, and, of course, his sisters had girl
companions, and of course he had his special friend among this group
of girl playmates. Naturally, his Southern mother made it her rule to
promote chivalry in her son, and so Ted played the gallant on many a
picnic or horseback ride. Soon his parents saw what the doctors had
failed to do the great outdoors was doing. Strong muscles came to him.
He lost the fatigue which accompanied his first exertions. His young
frame broadened and grew stout enough to stand the rigors of outdoor
life. Nature had had little chance with him when he was shut up in New
York among his books, but now that he had come to her she gave him the
rich blood and the strong nerves which later furnished him the strength
to attain the fulfilment of his ambitious plans.
Ted was a sheer boy in these days, and a sheer boy he remained until
he went to college. Concerning him an old Long Island stage-driver, in
whose stage Ted often rode, remarked to Henry Beech Needham: “He was a
reg’lar boy. Always outdoors, climbin’ trees and goin’ bird-nestin’!
I remember him particular, because he had queer things alive in his
pockets. Sometimes it was even a snake!”
Roosevelt met “Bill” Sewall for the first time when he was eighteen
years old. This was when he first came to Sewall’s hunting-camp in
Maine, which is still in existence.
“Be very careful with him,” Arthur Cutler, his tutor, warned Sewall.
“Don’t take him on such tramps as you take yourself. He couldn’t stand
it. But he wouldn’t let you know that for a minute. He’d go till he
dropped rather than admit it. He isn’t strong, though. You must watch
him carefully.”