Rhymes of the Rookies Part 6

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 b.a.l.l.s 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 pa.s.s 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, c.o.c.kroaches, 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 h.e.l.l.

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, G.o.d 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, G.o.d, 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