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diff --git a/old/13886.txt b/old/13886.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e53af9c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13886.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3412 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rhymes of the Rookies, by W. E. Christian + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Rhymes of the Rookies + +Author: W. E. Christian + +Release Date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13886] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES + +Sunny Side of Soldier Service + +by + +W. E. CHRISTIAN + +1917 + + + + + + + + To the Colors + + Here's to the Red of the Firing Line; + Here's to a World White-Free; + Here's to the Blue of the Yankee Sign; + Here's to Liberty! + + --W. E. C + + + + + To + + THEODORE ROOSEVELT + Colonel of the Rough Riders + + Who, more than any other one man + gives out + The Spirit and the Meaning + of the + AMERICAN SOLDIER + + + + + CONTENTS + + MY BUNKIE + OUR OFFICERS + PAY DAY + THE ARMY GROUCH + WEANING TIME + "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA" + THE HIKE + A-B-C OF ARMY LIFE + A SOLDIER'S PRIMER + THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE + A MARINE'S HYMN + HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH + HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES + THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG + THE CAVALRY SONG + THE RED GUIDON + THE CONSCRIPT + THE SLACKER + PREPAREDNESS + "BEANS" + ADVICE + THE SCENT OF THE COCOA + MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS + GARRISON LIFE + THE PHILIPPINITIS + THE EAST IS A-CALLING + TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE CORPORAL OF THE GUARD + GENERAL ORDERS OF THE KITCHEN POLICE + IS HE A SOREHEAD? + FUNSTON + YEAR 2016 IN CHIHUAHUA + WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO + OLD BALDY + "KAISER BILL" + THE RAW RECRUIT + SERVING IN TEXAS + O'REILLY'S GONE TO HELL + ON THE "BORDER" + ROUTINE + THE UNIFORM + IN THE COLD GRAY DAWN OF THE MORNING AFTER + THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POSTER + ARMY FEVER + ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN + LITTLE THINGS + SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE + QUEEN OF MAY + A YOUNG ROOKIE'S LAMENT + DANNY DEEVER BALLAD + PUZZY LAPPINS + A CYNIC'S VIEW OF ARMY LIFE + THE SONG OF THE SHOVEL AND THE PICK + + ARMY SLANG + ENGLISH ARMY SLANG + WORDS TO THE ARMY TRUMPET CALLS + FIRST AID IN CASE OF ACCIDENTS + FRENCH MONEY + ENGLISH MONEY + + + + + + MY BUNKIE + + He's mostly gnarls and freckles and tan, + He'd surely come under society's ban, + He's a swearin', fightin' cavalryman, + But--he's my bunkie. + + He's weathered the winds of the Western waste. + (You, gentle Christian, would call him debased) + And he's loved at his ease and married in haste, + Has my bunkie. + + In a Philippine paddy he's slept in the rain, + When he's drunk rotten booze that drives you insane, + And he's often court-martialed--yes, over again, + Is my bunkie. + + He's been on the booze the whole blooming night, + To mount guard next morning most awfully tight, + Though he's "dressed" like a soldier when given "Guide Right," + He's my bunkie. + + He doesn't know Browning or Ibsen or Keats, + But he knows mighty well when the other man cheats + And he licks him and makes him the laugh of the streets, + Does my bunkie. + + He stands by and cheers when I'm having fun, + And when it is over says, "Pretty well done," + But he takes a large hand if they rush two to one, + For--he's my bunkie. + + When Taps has blown and all the troop is asleep, + We nudge each other and gingerly creep, + To where the shadows hang heavy and deep, + I and my bunkie. + + And then when the fire-flies flittering roam, + We sit close together out there in the gloam, + And talk about things appertaining to home, + I and my bunkie. + + If the slow tropic fever is a-shaking my spine, + And they blow "boots and saddles" to chase the brown swine, + He'll give me a leg-up and ride me in line, + Will my bunkie. + + And if I get hit--his arm goes around, + And raises me tenderly off of the ground, + And the words on his lips are a comforting sound, + The words of my bunkie. + + + + OUR OFFICERS + + I'm goin' to be discharged, sir; + My time is near its close, + I want to tell you, cap'en, + You're the best the country grows. + They ain't no man in all the world + Can beat the army man, + That wears the shiny leggins and + That does the best he can. + + I've seen them, sir, in battle + With the bullets flyin' round, + I've seen them lying wounded + With the blood-stains on the ground. + I've watched them when the fever + Was a-ragin' in the camp, + I've seen them nurse the cholera-- + A-wrestling with the cramp. + + I've seen them pin to that ol' flag + Another glory more, + That made the stripes look brighter + Than they ever did before. + They weren't winning V.C.'s, either, + But because the country said + For them to go, they went. + They done it or they're dead. + + We've lots of men of this kind an' + Of course, we've some that ain't, + We'll cover up their faces + In the picture that we paint. + I'll follow men like you, sir; + You can't go too fast an' far, + You're officers and gentlemen + Like Congress says you are. + + I wish I could re-up, sir, + Till you get your silver stars, + I'm sure you'll do them credit, sir, + As you have done the bars. + I know I shouldn't talk so much, + But somehow I'm inclined, + On leavin' the old outfit + Just to speak the company's mind. + + + + PAY DAY + + Oh, it's early in the morning, + The mules begin to squeal, + You hear the cooks a'bangin' pans + To get the mornin' meal; + The Bugler, sort o' toodlin, + Outside the Colonel's tent, + And you kind o' feel downhearted, + 'Cause your last two bits is spent. + + With a leggin-string you're fussin' + When the band begins to play, + And you listen, and stop cussin',-- + What is that the bugles say? + Oh, it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day, + And the drums begin to roll, + And they sure do carry music + To the busted Johnnie's soul. + + Some think about the girls they'll get, + And some, about the beer; + Some say they'll send their money home, + And all begin to cheer. + The games will soon be goin' + Snap your fingers at the dice; + With the canteen spigots flowin' + 'Til the Barkeep's out of ice. + + For it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day; + Can't you hear the bugles call? + The privates and the Non-Coms, + The officers and all + Have been waitin', waitin', waiting + 'Til they're broke or badly bent + For the coins stacked up on blankets + And table in a tent. + + Fifteen dollars in the mornin' + By the evenin' in the hole; + And "Private Jones is absent, Sir." + When the Sergeant calls the roll. + The officers are lookin' up + The "Articles of War"; + There's sixteen in the guard-house, + And the Provost has some more. + + + + THE ARMY GROUCH + + When the Grouch gets up at reveille, + He puts his elbow on his knee; + His head upon his hand; + And tho' he's slept ten hours or more, + His back is weak, his feet are sore, + And he can hardly stand. + And, as he goes to get his chow, + He says, "By Gosh!--I don't see how + A soldier lives so long. + The spuds is rotten and the slum + Is always worse than on the bum. + The coffee is too strong. + That cow was killed ten years before + They organized this bloomin' war; + These flapjacks taste like wood." + And so he growls through all the day, + And fills his comrades with dismay; + They'd kill him if they could. + When "First Call" wakes up Billy Lott, + He sits upon his Army cot, + And whistles "Casey Jones," + And as he jumps into his shoes, + He says, "By Jinks I've had a snooze + That's good for skin and bones." + And Billy always has a smile + That you can see for half a mile, + And when he stops to say, 'How Do!' + He chases dimples to your cheeks + That stay there for a couple of weeks, + And he makes you happy too. + + + + WEANING TIME + + (To A. W. D.) + + Mothers, O, ye mothers of the land! + With broods of sisters, brothers--hand in hand-- + 'Tis weaning time. Clip ye the thread + That apron-strings the lad! Give him his head! + Pluck from your teat the clinging lip + That should be tight with valor's grip! + "You were my child-in-arms," she said; + "Suckled I you, and gave you bed; + But now you are my man, my son. + For battle lost or battle won, + Go, find your captain; take your gun, + To stand with France against the Hun! + Reck not that tears might wet your crib; + Nor fear my fondling of the bib + You wore--when you are gone. + Your mother will not be alone; + Her love-mate will be Duty Done: + Her nights will kiss that midnight sun. + If tears? They will be tears of Joy, + For having milked a man, my boy. + Farewell and live, heart of my heart. + God steel my soul! I bid you start! + He goes! + God knows + I idol him. And may no backward glance + Unheart me now. To France! To France! + Fair France of La Fayette's romance. + My man-in-arms advance, advance! + Take down your grand-sire's crimsoned lance! + For man-wide Freedom and for France!" + + + + "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA" + + We're off for France to make "Fritz" dance + To the tune of shot and shell. + We'll march right in to old Berlin, + And give the Kaiser hell. + + The French are right--they'll hold the fight, + And British "drives" are fine; + But Pershing's boys will find but toys + In the "Hindenberger" Line. + + We leave hearts dear--the coast we clear + For the ocean's wide expanse. + A submarine on the ocean seen + Will have but little chance. + + The cause is just--yet more we trust-- + For the Honor debt we owe + Can ne'er be paid. 