The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rhymes of the Rookies: Sunny Side of Soldier Service This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Rhymes of the Rookies: Sunny Side of Soldier Service Author: W. E. Christian Release date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13886] Most recently updated: December 18, 2020 Language: English Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES: SUNNY SIDE OF SOLDIER SERVICE *** E-text prepared by Al Haines RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES Sunny Side of Soldier Service by W. E. CHRISTIAN 1917 To the Colors Here's to the Red of the Firing Line; Here's to a World White-Free; Here's to the Blue of the Yankee Sign; Here's to Liberty! --W. E. C To THEODORE ROOSEVELT Colonel of the Rough Riders Who, more than any other one man gives out The Spirit and the Meaning of the AMERICAN SOLDIER CONTENTS MY BUNKIE OUR OFFICERS PAY DAY THE ARMY GROUCH WEANING TIME "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA" THE HIKE A-B-C OF ARMY LIFE A SOLDIER'S PRIMER THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE A MARINE'S HYMN HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG THE CAVALRY SONG THE RED GUIDON THE CONSCRIPT THE SLACKER PREPAREDNESS "BEANS" ADVICE THE SCENT OF THE COCOA MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS GARRISON LIFE THE PHILIPPINITIS THE EAST IS A-CALLING TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE CORPORAL OF THE GUARD GENERAL ORDERS OF THE KITCHEN POLICE IS HE A SOREHEAD? FUNSTON YEAR 2016 IN CHIHUAHUA WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO OLD BALDY "KAISER BILL" THE RAW RECRUIT SERVING IN TEXAS O'REILLY'S GONE TO HELL ON THE "BORDER" ROUTINE THE UNIFORM IN THE COLD GRAY DAWN OF THE MORNING AFTER THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POSTER ARMY FEVER ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN LITTLE THINGS SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE QUEEN OF MAY A YOUNG ROOKIE'S LAMENT DANNY DEEVER BALLAD PUZZY LAPPINS A CYNIC'S VIEW OF ARMY LIFE THE SONG OF THE SHOVEL AND THE PICK ARMY SLANG ENGLISH ARMY SLANG WORDS TO THE ARMY TRUMPET CALLS FIRST AID IN CASE OF ACCIDENTS FRENCH MONEY ENGLISH MONEY MY BUNKIE He's mostly gnarls and freckles and tan, He'd surely come under society's ban, He's a swearin', fightin' cavalryman, But--he's my bunkie. He's weathered the winds of the Western waste. (You, gentle Christian, would call him debased) And he's loved at his ease and married in haste, Has my bunkie. In a Philippine paddy he's slept in the rain, When he's drunk rotten booze that drives you insane, And he's often court-martialed--yes, over again, Is my bunkie. He's been on the booze the whole blooming night, To mount guard next morning most awfully tight, Though he's "dressed" like a soldier when given "Guide Right," He's my bunkie. He doesn't know Browning or Ibsen or Keats, But he knows mighty well when the other man cheats And he licks him and makes him the laugh of the streets, Does my bunkie. He stands by and cheers when I'm having fun, And when it is over says, "Pretty well done," But he takes a large hand if they rush two to one, For--he's my bunkie. When Taps has blown and all the troop is asleep, We nudge each other and gingerly creep, To where the shadows hang heavy and deep, I and my bunkie. And then when the fire-flies flittering roam, We sit close together out there in the gloam, And talk about things appertaining to home, I and my bunkie. If the slow tropic fever is a-shaking my spine, And they blow "boots and saddles" to chase the brown swine, He'll give me a leg-up and ride me in line, Will my bunkie. And if I get hit--his arm goes around, And raises me tenderly off of the ground, And the words on his lips are a comforting sound, The words of my bunkie. OUR OFFICERS I'm goin' to be discharged, sir; My time is near its close, I want to tell you, cap'en, You're the best the country grows. They ain't no man in all the world Can beat the army man, That wears the shiny leggins and That does the best he can. I've seen them, sir, in battle With the bullets flyin' round, I've seen them lying wounded With the blood-stains on the ground. I've watched them when the fever Was a-ragin' in the camp, I've seen them nurse the cholera-- A-wrestling with the cramp. I've seen them pin to that ol' flag Another glory more, That made the stripes look brighter Than they ever did before. They weren't winning V.C.'s, either, But because the country said For them to go, they went. They done it or they're dead. We've