Rhymes of the Rookies | Page 5

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