'Twas the timely aid + Of the Frenchman long ago. + + For Lafayette is with us yet, + Still held in memory dear. + Our hearts now burn to give return, + While his name we all revere. + + Oh! we're off to France--we want a chance + At the ecstatic thrill + Of being there to have a share + In the funeral of "Kaiser Bill." + + + + THE HIKE + + The orders are, "Prepare to hike!" + So pack your war bag. Hit the pike. + Throw back your shoulders--keep the step, + For this is where we get the pep. + + "Prepare to hike," the orders are. + And don't you dare to ask how far. + We'll get what's coming, don't you see? + So what's the odds to you and me? + + Prepare to hike! Roll up your kit. + Strap on equipment. Hit the Grit + Your corns will ripen on the road,-- + Just pare them down when taps are "blowed." + + We're billed to hike--the bugles blow. + "'Tis column right" and off you go. + Civilians watch as we pass by-- + We watch the girlies wink the eye. + + Prepardness is the slogan now, + And rumor says there'll be a row-- + A real one on the Western Front. + We're drilling for this special stunt. + + Prepare to hike! Get in the game. + Your feet get sore, but don't go lame, + Just set your jaws, with stiffened lip, + And hold the lines with sand and "zip." + + War may be "Hell." So let it be. + Yet, must be fought, if liberty + Is still to reign upon her throne,-- + Else all is lost. The best is gone. + + Prepare to hike! Once more I say. + Round out your muscles for the fray. + Life's not worth living any more, + Should Teuton force invade our shore. + + + + A-B-C-OF ARMY LIFE + + A is the ARMY, + With its shot, and its shell, + B is the BATTLE + That makes the War, Hell. + C is the CAVALRY, + Dashing and Bold, + D is the "DOUGHBOY," + Whom the trenches must hold; + E, ENGINEER, + Who lays out the plot, + F the "FIRST AID," + With stretcher and cot; + G is the "GUARD," + Our "Border-Patrol"-- + H is HEADQUARTERS, + The high-ranking role. + I is the INFANTRY, + That's hot on the Hike, + J is JAW-BONE, + Oh, "Pay-as-you-like"; + K is the KITCHEN, + Where they turn out the "stew," + L is LANCE-CORPORAL. + Who ranks just a few; + M is the MESS, + Where the rations are served, + N is "NON-COM," + Whose "Stripes" are deserved; + O is the OFFICER, + "Spick and so span," + P is the PRISONER, + Who's "under the ban," + Q is the QUARTERS, + With "lights out at Taps," + R is the ROOKIE, + Whom everyone raps, + S is the SERGEANT, + Who keeps 'em in line, + T is TATTOO, + Three-quarters past nine, + U is the UNIFORM, + Buttons so bright, + V is the VOLLEY, + That settles the Fight; + W the WAGON, + With "four Army mules," + X the eX-soldier, + Whose ardor now cools, + Y is the YOUNGSTER, + Just out of the "Point," + Z--can't you tell + This line's out-of-joint? + + + + A SOLDIERS PRIMER + + A man, a hat, a blouse, a gun, + Call this a soldier just for fun. + A dog tent, blanket, candle, match, + His home is built with rare dispatch; + With hard tack, bacon, army beans, + Army life is not what it seems. + A damp cold night, aching head, + The next day fever-soldier dead. + The story is brief (we know it well), + And plain is moral--"War is Hell." + + + + THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE + + When I was young I said to myself, + Choose a career and start after the pelf, + Early to bed and early to rise, + You're sure to get wealthy and awfully wise, + So I started out to look around, + But nice fat jobs weren't easily found. + + However, while taking a walk down the street, + A bright colored poster my eyes did greet, + "Young Men Wanted." I said, "That's me," + And stepped up closer so I could see. + "Join the Army and see the World," + My fingers around my last dollar were curled. + + So I went around where they hung out the flag. + But that 7-year hitch made my interest lag. + They explained it, however, and made it quite plain + That to join the Army would be my gain. + So here I am in the damn Philippines, + They feed me nothing but bacon and beans. + + The land of the goo-goo is no place for me, + The reason porque is easy to see. + I never was strong for bugs and lizards, + Or the amoebic bug that tickles your gizzards. + I have a reverse on fleas and snakes, + And I hate the noise the Gekko makes. + + I have three square feet of prickly heat, + And some dhobie itch that can't be beat, + I've had the dengue and also the fever, + Of all diseases I've been the receiver. + I'm bitten by all that's invented to bite us, + At the end of the year I'll have Philippinitis. + + A long centipede just crawled in my bunk, + This tropical service is certainly punk, + Not a chance in the world to go over the hill, + And half my time is spent in the mill. + But why should I worry, I'll soon be free. + A "G. C. M." does the trick for me. + + + + A MARINE'S HYMN + + From the Halls of Montezuma, + To the shores of Tripoli, + We fight our country's battles + On the land as on the sea. + First to fight for right and freedom + And to keep our honor clean, + We are proud to claim the title + Of United States Marine. + + From the Pest Hole of Cavite + To the ditch at Panama, + You will find them very needy + Of Marines--that's what we are; + We're watch dogs of a pile of coal + Or we dig a magazine, + Tho' he lends a hand at every job, + Who would not be a Marine? + + Our flag's unfurled to every breeze + From dawn to setting sun, + We have fought in every clime or place + Where we could take a gun; + In the snow of far off northern lands + And in sunny tropic scenes, + You will find us always on the job-- + The United States Marines. + + Here's health to you and to our corps + Which we are proud to serve, + In many a strife we have fought for life + And never lost our nerve; + If the army and the navy + Ever look on heaven's scenes, + They will find the streets are guarded by + The United States Marines. + + + + HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH! + + (_A toast by an officer at San Antonio banquet_.) + + Here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," + A "Colt" that has just been foaled; + Bred with no "Past,"--but a Future, + Which Training and Time will unfold. + + This "Colt," with his milk-teeth gives promise + Of growing to be some fine horse, + And if we give him "right raising," + Be sure that he'll "come across." + + Our "Colt" is as "sound" and as "quiet" + As any old horse you will see, + And, as for his "fit conformation,"-- + That's just as fine as can be. + + Here's hoping that he gets good "grooming," + Good "grazing'"--good "stable"--good "stall;" + So when they sound "Boots and Saddles," + The "Colt" can answer their call. + + Here's hoping that he gets good "forage," + Well "watered"--with "all-fours" well cleaned; + And not have to patrol the hot Border,-- + At least,--until he is "weaned." + + We'll swear by this "Colt," who is "hoof-marked" + With the "16th Cavalry" brand; + And we'll warrant when he "cuts his molars," + He'll be as good as the best in the land. + + We'll see that he gets fearless riders, + Who are "kindly" and know every "aid;" + So if ever a battle is brewing, + He'll go to the "Charge" unafraid. + + He'll compare with all Cavalry horses, + No "I. C." marks for his neck; + Instead, upon his new brow-band + Resetted Blue Ribbons bedeck. + + No matter the "sire," no matter the "dam," + His "strain" is "pure-blood"--tho "unregistered" yet; + He'll "run in the money,"--when put to the test, + To "win in the stretch,"--on that you can bet. + + So here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," + The youngest of Cavalry "mounts;" + He hasn't a "Past" and a "Pedigree," + But 's "all-horse,"--and that is what counts! + + + + HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES + + (_From a Marine's Diary_) + + (A ONE-DAY HIKE) + + Rise and Shine, the bugle's calling! + Spring up lively from your beds! + Into line we'll soon be falling-- + Shake a leg, you sleepy heads! + + Better make a hasty toilet, + Like the other fellows do, + For I'll guarantee you'll spoil it, + Long before the day is thru! + + Better see the shoes you're wearing + Have a heavy pair of soles; + Or you'll do some awful swearing + When the rocks come thru the holes! + + Have your canteen filled and ready + Haversack swung on your belt, + Where it will swing good and steady + And its weight is scarcely felt! + + At your breakfast don't you hurry-- + Eat another dish of beans; + For you'll need it--don't you worry-- + Hiking in the Philippines! + + Up the dusty road we've started-- + Rout Step--walking at our ease; + Soon the even lines are parted-- + All are walking as they please. + + Long before the sun has ambled + O'er the green hills on our right, + Far along the road we've rambled + In the early morning light. + + Thru the narrow trail we're walking, + Sticking to the narrow path. + Just behind us some are talking, + 'Way ahead we hear a laugh. + + Now a slender bridge we're crossing, + Over to a "goo-goo" farm-- + Where a Carabao is tossing + Up his head, in great alarm. + + Here we stop to rest a trifle-- + Sip a drop from our canteens. + Gee! It's tough to "pack" a rifle-- + Hiking in the Philippines. + + 'Round the narrow path we're turning; + Tho it's early morning, yet. + Down the sun is fiercely burning-- + Bringing out the drops of sweat! + + Where the tropic trees are shading + Out the sunlight overhead + Leggings, shoes and all, we're wading + Thru a shallow river-bed. + + You can hear the bamboo cracking + Underneath our heavy tread, + While the forest trails we're tackling-- + Following, where we are lead. + + You have got to be a Hiker + To keep up with these Marines, + Not a big four-flush or piker-- + Hiking in the Philippines! + + Where the big mangoes are growing, + We have halted--Stacking Arms, + Far away, a rooster's crowing + On one of the native farms. + + Under branches of big palm trees, + We are resting easy now-- + Welcoming the cooling sea breeze + While we're waiting for our Chow. + + Plainest fare is a fiesta + When you've Hiked for half a day; + And a little noon siesta + Helps to pass the time away! + + Like a ribbon all unraveled + Starts the line at half past two, + There are new trails to be traveled + Back to old Olongapo! + + + + THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG + + 1. + + Fall in. Fall in. Attention, you red-legged mountaineers, + With your gun and pack and box of tack, "non-coms." and cannoneers, + Baptized in Mindanao, beside the Sulu Sea. + Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. + Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. + + 2. + + I'd rather be a soldier with a mule and mountain gun + Than a Knight of old with spurs of gold, a Roman, Greek or Hun, + For when there is trouble brewing they always send for me + To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery. + To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery. + + Here's to pack and aparejo, the cradle, gun trail, + And that darned old fool, the battery mule, that was never known to fail. + So raise your glasses high and drink this toast with me: + Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. + Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. + + + + THE CAVALRY SONG + + Come, listen unto this song, I'm as happy as can be, + I'm masher and dasher in the U. S. Cavalrie; + I stand up straight with legs apart; bowed slightly at the knee, + With folded arms across my chest, 'tis the pose of the Cavalrie. + + Chorus: + + So fill your glasses to the brim + And brace your courage with slow gin, + I will tell you all it is a sin + To serve in the Infantrie. + + I'm a cavalryman so fierce and bold, a soldier thru and thru, + I ride a horse because of course 'tis the proper thing to do. + I wear my spurs both night and day that every one may see. + Whatever else I might have been, I'm not in the Infantrie. + + We went to fight the China horde with sabre, horse and gun. + We'd meet them and we'd beat them just the way it should be done; + But we left our horses, corn and hay out on the ships in Taku Bay + And consequently had to stay while the dough boys hiked away. + + I'm a man of experience, I've been to Fort Monroe, + I've garrisoned Fort Hamilton