Although it has been my rare luck to meet many great and prominent men, I am frequently surprised anew that my first impression is of their simplicity of manner and their lack of affectation.
General Nelson A. Miles, until recently General-in-Chief of our Army, was always of distinguished appearance. In his earlier days he was known among the ladies in army circles as “Beauty Miles,” and his photograph was in wild demand by young women at every military post in the west; yet he was always as modest and approachable as any ordinary mortal, and I am sure no American ever was more grateful for it than I, for I never outgrew my boyhood’s adoration for soldiers.
I gratefully remember Miles calling on me once when I was in Washington. I ought to have been overcome by the honor, which certainly it was, but he disarmed embarrassment by “droppin’ in” informally, head of the army though he was, in ordinary civilian costume and with an old soft hat on his head. On another occasion, when he chanced to be in New York, he saw me standing in front of “The Alpine,” where I lived many years, stopped and chatted with me for a full half hour. As we were on Broadway, scores of men passed us every minute, and it was plain to see that many of them knew who he was and gazed at him respectfully and admiringly, yet no crowd collected and no one “rung in”; he was as little disturbed as if we had been in the middle of a ten acre lot. I was so delighted with the incident, with his manner and that of the people, that I asked him in what other country of the world the head of the army could be so unconventional and democratic.
“Well, Marsh,” he replied, with a big smile of content, “that’s the beauty of this country of ours—a man doesn’t have to be anything but himself, or more than he wishes to be.”
General Miles is loaded to the muzzle with good stories; he has so many that he tells them in as few words as possible, so as to have time to tell a lot of them. Here are some that he gave me one day in quick succession.
One Irishman bet another that he could drink a bottle of whiskey and not stagger. The other Irishman covered the bet, and the first one won, by going to bed and drinking the whiskey there.
A darky approached a fish stand kept by another darky and asked:
“Got any fresh fish?”
“’Cose I has. What you tink I’ze sellin’? Shoes?”
“Oh, I knows you’s sellin’ fish, but is dey fresh?”