After the first few days it was difficult to extract real
thrills from the Vera Cruz situation, but we used to ride out
to El Tejar with the cavalry patrol and imagine that we might
be fired on at some point in the long ride through unoccupied
territory; or else go out to the "front," at Legarto, where a
little American force occupied a sun-baked row of freight-
cars, surrounded by malarial swamps. From the top of the
railroad water-tank we could look across to the Mexican
outposts a mile or so away. It was not very exciting, and
what thrills we got lay chiefly in our imagination.
Before my acquaintanceship with Davis at Vera Cruz I had not
known him well. Our trails didn't cross while I was in Japan
in the Japanese-Russian War, and in the Transvaal I missed him
by a few days, but in Vera Cruz I had many enjoyable
opportunities of becoming well acquainted with him.
The privilege was a pleasant one, for it served to dispel a
preconceived and not an entirely favorable impression of his
character. For years I had heard stories about Richard
Harding Davis--stories which emphasized an egotism and self-
assertiveness which, if they ever existed, had happily ceased
to be obtrusive by the time I got to know him.
He was a different Davis from the Davis whom I had expected to
find; and I can imagine no more charming and delightful
companion than he was in Vera Cruz.
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