and the Presidio. + I went out to the Philippines and in the Walled Citie. + I fought the Filipino War in the Coast Artillerie. + + Chorus: + + So make way for the red stripe man, + The pride of our armee + And let him tell the glories of + The Coast Artillerie. + + About another soldier man I'd like to say a word: + He's neither fish nor flesh nor fowl, but he is a bird, + He finds his way o'er foreign seas by sun and moon and star, + But he could not find his way across the Island of Samar. + + Chorus: + + So make way for the web-foot man + The good U. S. Marines. + They need four guides for every man, + Out in the Philippines. + + + + THE RED GUIDON + + Come, fill up your glasses. I'll give you a toast. + We'll drink to the red and the blue, + The first in the battle, the last from its post, + Old comrades so faithful and true. + Here's to friends who have passed o'er the last long divide, + Their spirit is still marching on, + As it did in the days when we marched side by side + As we followed the red guidon. + + Chorus: + + Then here's to the crossed cannons, they never will run, + The limber and rolling caisson, + The clank of the collar and rumble of gun + As we follow the red guidon. + + We've soldiered together, brave hearts ever true, + We've marched, we have fought and we've bled + For the dear old flag with its red, white and blue + That floats in the breeze overhead. + We've joked and we've laughed around the camp fire's red glare + From Cuba to distant Luzon, + As we told the old stories that drive away care + 'Neath the folds of the red guidon. + + Come, toss off your tankards, we'll drink long and deep, + Brave hearts ever gallant and true, + To friends who now rest in their long peaceful sleep, + Who once wore the red and blue. + We'll prove true in the future as they in the past, + Old comrades of gun and caisson; + We'll fight like true soldiers from first to the last + As we follow the red guidon. + + Chorus: + + Then here's to the crossed cannons, they never will run, + Here's the limber and rolling caisson, + The clank of the collar and rumble of gun + And Hurrah for the Red Guidon! + + + + THE CONSCRIPT + + "Life is real; life is earnest"--but a Gamble after all, + "Ten million Conscripts" are answering the Call; + Ten million men of which I am One-- + What were the "odds" when "the wheel was spun"? + What were the "odds" that Fate would select + Me for a Conscript--another reject? + Fate was the Gambler; I was a "chip," + Death was the "stake" held in Life's grip; + I am a Conscript played in Fate's hand, + When the Game's over--how will I stand? + Death, will it lose, or Life, will it win, + Who'll be the "winner" at the great "Cash-in"? + Ten million Conscripts to answer the Call, + And at the gusts, the leaves must fall: + With submarines launching torpedoes below, + Which troop ship to atoms are they to blow? + Ghosts of disease lurking in camp, + Spectral sickness in trenches so damp; + Ten million bullets ripping the air, + Which Conscript to be stricken, and when and where? + Ten million shrapnel shrieking o'er head, + Which Conscript to reckon among their dead? + Thousands of wounds, a-gaping and wide, + Who will recover, and who will have died? + Millions of mothers so anxious at home, + Who will wear crepe for loved ones, alone? + Millions of sweethearts who'll weep o'er the "lists," + Which lovers the lips ne'er more to be kissed? + All is a Gamble--this War-Game of Chance-- + The life of a Conscript over in France. + The "Roulette of Life" is spinning so fast, + The "red ball of Death" must drop in at last; + Which numbers will win, which numbers will lose, + The "odds" or the "evens," the "reds" or the "blues"? + Yet Hope is the "Banker" and He will repay + The chances that Conscripts must take in the fray; + And Fate's a Good sport, when "dealing the cards," + He'll give "Fifty-fifty" to Conscript for odds. + + + + THE SLACKER + + Why don't he volunteer to serve + In Uncle Sammy's grand reserve? + He knows quite well his country's call; + Has no regard for this, at all. + He never thinks to do his part, + Because he has a Slacker's heart. + + He walks along the street quite spry-- + To feign indifference he must try, + When suddenly he takes affright, + It's just a picture (what a sight) + Of Uncle Sam with pointing finger. + Take it from me! He doesn't linger. + + "Why don't you do it? do it quick!" + The Slacker's skull is very thick. + It never penetrates the gray, + What Uncle Sammy, has to say. + "I want you NOW!" Oh, what a Mutt. + The words fall on a brainless nut. + + He lied on registration day-- + Conscription's law he'll not obey. + He seeks the nuptial vows to take, + Or any other useless fake. + Whatever else, he'll never fight. + He has the Slacker's ear-marks right. + + Oh, what a useless, shameless pest, + A blot on human kind at best. + His feelings are for SELF alone. + He would not give a dog the bone. + Behold his attitude--his pose. + The Slacker's ring is in his nose. + + For country's call--for country's sake-- + For Liberty he will not stake + His bit, nor will he ever be + But half a man. Not he--not he. + His formula contains no sand-- + It's plain, he is the Slacker "Brand." + + A sneak--a snake--a cur--a blasted + Dirty rotten scourge, dodgasted + Coward, thief, and all the rest-- + Can't spell the name that suits the best. + There's just one place for such as he-- + Not on the earth--eternity. + + + + PREPAREDNESS + + I never had no warlike mind, + I b'long to the plowin' peaceful kind + Thet stays at home and works along, + Sun to sun--I'm good and strong--- + But, neighbor, let me speak my mind: + When my country sez to back her, + Sez I back: "Here ain't no slacker," + So walks up thar and signs the roll, + Come June the first, thirty-one year ole, + Now Uncle Sammy can call Bill Jones + Jest any ole time they say, + 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, + And jined the church today. + + I hates to leave the old home-folks, + They hates to see me go, + But I'd rather tote a rifle, + Than be shoulderin' a hoe. + When Uncle Sammy's needin' men-- + And needin' 'em so much, + I 'lows how he can call on Bill, + To help 'im lick them Dutch. + For preacher sez: "God will protect + Me out thar," so, then, by Heck! + I am all O.K. + 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, + And jined the church today. + + The paper 'lows the fightin's bad, + As awful as can be-- + Guns a-roarin'--blood a-flowin'-- + And boats belo' thet sea. + But I'm ready--and I ain't a-feered + To die--if they do git me. + 'Cause I ain't no skunking slacker, + If I am a "Georgia cracker," + And if I don't come home no more, + The wolf won't come to my house door, + I am goin' when they say, + 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, + And jined the church today. + + + + "BEANS" + + A dog there lived in many towns, + And he has wondrous wiles; + He travels in the Philippines, + And visits many isles. + + "Ubiquitous" should be his name, + He's seen so many scenes, + But all his soldier friends prefer + To call him simply: "Beans"! + + As a proper, first class passenger, + Is "Beans" name on ship's log; + You'd think his name was pedigreed-- + The way he "puts on dog"! + + Yet he is not a full blood pup, + But just a "yellow cur": + A "Nervy-Natty Gentleman"-- + With all his fuzzy fur. + + He chows awhile at Grande Isle; + And there he'll make a stay, + Until he tires of their mess; + Then promptly sails away. + + He'll take a boat down Subic Bay, + To far Olongapo, + And when things get monotonous, + Then "Beans" is prompt-to-go! + + He goes o'er to Corregidor, + And visits "C. A. C." + And if he don't like visiting-- + He merely sails the sea! + + He visits Fort McKinley, + And Cavite, too; + Now, where Beans has not been, forsooth, + I wish I only knew. + + I know that all the sailors, + And all the soldier men + Do call him "Beans," and love him + For he is their dandy friend. + + He wags his tail in greeting, + And barks at friends with joy; + But when his ship's a-sailing, + For Beans, it's Ship-A-hoy! + + So here's to "Beans" old "Sea-dog," + Who loves so well to roam; + I wish he'd try to settle down + And make our place his home. + + + + ADVICE + + Better start in soldiering and mind your P's and Q's, + Cut out going absent and ease up on the booze, + Don't kick because, you're on fatigue, but mind what you are about, + For the Summary Court will get you + if + you + don't + watch + out. + + Don't go a-missing reveille; and be in bed by check, + Don't buck against the captain, or you'll get it in the neck. + Be sure to turn out promptly when you hear the sergeant shout, + For the Summary Court will get you + if + you + don't + watch + out. + + Because you've got some service don't think you know it all, + You'll get your extras just the same if you should miss a call. + Take what they hand you weekly. Don't grumble, frown or pout. + For the Summary Court will get you + if + you + don't + watch + out. + + + + THE SCENT OF THE COCOA + + You have heard of the ancient incense; + Of the dew of Hermann you've read; + You have been told of the precious ointment + That poured down on Aaron's head; + But tell me--with all your knowledge, + Your theory, study and toil, + Have you heard of an equal or sequel + To the scent of the cocoanut oil? + + At first it is always repulsive, + Makes you gag and back off in despair; + But when you've got the scent of the cocoa, + Just a scent, a mere whiff in the air, + Then you're gone, boy, yes, and forever, + Where'er in this world you may roam; + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + You forget all the precepts of home. + + You forget those most noble teachings + Of fortitude, temperance and truth + When you once get the scent of the cocoa. + You're gone, boy, gone and forsooth + Though you try hard and strive to recover, + Pray to God and his angels as well, + If you've once got the scent of the cocoa + You're destined--your future is Hell. + + But why should you be predestined + By the scent of an innocent oil? + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + No more can you break from its toil + Than a gambler can break from his ventures, + The drunkard turn away from his rye. + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + The longing is there till you die. + + The great world at large doesn't know all, + The guilty ones seldom confess + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + Wafted up from the bright passing dress + That their thoughts are not those of angels + Sweet and pure as the dew of the rose, + That it's not just the scent of the cocoa + But the perquisite that with it goes. + + There are times when the righteous are doubtful, + There are times when no man doubts. + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + There's a man and his conscience at outs; + Reckless of moral destruction, + Fearless of anguish and pain, + When you once get the scent of the cocoa + 'Tis that scent that you long for again. + + One