The talk was fascinating to the children, even to Ethel, who had never showed any female dismay at violence; indeed she was a real little warrior herself, holding her own with two older brothers. All the Roosevelt children had been taught to stand for the right and fight for it if necessary, and there had been times when their mother secretly regretted this branch of her husband’s education, when Ted came home with a split lip and spectacles bent, or all of them engaged in battles in the nursery.
Alice had her own room now and was inclined to stay aloof when violence threatened, but earlier she had been one of the stoutest fighters.
Kermit leaned on his father’s shoulder drinking in the stories of Spanish ambushes and night attacks, of the renegade Cubans who begged food from the Rough Riders and then carried information to the Spanish headquarters.
“I shot one buzzard,” said Cricket. “He begged for some beans and I only had a spoonful and then he drew out a rusty old pistol. I got him before he could cock it.”
“Bang between the eyes?” questioned Kermit.
“Well, no. Elsewhere in the body,” replied Cricket delicately. “But the worst thing in Cuba wasn’t the Spaniards or being shot at, it was the goldurn mosquitoes—begging your pardon, Colonel.”
“They were so thick we had to cover up our heads with blankets to get any sleep.” Lew took up the story while Roosevelt smiled ruefully. “We couldn’t light a fire to smoke ’em out most of the times. That was what their sharpshooters were waiting for. Man show himself in the light and down he went!”
“The fever was bad too,” Roosevelt said. “It has already made very doubtful any hope of building a canal across Panama.”
“We had more sick with fever than we had wounded, even when we charged the Hill,” Ike recalled. “Well, we must be heading back, you fellows. It’s been fine seeing you again, Colonel, and we’re sure proud New York elected you governor.”
“We sure are,” agreed his lanky companions, rising to their feet.