If their death-knell sounded they certainly did not hear it.

If they were licked they did not know it.

In the twenty-five years in which I have followed wars, in no other war have I seen the war correspondents so well prove their right to march with armies.

The happy days when they were guests of the army, when news was served to them by the men who made the news, when Archibald Forbes and Frank Millet shared the same mess with the future Czar of Russia, when MacGahan slept in the tent with Skobeleff and Kipling rode with Roberts, have passed.
Now, with every army the correspondent is as popular as a floating mine, as welcome as the man dropping bombs from an air-ship.

The hand of every one is against him.