may part from the Orient gladly, + From its garlic and dhobie and goats; + But if he's once got the scent of the cocoa + As he sits and in reverie dotes,-- + His thoughts will revert to the eastward, + To the land of yellow and brown + And he sighs for the scent of the cocoa, + And the sight of a pina gown. + + + + MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS + + They, too, have heard the drum-beat, + They follow the bugle's call, + Those who are swift with pity + On the field where brave men fall. + + When the battle boom is silent + And the echoing thunder dies, + They haste to the plain, red sodden + With the blood of sacrifice. + + The flag that floats above them + Is marked with a crimson sign, + Pledge of a great compassion + And the rifted heart divine. + + And so they follow the bugle + And heed the drumbeat's call, + But their errand is one of pity:-- + They succor the men who fall. + + + + GARRISON LIFE + + I want to go home, wailed the private, + The sergeant and corporal the same, + For I'm tired of the camp and the hikin', + The grub and the rest of the game. + I'm willing to do all the fightin', + For that is a game two can play; + But I want to go home, for me goil's all alone, + An' I want to go home to-day. + + For I've marched 'til me throat was a-crackin', + 'Til crazed for the want of a drink, + I've drilled 'til me back was a-breakin', + An' I haven't had time to think. + And I've had me share of policin', + And guard and I'm tired of me lay; + For me goil's all alone, an' I want to go home, + An' I want to go home to-day. + + Do they heed us a-dying in garrison life? + They say it's the water and such, + We think that more apt it's the hikin', + For the life of a private ain't much; + But we know we can fight if we have to, + And they won't have to show us the way, + But me goil's all alone, an' I want to go home, + An' I want to go home to-day. + + + + THE PHILIPPINITIS + + My friend, have you heard of the town of Manila, + On the banks of the Pasig River, + Where blooms the wait-awhile flower fair, + And the "some time other" scents the air, + And the soft-go-easy grow? + It lies in the Valley of What's-the-use, + In the province of Let-her-slide. + That old tired feeling is native there, + It's the home of the listless I don't care. + Where the Put-it-off abide. + + + + THE EAST IS A'CALLING + + They say that the East is alluring; + The balmy green isles of the sea. + But with all their wild splendor assuring, + They have no fascination for me. + + I camped with the boys at Siassi, + Way down in that sequestered isle, + Where the garb of a primitive lassie, + Was naught save a gee string and smile. + + I hiked o'er the hog trails of Jolo, + In the blistering rays of the suns, + As the wild savage wielding his bolo, + Fell beneath the onslaught of our guns. + + With a cartridge belt, rifle and knapsack, + I tramped through the wooded ravine, + On a ration of hard tack and bacon, + And a swig from a rusty canteen. + + In Mindanao island so dreary, + From Malabang to Hawaiian hill, + Ever faithful though footsore and weary, + I shouldered my Krag for the drill. + + On the outpost when night darkened o'er us + A lone vigil I kept through the rain, + And watched for the bloodthirsty Moros, + That prowled through the desolate cayan. + + I have seen the half clad Filipino, + In his nipa thatched shack in Luzon, + Dispensing the tuba and bino, + Amidst our gay laughter and song. + + At eve the brown-hued senoritas, + Strolled leisurely over the green, + In hobbles and gaudy camisas, + Their more loving than handsome queens, + + They may say the East is a'calling, + The picturesque isles of the sea, + But with all their wild splendor enthralling, + They have no fascination for me. + + + + TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE CORPORAL OF THE GUARD + + If number one you are walking, + And to a comrade talking, + While around the country gawking, + Keeping neither watch nor ward, + And an officer unsaluted, + Swears at you with voice polluted, + Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard. + + If you are at the bridge of Spain, + And a foreign lady vain-- + While a native with a rein + Jerks the skinny pony hard, + When to her aid you'll turn, + Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard. + + If on the Escolta posted, + And the sun your back has roasted, + And rebel chieftain boasted + As he handed you his card-- + That he soon would clean you out + And put your Dewey's fleet to rout, + Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard. + + If to the canteen you are sent, + And your frame with thirst is rent, + And your spirits drooped and bent, + And the soldiers and the sailors bottle-crazed-- + All are drinking fizzes cool, + Do not rave and act the fool, + Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard. + + If you should a bottle get, + No matter on which beat, + Or a morsel sweet to eat, + In the dreary times so hard; + You will find a friend to share it-- + Call promptly for the Corporal of the Guard. + + + +GENERAL ORDERS OF THE KITCHEN POLICE + +My General Orders are: + +1. To take charge of these spuds and all gravy in view. + +2. Dish slum in a military manner; keeping on the alert +and observing all meat balls that go within sight or hearing. + +3. To report any private or non-com who asks for thirds. + +4. To receive, transmit and obey all orders from and allow +myself to be relieved by the Mess Sergeant, first and second +cooks only. + +5. To quit the coffee only when properly relieved. + +6. To repeat all calls for "seconds" from the dining room. + +7. To hold conversation with no one who asks for onions. + +8. To allow no one to pass the cooks tobacco or booze. + +9. To salute all slum not incased in an overcoat. + +10. In any case not covered by instructions call the first cook. + +11. In case of fire take out the ashes and get a bucket of coal. + +12. Between reveille and retreat turn out the cook and the +cook's police for all objects found in the slum, such as +bedbugs, lizards, cockroaches, snakes and other insects not +on the bill of fare. + + BY ORDER OF GENERAL R. U. HUNGRY: + Peelem Spud, + Commanding Kitchen Police Brigade. + + OFFICIAL: + O. U. Meatball, + Major, 3rd Cook Corps, + Brigade Adjutant. + + + + IS HE A SOREHEAD? + + You've heard of the famous six hundred, + who at Balaklava fell; + Who charged like death's avengers straight + into the mouth of hell. + But there's deeds unsung, unheard of; + brave deeds gone by unseen, + Just listen to the tale of a soldier, told in + ought thirteen. + + Part of the Colonial Army for duty in the + Philippine group. + If I had the gink that sent me I sure would + make him loop the loop. + Our valor is tested daily. We fight the + mosquitos and heat. + The country is fine for a Gu-Gu, but I long + for old Market Street. + + The hiking is fine for a soldier, you fill up + on dust on the road, + And to eat on a dusty stomach makes you + feel like any toad. + You may talk of a seven-year enlistment, + God help me get this one in, + When you do one on the Archipelago, + you will never be free from sin. + + They work you from morning till evening. + They've got you, there's no pulling out. + Can you blame us for drinking, old timer, + no chance, here's to you, old scout. + Our troubles may be all imaginary and + caused by too much sun, + But how much imagining is called for in + the war games they play for fun. + + I try to do all they require me, but, God, + who can do all that? + The man is not made who can obey all + orders of a man with a gold cord on his hat. + Some are better than others, they don't + feel the polish and such, + But I've learned my lesson--they'll get + you in dutch. + + Don't think for a minute I'm a sorehead + because I am in for bob, + My muscles shure got hard in the army; + I can d----! easy get a job. + And if some time, in the future, I would + hate someone to think me a friend, + I'll advise him to enlist in the army, good + night, I know that sure is his end. + + + + FUNSTON + + Never any style about him, + Not imposing on parade, + Couldn't make him look heroic, + With no end of golden braid. + Figure sort o' stout and dumpy, + Hair and whiskers kind of red, + But he's always moving forward, + When there's trouble on ahead. + Five foot five, of nerve and daring, + Eyes pale blue, and steely bright, + Not afraid of man or devil, + That is Funston in a fight. + + Fighting since he learned to toddle, + Soldier since he got his growth, + Knows the Spaniard and the savage, + For he's fought and licked 'em both, + Not much figure in the ball room, + Not much hand at breaking hearts, + Rotten ringer for Apollo, + But right thing when something starts; + Just a bunch of brains and muscles, + But you always feel somehow + That he'll get what he goes after, + When he mixes in a row. + + Weyler found out all about him, + Set a price upon his head; + Aguinaldo's crafty warriors + Nearly filled him full of lead. + Yellow men and yellow fever, + Tried to cut off his career; + But since he first hit the war trail, + He has never slipped a year. + And the heart of all the nation + Gives a patriotic throb, + At the news that Kansas Funston + Has again gone on the job. + + + + YEAR 2016 IN CHIHUAHUA + + Through the mesquite in old Chihuahua, + Aimlessly one day I strode, + Till I chanced upon a figure + Standing silent in the road. + Such an odd, ungainly figure! + I stopped, then staggered back, + Thinking it an ancient spirit + That had wandered from its track. + + A campaign hat was on his head, + With strap beneath his chin, + On his legs some battered leggins, + And his shoes were old and thin. + On his shoulder was a musket, + Red with the rust of years, + Like himself, the whole equipment, + Seemed to justify my fears. + + "What masquerade is this"? said I, + Though my breath came quick and short, + Then he, from force of habit, + Brought his rifle to a port. + "Long years ago," he answered, + In a mild and patient tone, + "There was trouble in Chihuahua, + Where Villa used to roam. + + "When I left the States for Mexico, + With the Regular Cavalry, + We numbered several thousand, + Young, healthy, strong and free. + All the others,--they are sleeping + On the hillside over there, + Far from home and loving kindred + And the native country dear. + + "Perhaps twenty died from sickness, + Victims of the fever's rage, + Or amoebic dysentery, + All the rest,--from ripe old age! + I'm the last of all those thousands, + Through this place I still must roam, + Waiting for expected orders-- + Welcome orders to go HOME." + + + + WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO + + When I've served out this enlistment, + And my time in the Reserves, + Why, I am going to treat yours truly + To the treat that he deserves. + For I am tired chasing Villa, + In this God-forsaken land, + When there's nothing much but cactus + And the useless miles of sand. + + Where the Rio Grande is flowing, + By El Paso near Fort