"Yes Sir, I'll see that the general gets this, Sir, immediately when the meeting is concluded," smiled the young officer.
Roosevelt wheeled and said as he walked with fast steps, "Very well, very well." On his second step the sandy ground held his foot and he had to push and pull his way through the soft footing loosing his military bearing. The general's aide took note of the soaked through uniform back of the two-month-old Lieutenant Colonel.
As a West Point graduate, class of 1895, First Lt. Joseph Wheeler Jr. was quickly learning about volunteer soldiers - some were good, some bad. Working as his father's adjutant offered him a post-graduate course in the real army's mystique. He chuckled to himself when he remembered that he was trained at the military academy as an artillery officer. Protecting his father against all the silliness folks brought to him and shuffling papers rather than sending shot against the enemy was a different function, sure enough. He preferred the offensive operation that he was trained for rather than the defensive maneuvering required in this job.
===
He lay on the bed in his drawers and undershirt. The ornate bed's coverlet was pulled down and the once crisp sheets were damp from his fitful sleep. The ceiling fan moved the air. It was some relief from the muggy, stifling atmosphere on Tamp in the early summer of 1898. Joe Wheeler's attempt at rest had some success but was not a complete accomplishment even though The Tampa Hotel was renowned for its comfort and grandeur. It was sure more comfortable than the sand and swamp of camp. The reality of his task and its importance was a heavy burden for him.
It is beyond imagining," he said to himself as he rummaged in his awakening. Dreams had invaded his sleep: scenes of unnamed farm fields, woods, muddy trails mixed with rain, smoke, bloodied crawling men and riderless horses confused his unconscious world. His dreams offered old odors of burnt gunpowder, manure, blood, salt pork and honeysuckle. He was in a modern exquisite hotel yet also young and back at war in his dreams. "Fightin' Joe" was there again and also the Irishman - Cleburne. And his idea - that idea.
"Pat, you were right," the mostly asleep Wheeler mumbled. Behind Joe's consciousness, his inner world took him to the Civil War and a reunion with Patrick R. Cleburne, fellow officer and colleague in numerous conflicts. Cleburne was killed at Franklin, one of six Confederate general casualties in that desperate failed advance against Thomas' force. Cleburne, Irish veteran of the British Army and Arkansas businessman and lawyer, had proven to be one of the best Confederate field officers.