Rhymes of the Rookies | Page 8

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:
0. To take charge of these spuds and all gravy in view.
0. Dish slum in a military manner; keeping on the alert and observing all
meat balls that go within sight or hearing.
0. To report any private or non-com who asks for thirds.
0. To receive, transmit and obey all orders from and allow myself to be
relieved by the Mess Sergeant, first and second cooks only.
0. To quit the coffee only when properly relieved.
0. To repeat all calls for "seconds" from the dining room.
0. To hold conversation with no one who asks for onions.
0. To allow no one to pass the cooks tobacco or booze.
0. To salute all slum not incased in an overcoat.

0. In any case not covered by instructions call the first cook.
0. In case of fire take out the ashes and get a bucket of coal.
0. 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,