Bliss, + There's a little girl worth knowin', + And she's a'savin' me a kiss. + Oh, I met her once a'walking, + With red corals in her hair; + + Where the greasers sit a'talking, + In the little public square. + There's real food there; white women; + Most things a man could want; + And a pool to go in swimmin' + And a Chinese restaurant; + Where, across the hot Chop Suey; + If you give the Chink a wink, + He'll produce a little teapot, + Full of something good to drink. + + Oh, I'm tired of Cactus whiskey, + That they stop the trucks to sell; + For one bottle's mighty risky, + And two starts a man for hell. + And the first time that I'm able, + When they hand me my discharge, + Watch me lean across the table, + And say: "Bo, give me a drink of 'large.'" + + So good-bye, Adobe ladies; + My regards to Uncle Sam; + Let old Pancho go to Hades; + Adios to Col. Dublan! + They can't bind me with a lasso, + Once this little Doughboy's free; + There's a girl right in El Paso, + That I'm bound he's going to see. + + For she's waitin', my Anita; + In the Plaza, in the Square; + Where the little fenced-in fountain + Throws its water in the air; + Where the old pet alligator stays, + And winks his knowin' eye, + And says, "Patience, Senorita," + He'll be with you by an' by. + + + + OLD BALDY + + The "Black Eagle" said, "I think it but fair, + That I should be ruler of both land and air, + And have all the other birds under my reign. + How great I shall be over such a domain." + + The others protested, saying, "This you can't do; + We'll never submit to a swell-head like you. + Before we'll come under your despotic rod, + We'll fight to the very last drop of our blood." + + But the "Black Eagle" answered: "I'll have what I wish; + I'll pay you for suckers, and catch a big fish; + I'll clip your wings off with a big pair of shears + That I have been grinding, the last forty years. + + "I'll hook my big talons right into your breast, + And get a wild 'Turkey' to help do the rest. + We'll pluck that fine plumage all off from your back; + And you'll find desolation the brand of my track." + + And so the fight started. It waxed fierce and long; + And proved the "Black Eagle" unusually strong. + With three years of fighting, he still was intact, + And seemed to be victor--in fight and in fact. + + But at this very moment of luck for the "Black," + A venerable eagle flew into his track. + He was gray, he was bald, he was ancient as well; + And just where he came from, there's no use to tell. + + This "Bald-headed Eagle" was hailed with delight, + When the other birds saw he was going to fight; + But when they beheld the tactics employed, + By "Baldy the Great One," they were overjoyed. + + For he hooked his curved bill in the top of the head + Of "Old Blackey the Terror," then quietly said: + "Just watch my talons clip up to his throat. + With one still free, I will pick this old bloat." + + The struggle was fierce, and the feathers flew high; + The "Black One's" fine plumage came off rapidly; + "Old Baldy's" quick work, and to make good his word, + Left nary a feather stick on the Black bird. + + The fight at last ended; the "Black" gave it up, + With "Baldy" victorious, awarded the cup; + But the "Black One" was stripped of all honor and fame. + Has a place in this world with a dishonored name. + + It may be a fable, but history records + This defeat of the "Fowl of Great Boasting Words." + How the "Prussian Black Eagle" that thought he could scratch, + Found in "Old Baldy" far more than his match. + + + + "KAISER BILL" + + There's a Guy across the Sea, + And the "Devil's own" is he. + Death! Destruction! Misery! + That's the Kaiser. + Don't you fancy he's a fool. + Satan ne'er had such a tool-- + Whether demon, fiend or ghoul + As the Kaiser. + + At the bottom of the ocean + Lie the victims of his notion. + Bathes in human blood for lotion + Does the Kaiser. + While his Teuton Choir sings, + In the military rings, + Of the "Divine Right of Kings." + Kaiser Bill. + + Kinder erst, und den de vimmen-- + Shood dem ub vile dey is schwimmen, + Den you gif der men a trimmen, + Kaiser Bill. + For der voorit must pe mine own, + So I'll pe der King alone, + Mit a unifersal throne + Kaiser Bill. + + But we'll toss you out the tip, + (Though the censor seal the lip) + That he'll soon be "on the hip"-- + Will the Kaiser. + For his submarines are sinking, + And his men in trenches, stinking, + While the Western world is linking + 'Gainst the Kaiser. + + He'll be picked up in a basket, + With a U-Boat for a casket, + And a name plate, if he ask it. + "KAISER BILL." + Then "submerge" in kerosene, + Kept in memory ever green + As the profligate, obscene + Kaiser Bill. + + + + THE RAW RECRUIT + + Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: + Be gob, ye're a bad 'un; + Now turn out your toes; + Yer belt is unhookit + Yer cap is on crookit + Ye may not be dhrunk, + But be jabers, ye look it; + Wan-two! Wan-two! + Ye monkey faced devil, I'll jolly ye through! + Wan-two! Time! Mark! + Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Park. + + Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: + A saint it ud sadden + To dhrill such a mug; + Eyes front! ye baboon ye! + Chin up! ye gossoon, ye! + Ye've jaws like a goat-- + Halt! ye leather lipped loon, ye! + Wan-two! Wan-two! + Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you! + Wan-two! Time! Mark! + Ye've eyes like a bat, can ye see in the dark? + + Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: + Yer figger wants padd'n-- + Sure man, ye've no shape; + Behind ye yer shoulders + Stick out like two boulders; + Yer shins are as thin + As a pair of penholders; + Wan-two! Wan-two! + Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew! + Wan-two! Time! Mark! + I'm as dry as a dog--I can't spake but I bark! + + + + SERVING IN TEXAS + + To old Satan Texas was given + By the Lord who lives in Heaven, + And the Devil quoth "I've got what's needed + To make a good Hell," and he succeeded. + He put sharp thorns all over the trees, + And mixed up sand with millions of fleas; + He scattered tarantulas along the roads, + Puts thorns on cactus, and horns on toads. + He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers, + And put an addition to the rabbit's ears; + He put a little devil in the bronco steed, + And poisoned the feet of the centipede. + The rattlesnake bites, the scorpion stings, + The mosquitos delight with their, buzzing wings; + The sand burs prevail, and so do the ants, + And those who sit down, need half-soles in their pants. + The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten, + Too hot for the Devil and too hot for the men; + The wild boar roams thru the back chaparral, + 'Tis a hell of a place that he picked for a hell. + + + + O'REILLY'S GONE TO HELL + + O'Reilly was a soldier man, the pride of Battery "B." + In all the blooming regiment no better man than he; + The ranking duty Non Com., he knew his business well, + But since he's tumbled down the pole, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. + + Chorus: + + O'Reilly's gone to Hell, since down the pole he fell. + They drank up all the bug juice the whiskey man would sell. + They ran him in the mill. They've got him in there still. + His bob tail's coming back by mail, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. + + + 2. + + O'Reilly hit the bottle after six years up the pole, + He blew himself at Casey's place and then went in the hole, + He drank with all the rookies and saved his face as well. + The whole outfit is on the bum, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. + + Chorus: + + + 3. + + O'Reilly swiped a blanket and shoved it up I hear; + He shoved it for a dollar and invested that in beer, + He licked a coffee cooler because he said he'd tell, + He's ten days absent without leave, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. + + Chorus: + + + 4. + + They'll try him by Court Martial, he'll never get a chance + To tell them how his mother died or some such song and dance. + He'll soon be in Company "Q" a-sleeping in a cell + A big red "P" stamped on his back, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. + + + + ON THE "BORDER" + + This is the Land + That God forgot. + Arizona. + This is the land + That the Devil be-got. + Arizona. + In respects, it's possibly + Better than Hell, + In Naco. + Hot air, mixed + With sulphur smell, + In Naco. + There every acre + Is desert sand, + To take the place + Of the "Brim-stone" Land. + In Hell. + Also, we have the Prickley-pear, + In Naco. + Sage-brush and cacti + That might compare + To pitch-forks. + But should you ask me + Where I'd dwell-- + Naco, or in that place below-- + Just three words + From my mouth would flow: + "Me for Hell." + Conditions are settled + Down in Hell; + While on the Border, + You never can tell. + Arizona! + Hell, yes! + No watchful waiting, + No peace at a price, + Like Naco. + The Devil's policy + Is firm and concise, + In Hell. + No friendly raids, + Nor Mexican strife; + Like Naco. + One's die is cast: + To boil for Life, + In Hell. + In case of trouble, + Of any kind,-- + The Devil acts + Without change of mind. + Naco--Hell. + Think of the wonderful + Peace Sublime, + In Hell. + I only wish + That peace were mine. + + + + ROUTINE + + (From a Marine's Diary.) + + 5:05 A. M.--FIRST CALL + I heard the First Call sound, and then-- + Just yawned and went to sleep again. + + 5:10 A. M.--REVEILLE + At Reveille I shook the dope, + Broke out a towel and a hunk of soap. + + 5:20 A. M.--ROLL CALL + My name rang out upon the air; + I hollered, "Here," for I was "there." + + 5:25 A. M.--SETTING-UP EXERCISE + Took exercise, without a rest; + I like the Breathing Movement best. + + 5:45 A. M.--CHOW + Oh, what a difference breakfast makes! + 'Twas Punk and Java, Dog and Cakes. + + 6:10 A. M.--FIRST CALL FOR DRILL + First call for Drill reminded me-- + I'll try the rear rank--"number three." + + 6:20 A. M.--DRILL + Street Riot Drill and Company square; + I nearly went up in the air. + + 7:20 A. M.--RECALL FROM DRILL + Recall was music to my ears; + I hadn't felt so tired for years. + + 8:00 A. M.--COLORS + The Guard turned out for Uncle Sam + And handed him the "Grand Salaam." + + 8:10 A. M.--SICK CALL + One fellow went to show his corn + For there's a Hike to-morrow morn. + + 8:20 A. M.--FIRST CALL FOR TROOP + I shaved and washed, then cleaned the Gat, + And had ten minutes left at that. + + 8:30 A. M.--TROOP + The Captain sized us up for fair, + But no kick comin' anywhere. + + 8:45 A. M.--GUARD MOUNT + Guard Mount, my name wasn't booked; + How is it I was overlooked? + + RESPITE + + No more calls to answer now + Til I hear them holler, "Chow" + For this is my easy day: + Guess I rate it anyway. + + 12:00 N--CHOW--LIBERTY + + Chow was the regular menu, + Spuds et cetera--carabao. + I heard "Liberty" when it went + But I didn't have a cent. + + 1:00 P. M.