Rhymes of the Rookies Part 11

"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 a.s.s).

I took on in the Army--and now I'm cutting gra.s.s.

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 cla.s.s, But since I joined the Army, I am simply cutting gra.s.s.

I get up in the morning to the sound of martial strain.

The sergeant says: "Go get that scythe and sharpen it again.

The gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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 "ma.s.s."

But all we learn with Uncle Sam is gra.s.s, gra.s.s, GRa.s.s!

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 G.o.d, 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.