lots of men of this kind an' Of course, we've some that ain't, We'll cover up their faces In the picture that we paint. I'll follow men like you, sir; You can't go too fast an' far, You're officers and gentlemen Like Congress says you are. I wish I could re-up, sir, Till you get your silver stars, I'm sure you'll do them credit, sir, As you have done the bars. I know I shouldn't talk so much, But somehow I'm inclined, On leavin' the old outfit Just to speak the company's mind. PAY DAY Oh, it's early in the morning, The mules begin to squeal, You hear the cooks a'bangin' pans To get the mornin' meal; The Bugler, sort o' toodlin, Outside the Colonel's tent, And you kind o' feel downhearted, 'Cause your last two bits is spent. With a leggin-string you're fussin' When the band begins to play, And you listen, and stop cussin',-- What is that the bugles say? Oh, it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day, And the drums begin to roll, And they sure do carry music To the busted Johnnie's soul. Some think about the girls they'll get, And some, about the beer; Some say they'll send their money home, And all begin to cheer. The games will soon be goin' Snap your fingers at the dice; With the canteen spigots flowin' 'Til the Barkeep's out of ice. For it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day; Can't you hear the bugles call? The privates and the Non-Coms, The officers and all Have been waitin', waitin', waiting 'Til they're broke or badly bent For the coins stacked up on blankets And table in a tent. Fifteen dollars in the mornin' By the evenin' in the hole; And "Private Jones is absent, Sir." When the Sergeant calls the roll. The officers are lookin' up The "Articles of War"; There's sixteen in the guard-house, And the Provost has some more. THE ARMY GROUCH When the Grouch gets up at reveille, He puts his elbow on his knee; His head upon his hand; And tho' he's slept ten hours or more, His back is weak, his feet are sore, And he can hardly stand. And, as he goes to get his chow, He says, "By Gosh!--I don't see how A soldier lives so long. The spuds is rotten and the slum Is always worse than on the bum. The coffee is too strong. That cow was killed ten years before They organized this bloomin' war; These flapjacks taste like wood." And so he growls through all the day, And fills his comrades with dismay; They'd kill him if they could. When "First Call" wakes up Billy Lott, He sits upon his Army cot, And whistles "Casey Jones," And as he jumps into his shoes, He says, "By Jinks I've had a snooze That's good for skin and bones." And Billy always has a smile That you can see for half a mile, And when he stops to say, 'How Do!' He chases dimples to your cheeks That stay there for a couple of weeks, And he makes you happy too. WEANING TIME (To A. W. D.) Mothers, O, ye mothers of the land! With broods of sisters, brothers--hand in hand-- 'Tis weaning time. Clip ye the thread That apron-strings the lad! Give him his head! Pluck from your teat the clinging lip That should be tight with valor's grip! "You were my child-in-arms," she said; "Suckled I you, and gave you bed; But now you are my man, my son. For battle lost or battle won, Go, find your captain; take your gun, To stand with France against the Hun! Reck not that tears might wet your crib; Nor fear my fondling of the bib You wore--when you are gone. Your mother will not be alone; Her love-mate will be Duty Done: Her nights will kiss that midnight sun. If tears? They will be tears of Joy, For having milked a man, my boy. Farewell and live, heart of my heart. God steel my soul! I bid you start! He goes! God knows I idol him. And may no backward glance Unheart me now. To France! To France! Fair France of La Fayette's romance. My man-in-arms advance, advance! Take down your grand-sire's crimsoned lance! For man-wide Freedom and for France!" "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA" We're off for France to make "Fritz" dance To the tune of shot and shell. We'll march right in to old Berlin, And give the Kaiser hell. The French are right--they'll hold the fight, And British "drives" are fine; But Pershing's boys will find but toys In the "Hindenberger" Line. We leave hearts dear--the coast we clear For the ocean's wide expanse. A submarine on the ocean seen Will have but little chance. The cause is just--yet more we trust-- For the Honor debt we owe Can ne'er be paid. 