--POLICE + Glad I have no work today; + I'll turn in and hit the hay. + + AFTERNOON--NO CALLS + Woke up promptly, half past two; + Walked around Olongapo. + Came in--played a checker game; + Wrote a letter to my dame. + + 5:00 P. M.--CHOW + Supper surely was some class! + Steak and Onions--Apple "sass." + + 6:00 P. M.----COLORS + Six o'clock when colors went; + Guard turned out and gave "present." + + 8:30 P. M.--TATTOO + Came in early, took a shower, + Read a book for half an hour. + + 9:15 P. M.--CALL TO QUARTERS + Let down my Mosquito net-- + Puffed a Durham Cigarette. + + TAPS--P. M. + Safely in my bunk I curled + And was soon--dead to the World. + + + + THAT UNIFORM + + Tis strange, but yet 'tis true, we see + Sane men who seem to think that we, + Who wear the blue, are not the same + As other men. We have a name + Scarce thought of with respect; 'tis used + To frighten children, and abused + By those who only wish to show + A few of the many things they don't know. + + We read "the soldiers came to town + And raised particular ----," and so on down + A column or more of such vile stuff; + 'Twould make us all cry "Hold! Enough!" + You see, there's scarcely anything + To write about. While these things sting, + What's that to us? We may lose by it; + But the public's fed, ye gods, the diet. + + An old saw, which, perhaps, e'en you + Have heard, and some thought true, + Seems to have been forgotten, quite, + Or else we do not think it right. + Our fathers used to think that way, + But we are wiser (?) in our day. + Try to remember it, if you can, + Tis this: "The clothes don't make the man." + + Don't turn the soldier down. You may, + For aught you know, or others say, + Be entertaining, unawares, + An angel; and, if not, who cares? + For, be he good, bad, weak or strong, + 'Mid summer's sun or winter's storm, + You call on him to right your wrong, + Altho he wears a uniform. + + + + IN THE COLD GREY DAWN OF THE MORNING AFTER + + Bring me a dry Martini, waiter, + Chase in something that's wet, + I was out to a clam bake yesterday, + And I haven't got over it yet. + + Throw me a pleasant look, waiter, + Smile at me pretty, don't frown, + And pour some glue on my breakfast + So I can keep it down. + + I hear they have discovered the pole, waiter, + I wish I had it here now, + They can't come any too cold for me + To put on my aching brow. + + Many a schooner was wrecked last night, + And the waves ran mountain high. + Personally, I was soused to the gills, + But today I'm awfully dry. + + It was a terrible night at sea, waiter, + And many are missing, I think, + But as near as I can remember + I never missed a drink. + + The one in blue got my purse, waiter, + Her side-kick got my clock, + I don't want to know what time it is, + Please lead me down to the dock. + + Lead me down to the dock, waiter, + For a watery grave I pine, + The place for a man that is pickled + Is over my head in brine. + + Tell them in Olongapo, + I died as a hero should, + Up to the neck, in cold, cold suds + Guaranteed drawn from the wood. + + I'd like to leave you a gift, waiter, + Just to remember me by + And to show you that I'm not tight, + You can have my piece of pie. + + And after I sink in the water, waiter, + You'll do me a favor, I hope. + Tell them, if I blow up bubbles + It wasn't from eating soap. + + + + THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POSTER + + They told me that the Army was a joy for evermore; + They told me of the pleasures I'd have in it by the score; + They told me of its comforts and the jolly life I'd lead, + But by thunder they have fooled me and I'm sorrowful indeed-- + I ever joined the Army. + + They told me of the polished boots and the buttons bright I'd wear, + And of the splendid things I'd find upon the bill-of-fare; + But never a word they told me in the fine recruiting shop, + Of hoeing weeds upon the roads, or hauling out the slops-- + When I joined the Army. + + They told me of the pleasant hours, away from every care, + I could spend when not on duty, in town or anywhere; + But a thing they never told me is the punishment they'd mete + Out to a luckless rookie who went absent from retreat-- + In Uncle Samuel's Army. + + They told me of the canteen, where good lager beer is sold, + And of the fine post hospital, that cures all kinds of colds; + But a hint about the guard-house they never to me gave, + That skeleton they kept hidden as though buried in a grave-- + Until I joined the Army. + + They showed me good looking chromos of good looking soldier men, + With little V's upon their sleeves and hats they shone like tin; + But there is one uncanny picture they never to me showed + Of a soldier with a knapsack, and he hitting up the road-- + In the U. S. Army. + + They told me of the nice soft bunk, made out of woven wire, + Where I could lay my carcass, whenever my bones would tire; + But a whisper of the pick and shovel was never to me told, + So I'm pondering o'er my contract, and I think I was sold-- + When I came into Uncle's Army. + + They told me of the non-coms, who knew a soldier's worth, + Who made the Army jolly, a place of endless mirth; + But not a word they told me of the amount of beer I'd buy, + Just to keep a "stand in" with those that rank up high-- + In Sammy's splendid Army. + + They told me of the bill-of-fare that changed with every day, + And when landed in the Army for thirty years I'd stay; + But not a word they told me (No wonder they were mum), + About the stuff they feed us, commonly known as "Slum"-- + In our conquering Army. + + It is hinted that experience of all others is the school, + Where common sense alone is learned, by him that plays the fool; + And though I hate the medicine, I must take it with a will, + And keep convincing myself, it does me good-- + It's time to leave the Army. + + + + ARMY FEVER + + When your first hitch is over, and you have cashed your finals few, + And a breakfast and a boat ride are all that's left for you, + And you toy with your collar as you don your suit of "citz," + While your bunkie, sitting near you, has the bluest kind of fits; + You a-bubbling over with pleasure at the thoughts of going out; + The friends at home will welcome you, of that there's not a doubt; + And it never seems to strike you that you have made a beaten track, + In these years you've been a soldier--that you might come back. + So you hasten out as boat call goes--last call you have to stand-- + And you wave farewell to comrades as you push away from land. + First call for drill is sounding from the bugler's throat of gold, + But you are free--"don't have to stand no drill in heat or cold." + Altho' you get to wondering as things fade from sight, + If drilling really was so bad as walking post at night. + You think, of course, when first discharged, one feels just sort of sad; + But it's Army fever symptoms--And you've got 'em bad. + You're in business on the outside, and you're making good, it seems; + But the bugle keeps a-calling, and a-calling through your dreams. + Then some day you meet a soldier on a furlough for a week; + And you think it only friendly to go up to him and speak; + And you find you knew his brother, or his cousin, or his friend, + And your job upon the outside has found a sudden end; + For a longing fierce comes over you, and you cannot resist-- + It's the crisis of the fever--and you reenlist. + + + + ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN + + I've eaten funny dishes on Luzon's tropical shore, + I've eaten Japan's bamboo shoots and oysters by the score. + Of caviar I've had my share, I love anchovies, too, + And way down in old Mindanao I've eaten carabao; + Of Johnny Bull's old rare roast I nearly got the gout, + And with chums at Heidelberg I dined on sauerkraut; + In China I have eaten native rice and sipped their famous teas; + In Naples I, 'long with the rest, ate macaroni and cheese; + In Cuba where all things go slow, manana's their one wish; + I dined on things that had no names, but tasted strong with fish. + In Mexico the chili burnt the coating off my tongue; + And with Irish landlord I dined on pigs quite young, + Yet you may have your dishes that is served to kings and queens, + But I am happy and contented with a dish of Army Beans. + + + + LITTLE THINGS + + Little drops of water, + Little grains of sand + Make the mighty ocean + And the desert land. + + Little hours of drilling, + Little "rifle shoots" + Make efficient soldiers + Out of raw recruits. + + Little hours some spend in + Breaking liberty, + Oft' amount to something + More than E. P. D. + + Little words of kindness, + When you spare a few, + Sound all right to some one; + Do they not to you? + + + + SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE + + Sing-a-song-a-sixpence + Every-body dry-- + Half-a-dozen Privates + Opening some rye. + + When the rye was opened + The Bucks began to sing: + Every blessed one of them + Feeling like a king. + + The Sergeant at the Guard-house + Saw them walking straight-- + Marked them "Clean and Sober," + When they passed the gate. + + But, when Taps was over, + They sang and danced a jig, + Along came a Corporal + And slammed them in the Brig. + + + + QUEEN OF MAY + + If you wake, why, call me early--call me early, won't you, bunk? + The captain says I'll be a non-com., if I don't get on a drunk. + Then some day I'll be a sergeant with three stripes upon my arm, + Zig zag, like the old rail fences on Dad Posey's Country farm. + Call me early, though I'm dreaming, wake me up that I may see + How the sun that sinks in grandeur rises in obscurity. + I've been a private, bunkie, such as privates seldom are, + Borne my share of public censure, let it heal without a scar. + Till upon the fair escutcheon of my name and humble rank + Captain says he'll add the title and a stripe on either flank. + Then I'll be a non-com., bunkie, wake me up that I may see + My own glory bubble appearing, hear it burst at reveille. + Wake me early from my slumbers, henceforth I would early rise, + Health and wealth are common virtues--dawn will brand me both, and wise. + Bunkie, I'll be boss tomorrow, uniformed in blue and white, + Knew I'd get it, if the captain only did what's square and right. + But I will not chastise the comrades who may doubt my word is law, + I'll be easy with them, bunkie, patient, 'tho they feel no awe. + Bunkie, I'm growing sleepy; wake me when the morning breaks; + For upon the track of merit, I will land the non-com. stakes. + Let me hear the joyful clamor when I wake from pleasant dreams + That the fellows rise when greeting a noncom., who is what he seems. + Wake me early, bunkie, comrade, tell the fellows who I am, + Not forgetting all the favors I will do you when I can. + Tell them that I wouldn't have it, if it sacrificed their love, + Tell them that I'm the same as ever, though they think me far above. + Bunkie, I have dreamed so often of the buff that I shall wear, + That I feel the honor greater than a man like me can bear. + Long I've waited; long I've cherished thoughts of how I'd look and feel + When the captain said: Howard, here's a stripe