--volunteer Sergeant-Major
of an Infantry fighting regiment in the old battle swept Army of our
youth. And he wears nothing to indicate his record of valor--not even
the "Little Bronze Button" of the G. A. R.; nothing more than the
satisfaction or consciousness of having done well his part in helping to
preserve the Union and making it possible for the present generation of
soldiers to have a country in which to exist, and looking on with a
certain degree of smug complacency at the smiling assurance with which
these present day trainers of men declare that it takes from six months
to a year, or even more, to fit the average American boy to be an
effective battle-service soldier-- So much for this so called
"_Intensive Training_" as a fine art.

The writer trained for three boat races at West Point in the '60s,
rowing as "stroke" in one. He was urged to take up "_intensive
training_" in the gymnasium. He did nothing of the kind, but simply used
the dumb bells and Indian Clubs in his room to limber up and harden the
muscles, and after a morning plunge, took a brisk walk and run of about
two miles every morning for wind. There was no "training table", and he
simply took care not to take on any extra flesh when eating the "hash"
and "Slumgullion" of our plainest of plain Mess Hall fare. We consulted
the famous Ward brothers of Cornwall-on-Hudson--"Hank", "Josh" and
"Ellis" (who has been a famous Coach for years) as to our style and
effectiveness of stroke. They were simple Hudson river shad
fishermen--long, lean, lank and spare as greyhounds, sinewy as whip
cord--and as hard as steel nails-- Every muscle was taut and tense as a
racing oarsman's should be. I doubt if they ever saw the inside of a
gymnasium--and laughed to scorn the idea that they had got to train in
one. Rowing all day, for months, had, without developing their muscles
into Sandow monstrosities--hardened them like steel--and they were,
after pulling a long, swinging stroke, with quick recover, ready at all
times to row for their lives. I do not recall of their ever being
defeated--either abroad or in our own waters. _They were our trainers._
They were the finest oarsmen America ever produced. The writer saw them
row the Harvard "Varsity" crew on the Charles River, and after passing
them as though they were almost standing still, play with them and
"_loaf home_". William Blaikie, Harvard's famous stroke, and later their
professional "Coach," wrote after gradu