THIRTY-SEVENTH ANNUAL REPORT. 77 



in camp — neglect to take care of water, improper feeding, embalmed beef 

 (the very antipodes of fruit), and from improper care. Thirteen soldiers 

 died from camp disease in that war, where one died from wounds from the 

 enemy's bullets. Think of it! Thirteen soldiers from bad feeding and bad 

 sanitary conditions were killed by want and neglect — criminal neglect with 

 reference to their care — thirteen soldiers were killed by their own officers, 

 where one was killed by the enemy! That is a shame to us. In the recent 

 Japanese war, the war between Russia and Japan, among the Japanese 

 there were two soldiers killed by bullets where there was one killed by camp 

 disease. Just see the difference. The Japanese are twenty-six times ahead 

 of us in the sanitary care of their soldiers. 



Well, now, these soldiers down in Cuba, where they were surrounded 

 with the most splendid fruits — oranges and bananas and pine apples, and 

 magnificent fruits of every sort — these soldiers were absolutely prohibited 

 from the use of fruit, commanded that they must not touch it. Why, 

 if a man ate any fruit he was hurried off to a guard house. It was a crime 

 to eat an orange, to eat fruit down there in that country. Why? Because 

 the officers in charge of them were laboring under this delusion, that fruit is 

 such a dangerous and poisonous thing. If those soldiers had been allowed 

 to eat fruit instead of embalmed beef, a lot of them would have been saved 

 alive. I had a good chance to prove it. 



I went to headquarters in New York. We had a little summer sanitarium 

 at Staten Island; we had just closed it up; we were experimenting a little 

 there in the east before we began more extended work; and I went to the 

 army headquarters in New York and said, "I want to take care of some of 

 your sick soldiers." The hospitals in New York were all full, and they 

 were farming them out in various places. They said, "All right." I went 

 to the wharf and picked out the worst people I could find; I would not take 

 anybody that could walk; anybody that was able to walk, and walk off, 

 I did not want. I took the people that had to be carried on litters and 

 were so bad they didn't know whether they were going to live or not. We 

 got about forty of them and carried them back to Staten Island; we took 

 them up to the sanitarium. When dinner time came, I had them waiting 

 in the adjacent room, occupying the sofas and things; a few of them were 

 too feeble even to sit up, and were in their beds; but most of them were in 

 the parlor adjacent to the dining room. I said "What would you like for 

 your dinner?" (I didn't propose to give them any beefsteak, nor any 

 beef tea, nor any of that sort of rubbish, because there is no good in it, and 

 there is nothing wholesome in it; but I thought I would try them. I was 

 afraid they might be disappointed, some of them that had been fed on army 

 beef so generously; I didn't know but they would have an artificial appetite). 

 There wasn't a word from anybody. 



"How would you like some roast beef?" You ought to have seen the 

 look of disgust that came upon the faces of those men. They looked down 

 to the floor. Those men were fine fellows, by the way. I was glad to have 

 a chance to feed them, because they were the men who charged up the hill 

 that was almost lost; they were really the men that saved the day for 

 Roosevelt's cowboys. That is the fact of the matter, for the cowboys didn't 

 get there until after the battle was won. I learned that from those boys, 

 and they were only boys, too, some of them. I got the whole story right 

 from their own mouths. They saved the day. There is no question about 

 it — Brave fellows. 