to aid your zeal. + Then I'd be a non-com., bunkies, then I'd write to dad and say, + Modest-like: "A Corporal's greetings to his folks so far away!" + + + + A YOUNG ROOKIE'S LAMENT + + As I sit in the gleam of the camp fire, + 'Neath the Oriental skies, + In fancy I picture the homeland shore + And a town I highly prize; + It's Gardner, dear old Gardner, + A town so dear to me, + But I'm many miles away + Across an endless sea. + + I at the age of 17 was-- + Fickle as a clam + I took a train for Fitchburg + And joined old Uncle Sam. + They sent me on to Slocum, + And filled me up on beans. + They made me take a rifle + And a pair of khaki jeans. + + They sent me to the Philippines, + We call it no man's land. + We never see a flake of snow, + We bake our eggs in sand, + We hike o'er burning mountains + 'Til it drives us near insane, + We pitch our camp in a rice field + In a storm of drizzling rain. + + At night we walk our outpost + With a great big heavy gun + And 90 Dum-Dum bullets + To make the Moros run. + They're accurate as a weasel + And, boys, they never fan, + You have to keep your ears pricked up, + For they'll get you if they can. + + Now, boys, you may think Gardner slow, + But that notion you'll destroy + If you ever hold your hand up + To be a soldier boy. + You have no dear old Mother. + To mend your tattered pants, + When you stick yourself with a needle, + With rage you'll fairly prance. + + So, boys, I found my big mistake, + I was altogether wrong, + And that's the simple reason + I sing this little song. + So take a piece of fool's advice, + And never run away, + Just stay in dear old Gardner + Where life is bright and gay. + + + + DANNY DEEVER BALLAD + + "Where're all the soldiers goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, + "What are they all a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; + "I dunno where they're goin' to," said Files-on-Parade, + "I dunno what they're goin' to do," the Color Sergeant said. + For they're goin' back towards U. S. A. and leave the Philippines, + They're tirin' of the Islands and the Army "pork and beans," + That "single time," and "two per mile"--they all know what that means-- + So now they're all a'goin' to leave the Army. + + "Where is the 'Doughboy' goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, + "And what is he a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; + "Back to his farm! Back to his farm!" said Files-on-Parade, + "Behind the plow! Behind the plow," the Color Sergeant said. + No hiking o'er rice paddies,--but furrowed fields of corn, + To go to bed real early and get up in the morn', + To be his own "K. O." once more, in the country where he's born, + So soon he'll be a-quittin' of the Army. + + "Where is the Trooper goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, + "And what is he a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; + "Perhaps he'll pack an Army mule," said Files-on-Parade, + "Or go out West to 'cow-boy,'" the Color Sergeant said. + He's fond of his "caballo," and he loves his old "outfit," + And if they'd change those Army bills, he wouldn't ever quit, + But Chairman Hay, and others, have forced him into it. + So soon he'll be discharged from out the Army. + + "Where is the 'Gunner' goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, + "And what is he a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; + "He's goin' to be a 'jackie,'" said Files-on-Parade, + "A sailor lad a'fore the mast," the Color Sergeant said. + For he'd rather try the Navy, and draw a sailor's pay, + Than "single-time" in Jolo with three long years to stay, + Where there ain't no "two-cent mileage," while a'cruisin' across the Bay, + So now he'll soon be quittin' of the Army. + + "Where is the Army goin' to?" said Files-on-Parade, + "And what is it a'goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; + "The boys will soon have done their time," said Files-on-Parade, + "And few of 'em will 'hitch' again," the Color Sergeant said. + For the Transports bring one "rookie" to take the place of ten, + "Old Timers," who are goin' home, and won't "hitch" up again, + And they'll have a Rookie Army--instead of Soldier Men. + For they're breakin' up the Army in the Islands. + + + + PUZZY LAPPINS + + When a crude and hopeful rookie + To the Philippines I came + To hike the glorious pathway + On to shoulder straps and fame, + I thought of mother's counsel, + And I scorned the drunkard's cup, + But I landed on the sick report, + And that's what did me up. + + "You've been drinking," said the surgeon, + "You've been drinking on the sly. + You've been disobeying orders; + 'Tis useless to deny. + Let me tell you on the Q. T. + That I am going to mark you 'duty' + You've been drinking unboiled water + I can read it in your eye." + + I've a bunkie who is a restless dog, + And he doesn't care a fig, + So they marched him to the guard-house + And they made him do fatigue. + He's a gamblin', ramblin' rascal, + An all around jovial sport. + They had him up the other day + Before a summary court. + + "Charged with drinking," says the captain, + And he seemed to "wink an eye." + "For you could not stand temptation + And you drank when you was dry. + You are grinning, Private Brady, + And you will draw five less next pay-day, + And for drinking unboiled water + Don't forget I cinched you high." + + Since old Pharoah followed Moses, + And was followed by the sea, + Sergeant Potter's been a soldier + And 'til Gabriel's reveille + He'll be answering to the bugle call + At sunset, noon, and morn, + But he's got the Dengue fever, + And it makes him flush and worn. + + "You've been drinking unboiled water," + Says the captain, "that is why." + "No, the captain is mistaken," + Says the sergeant with a sigh. + "I never do drink water, + Though maybe at times I aught'er; + I never do drink water + When 'John Stink' and Tuba's nigh." + + The band it played a mournful tune; + The soldiers crowd around + As a comrade wrapped in Glory's flag + Is lowered in the ground. + There are three resounding volleys, + Taps die out in tender tones + And we're marching to the quick step + From the grave of Corporal Jones. + + "It was drinking," says the captain + As a tear was in his eye. + "It was all through drinking water + That the corporal came to die. + 'Twas the unboiled water that killed him, + With germs and things it filled him + But now he is drinking from the Jordan + Where we'll join him by and by." + + + + A CYNIC'S VIEW OF ARMY LIFE + + Once I was a farmer boy, a tiller of the soil, + I liked the work--I never was a chap to shirk from toil. + But I thought I'd choose a broader life (I must have been an ass). + I took on in the Army--and now I'm cutting grass. + + I thought my farm life narrow, for there my simple work + Was planting things and tending them, and this I did not shirk. + I'd charge of all the horses, too, and handled them first class, + But since I joined the Army, I am simply cutting grass. + + I get up in the morning to the sound of martial strain. + The sergeant says: "Go get that scythe and sharpen it again. + The grass has grown six inches, men, while we have been in bed, + So hustle, soldiers, hustle--don't let it get ahead." + + The Chief of Staff sits up above and wonders "wot fell?" + The money goes by millions, but the Army is a sell. + We privates, if we dared to, could easy hit the mark, + It's grass that takes up all our time from early dawn to dark. + + We all would like to soldier and get prepared for war; + It's what we left our happy homes and joined the Army for. + We'd like to learn our duties from "skirmish drill" to "mass." + But all we learn with Uncle Sam is grass, grass, GRASS! + + I hate the sight of anything that has a color green; + My disposition's ruined and I have a swoolen spleen. + And when my time to cash in comes, I pray a gracious God, + That I'll be buried out at sea--not placed beneath the sod. + + + + THE SONG OF THE SHOVEL AND THE PICK + + The Sergeant says: "My gun is rusty, + And I guess it must be right. + But you ought to see my pick and shovel; + They are always shining bright." + + Chorus: + + Farewell, Bunkie, I must leave you, + And leave you mighty quick + For I'll be d----d if I can soldier + With a shovel and a pick. + + There is hash that's hot, and hash that's cold; + There's hash that's new and hash that's old; + And Hash that's mixed into skilligbee; + But with me they don't agree. + + Chorus: + + So, Farewell, Bunkie, I must leave you, + And I leave you with a dash; + For I'll be d----d if I can soldier + On Uncle Samuel's corn beef hash. + + + + +ARMY SLANG + +B-ache--to complain. + +Beans--the commissary sergeant. + +Bean-shooter--a commissary officer. + +Belly-ache--to complain. + +Black strap--liquid coffee. + +Blind--sentenced by court-martial to forfeiture of pay without +confinement. + +Bob-Tail--a dishonorable discharge, or a discharge without honor; to be +"bobtailed"--to be discharged or to be given a discharge without honor. + +Bone--to study; to try; to cultivate. + +Bone bootlick on--to cultivate the favor of. + +Boots and Saddles--trumpet call. + +Bootlick--to flatter. + +Brig--guard-house. + +Bow-legs--cavalrymen. + +Buck-private--a term sometimes used in referring to a private. + +Bucking for Orderly--giving clothing and accoutrements extra cleaning +so as to compete for orderly. + +Bunkie--a soldier who shares the shelter of a comrade. + +Bust--to reduce a non-commissioned officer to the grade of a private. + +Butcher--the company barber. + +Canned Horse--canned beef. + +Chief--name by which the chief musician of the band is usually called +by the enlisted men. + +Cit--a civilian. + +Cits--civilian clothes. + +C. O.--commanding officer. + +Coffee Cooler--one who seeks easy details away from troops; one who is +always looking for an easy job. + +Cold-feet--fear, lack of courage (to have cold feet is to be afraid, to +lack courage). + +Commissaries--groceries. + +Crawl--to admonish. + +Dog-robber--name by which the enlisted men call a soldier who works for +an officer. (An offensive term, the use of which generally results in +trouble.) + +Dough-boy--infantryman. + +Dough-puncher--the baker. + +Down the Pole--to drink, after having stopped. + +Duff--any sweet edible. + +Fatigue--extra work. + +File--a number on the lineal list. + +Fogy--ten percent increase in pay for each five years' service. + +Found--to be found deficient or wanting in anything, especially an +examination. + +French leave--unauthorized absence. Absent on French leave--absent +without authority. + +Goat--junior officer in post, regiment, etc. + +Goaty--awkward, ignorant. + +Guard House Lawyer--a soldier with a smattering knowledge of +regulations and military law; quite loquacious and liberal with advice +and counsel to men in the Guard House or other trouble. + +Hand-Shaker--a soldier who tries to win the favor of first sergeant or +troop commander. + +Hardtack--hardbread, biscuits. + +Hash Mark--enlistment or service stripe, worn on sleeve. + +Hike--a march; to hike; to march. + +Hitch--a term for enlistment period. + +Hive--to discover, to catch. + +Hobo--the provost guard. + +Holy Joe--the chaplain. + +Hop--a dance. + +How--form of salutation in drinking, meaning "Here's to your health," +"My regards," etc. + +I. C.