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 to pine-top whiskey or new-dip brandy to kill at ten miles, has proven about as effective as one of our little mountain Howitzers, which, on the back of a mule, at the Gauley River fight, would shoot to the foot of a steep hill and carry the mule with it. But, gentlemen, we are modest. Of course, my brothers, you perceive that I am jesting. I would not detract one particle from the glory, if that is the right name for it, won by Roosevelt's Rough Riders at Santiago, or of Fred Funston's Volunteers, the F. F. V.'s at Malolos, but I still insist that we did more execution with our old-fashioned arms at short range and in shorter time, with smaller numbers, than the Mausers and the Krag-Jorgensens can ever do. The only thing in modern warfare worth mentioning is the adoption of the old Confederate slouch hat, which, as a means of grace, has served to keep off the weather and keep up the spirits of the United States Volunteers. But I am wandering from my toast.
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