Rhymes of the Rookies | Page 7

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