--condemned by an inspector. + +Jaw-bone--credit (to get things on "jawbone," is to buy on credit). + +Jump--to admonish. + +K. O.--the commanding officer. + +Major--name by which the sergeant-major is usually called by the +enlisted men. + +Mill--Guard-house. + +Mule-skinner--a teamster. + +Non-Com--non-commissioned officer. + +O. D.--the officer of the day. + +Officers Line, or Officers Row--the row of houses where the officers +and their families live. + +Old Issue--an old soldier. + +Old File--an old officer. + +Old Man--the company commander. + +On Official Terms--not to be on speaking terms except officially. + +On the Carpet--called before the commanding officer for admonition. + +Openers--cathartic pills. + +Orderly Buckle--a soldier when going on guard who strives by extra +neatness of appearance to be designated as orderly for the commanding +officer. + +Orderly Room--company office. + +Outfit--one's organization in the army. + +Over-the-Hill--to desert. + +P.--Prisoner. + +Pills--the hospital steward. + +Punk--light bread. + +Q. M.--the quartermaster. + +Q. M. D.--quartermaster's department. + +Ranked-out--to be compelled to vacate by a senior, as "to be ranked out +of quarters." + +Red-tape--official formality; that is, the close or excessive +observance of forms and routine in the transaction of business. + +Regimental Monkey--the drum major. + +Re-up--to re-enlist at once. + +Rookie--a new recruit. + +Sand-rat--an officer or soldier on duty in the rifle pit at target +practice. + +Saw-bone--the doctor. + +Shave-tail--a new second lieutenant. So called, after the young, +unbroken mules in the Quartermaster's Department. + +Shoved up--to pawn. + +Shutters--camphor or opium pills. + +Sinkers--dumplings. + +Sky-scout--the chaplain. + +Sky-pilot--the chaplain, + +Slap-Jacks--pan cakes. + +Slum--a stew of meat, potatoes and onions, mostly potatoes and onions. + +Soap Suds Row--the laundresses' quarters. + +Soldier, to--to soldier, to serve; also to shirk. + +Soldiers' One Per Cent--one hundred per cent. + +Sow-belly--bacon. + +Stars and Stripes--beans. + +Striker--a soldier who works for an officer. + +Take-on--to re-enlist before the expiration of three months after +discharge. + +The Old Man--term sometimes used by officers and soldiers in referring +to the commanding officer; sometimes used by soldiers in referring to +their company commander. + +To Take Another Blanket--same as "Take-on." + +Top Sergeant--first sergeant. + +Up the Pole--to swear off drinking. + +Yellow-leg--cavalryman. + +Youngster--a young officer (a first or second lieutenant). + +Wagon-soldier--light or field artilleryman. + +Wind-jammer--a trumpeter or bandsman. + +Wood-butcher--company artificer. + + + + +ENGLISH ARMY SLANG + +Gravel Crushers--infantry soldiers. + +Poultice Wallahs--Royal Army Medical Corps men. + +Doolally Tap--when a soldier becomes mentally unbalanced he is said to +have received the "Doolally Tap." "Doolally" is a corruption of the +name of an Indian town, Deolali. + +Bun Wallah--a soldier who drinks nothing stronger than tea, and is in +consequence supposed to eat voraciously of buns. + +Chips--the regimental pioneer sergeant, who is usually a sergeant. + +Lance Jack--a lance-corporal. + +Quarter Bloke--the quartermaster. + +Rookey--a recruit. + +Scrounger--a man with plenty of resource in getting what he wants. + +Yob--one who is easily fooled. + +Bobygee--a soldier cook. In India a native one. + +Baggies--sailors in the Navy. + +Badgy--an enlisted boy. + +Long-faced Chum--a cavalryman's term for his horse. + +Rooty--bread. + +Slingers--a meal of bread and tea. + +Muckin--butter. + +Bully Beef--the tinned meat ration. + +Lamping--eating heartily. + +C. B.--confined to barracks. + +Chucking a Dummy--when a man faints on parade he is said to "have +chucked a dummy." + +Clink or Mush--the guard room. + +Brief, Cheque or Ticket--discharge documents. + +Dock--a military hospital. + +Swinging the Lead--the equivalent of "telling the tale." + +Weighed off--when a soldier has been awarded punishment for an offense +he is said to have been "Weighed off." + +High Jump--an appearance before the C.O. to answer a charge of breaking +regulations. + +Lost His Number--a man is said to have "lost his (regimental) number" +when he is reported for any offense. It is "lost" because it is placed +on the report sheet. + +Stir--imprisonment in a detention barracks. + +Chancing His Arm--committing an offence in expectation that it will not +be discovered. A N.C.O. is said to be "chancing his arm" because he +may be deprived of his stripes. + +Jankers--defaulter's drill. + +Dog's Leg--the first stripe received on promotion. + +Bundook--a rifle. + +Bobtack--powder mixed into a paste to clean buttons and brass work on +equipment. + +Muck-in--share in. + +Square-Pushing--courting. Your best boots, cap, etc., are called +square-pushing boots, etc. + +Square-bit--your best girl. + +Atcha--all right. + +Blighty--home. + + + + +WORDS TO THE ARMY TRUMPET CALLS + +REVEILLE: + + I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't + get 'em up in the morning; + I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't + get 'em up at all; + Corp'rals worse than the privates; + Sergeants worse than the corporals; + Lieutenants worse than the sergeants, + And the capt'n's the worst of all. + + Chorus-- + + I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, etc. + + + + MESS CALL: + + Soup-y, soup-y soup, + Without a single bean. + Pork-y, pork-y, pork, + Without a streak of lean; + Coffee, Coffee, Coffee, + Without any cream! + (Or, the weakest ever seen!) + + + + SICK CALL: + + Come and get your quinine, come and get your pills, + Oh! come and get your quinine, come and get your pills. + + + + STABLE CALL: + + Come all who are able and go to the stable, + And water your horses and give 'em some corn; + For if you don't do it, the Col'nel will know it, + And then you will rue it, sure as you're born. + + + + TAPS: + + 1 2 + + Fades the light; Love, good night. + And afar When the day + Goeth day, Must thou go + Cometh night; And the night + And a star Day is done + Leadeth all, Leave me so? + Speedeth all Fare thee well; + To their rest. Night is on. + + + ANOTHER VERSION. + + When your last + Day is past, + From afar + Some bright star + O'er your grave + Watch will keep, + While you sleep + With the brave. + + + + +FIRST AID IN CASE OF ACCIDENTS + +The following hints are only intended as +a reminder to assist you when in doubt. + +TO STOP BLEEDING.--Place a pad of clean +cloth on the wound and bandage firmly. +Raise the part affected. If raising the limbs +or applying the pad does not control the +bleeding, compress with your two thumbs +over bone and as near the wound as +possible. Give no stimulants as long as +bleeding remains uncontrolled. + +BURNS AND SCALDS.--Exclude the part +from the air at once, by dusting flour on it +and covering with cotton wool. If there +is a blister do NOT pick it for 24 hours. + +Soothing applications are Carron Oil, +Salad Oil, Vaseline, Lard, etc. If there is +severe shock, give it immediate attention, +even before attending to the burn or scald. + +FRACTURES.--The two main classes of +fractures are simple and compound and the +first aid treatment you give is to prevent +the simple fracture from becoming the more +serious compound fracture, which has a +wound caused by the jagged end of the +broken bone. + +Attend to the patient on the spot, and fix +the injured limb, at once, by splints and +bandages. Use great gentleness. + +If there is a wound, cleanse it and +apply antiseptic dressing before putting limb +in splints. + +Disturb the limb as little as possible and +make the patient comfortable until arrival +of doctor. + +SNAKE BITES.--Tie something tightly +around the limb, between the wound and +the heart. Give patient a good dose of +brandy or some other spirit. + +Encourage the bleeding by squeezing the +bitten part and bathe with warm water. If +breathing is bad, use artificial respiration. + +POISONS.--In the first place endeavor to +find out the poison. If you cannot, and +there are no stains about mouth or lips and +no burning sensation in mouth and throat, +give an emetic or tickle throat to make +patient vomit. Emetics are: three-teaspoonfuls +of mustard in pint of tepid water; salt +and water, two tablespoonfuls to pint of +warm water. (See First Aid for Poisoning.) + +When there are stains, etc., give cream, +white of eggs, olive or linseed oil (no oil +with phosphorus poisoning). Antidotes to follow. + +GRIT IN THE EYE.--Do not rub the +injured eye. By rubbing the other eye you +will bring tears, which may wash the grit +out. If not, roll back the upper eyelid over +a match or pencil, and remove the grit with +the corner of your handkerchief or small +camel hair brush. + +If lime in eye, wash out at once with +water, then drop olive or castor oil between +the lids. + +Do not attempt to remove anything deeply +imbedded--drop in olive oil and bandage. + +FAINTING---The patient is very faint and +partially or completely unconscious. Pulse +is weak and rapid and breathing quickened. +No convulsions. + +Place the patient in a lying position with +the head lower than the rest of the body. +Loosen his clothing at neck and chest. Give +patient plenty of fresh air. Sprinkle face +and chest with cold water and apply smelling +salts to nose. Rub the limbs toward +body. Give stimulant when patient is able +to swallow. + +SPRAINS.--A sprain is the tearing of the +ligaments or capsule of a joint and +bursting of small blood vessels, and swelling. + +Apply cold water dressings as long as +they give comfort, and afterwards apply +hot fomentations. Rest the part in an easy +position. If movement of limb be essential, +bandage it tightly. If in doubt, treat +as a fracture. + + + + +[*]FRENCH MONEY + + 5 centimes (one sou) ......= 1 cent + 25 " ......= 5 cents + 50 " ......= 10 " + 1 franc ......= 20 " + 2 " ......= 40 " + 5 " ......= 1 dollar + + +ENGLISH MONEY + + Half Penny ...............= 1 cent + One " ...............= 2 cents + Three Pence ...............= 6 " + Six " ...............= 12 " + One Shilling...............= 24 " + Two " ...............= 48 " + Half a Crown + or + Two Shillings Six Pence .. = 60 " + Five Shillings ........... = $1.20 + Ten " ............. = 2.40 + 1 Pound .................. = 4.80 + +[*]French currency has depreciated since the war about 10 per cent., so +that ten per cent. deduction should be made for accurate reckoning. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 13886.txt or 13886.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13886 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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