'Twas the timely aid Of the Frenchman long ago. For Lafayette is with us yet, Still held in memory dear. Our hearts now burn to give return, While his name we all revere. Oh! we're off to France--we want a chance At the ecstatic thrill Of being there to have a share In the funeral of "Kaiser Bill." THE HIKE The orders are, "Prepare to hike!" So pack your war bag. Hit the pike. Throw back your shoulders--keep the step, For this is where we get the pep. "Prepare to hike," the orders are. And don't you dare to ask how far. We'll get what's coming, don't you see? So what's the odds to you and me? Prepare to hike! Roll up your kit. Strap on equipment. Hit the Grit Your corns will ripen on the road,-- Just pare them down when taps are "blowed." We're billed to hike--the bugles blow. "'Tis column right" and off you go. Civilians watch as we pass by-- We watch the girlies wink the eye. Prepardness is the slogan now, And rumor says there'll be a row-- A real one on the Western Front. We're drilling for this special stunt. Prepare to hike! Get in the game. Your feet get sore, but don't go lame, Just set your jaws, with stiffened lip, And hold the lines with sand and "zip." War may be "Hell." So let it be. Yet, must be fought, if liberty Is still to reign upon her throne,-- Else all is lost. The best is gone. Prepare to hike! Once more I say. Round out your muscles for the fray. Life's not worth living any more, Should Teuton force invade our shore. A-B-C-OF ARMY LIFE A is the ARMY, With its shot, and its shell, B is the BATTLE That makes the War, Hell. C is the CAVALRY, Dashing and Bold, D is the "DOUGHBOY," Whom the trenches must hold; E, ENGINEER, Who lays out the plot, F the "FIRST AID," With stretcher and cot; G is the "GUARD," Our "Border-Patrol"-- H is HEADQUARTERS, The high-ranking role. I is the INFANTRY, That's hot on the Hike, J is JAW-BONE, Oh, "Pay-as-you-like"; K is the KITCHEN, Where they turn out the "stew," L is LANCE-CORPORAL. Who ranks just a few; M is the MESS, Where the rations are served, N is "NON-COM," Whose "Stripes" are deserved; O is the OFFICER, "Spick and so span," P is the PRISONER, Who's "under the ban," Q is the QUARTERS, With "lights out at Taps," R is the ROOKIE, Whom everyone raps, S is the SERGEANT, Who keeps 'em in line, T is TATTOO, Three-quarters past nine, U is the UNIFORM, Buttons so bright, V is the VOLLEY, That settles the Fight; W the WAGON, With "four Army mules," X the eX-soldier, Whose ardor now cools, Y is the YOUNGSTER, Just out of the "Point," Z--can't you tell This line's out-of-joint? A SOLDIERS PRIMER A man, a hat, a blouse, a gun, Call this a soldier just for fun. A dog tent, blanket, candle, match, His home is built with rare dispatch; With hard tack, bacon, army beans, Army life is not what it seems. A damp cold night, aching head, The next day fever-soldier dead. The story is brief (we know it well), And plain is moral--"War is Hell." THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE When I was young I said to myself, Choose a career and start after the pelf, Early to bed and early to rise, You're sure to get wealthy and awfully wise, So I started out to look around, But nice fat jobs weren't easily found. However, while taking a walk down the street, A bright colored poster my eyes did greet, "Young Men Wanted." I said, "That's me," And stepped up closer so I could see. "Join the Army and see the World," My fingers around my last dollar were curled. So I went around where they hung out the flag. But that 7-year hitch made my interest lag. They explained it, however, and made it quite plain That to join the Army would be my gain. So here I am in the damn Philippines, They feed me nothing but bacon and beans. The land of the goo-goo is no place for me, The reason porque is easy to see. I never was strong for bugs and lizards, Or the amoebic bug that tickles your gizzards. I have a reverse on fleas and snakes, And I hate the noise the Gekko makes. I have three square feet of prickly heat, And some dhobie itch that can't be beat, I've had the dengue and also the fever, Of all diseases I've been the receiver. I'm bitten by all that's invented to bite us, At the end of the year I'll have Philippinitis. A long centipede just crawled in my bunk, This tropical service is certainly punk, Not a chance in the world to go over the hill, And half my time is spent in the mill. But why should I worry, I'll soon be free. A "G. C. M." does the trick for me. A MARINE'S HYMN From the Halls of Montezuma, To the shores of Tripoli, We fight our country's battles On the land as on the sea. First to fight for right and freedom And to keep our honor clean, We are proud to claim the title Of United States Marine. From the Pest Hole of Cavite To the ditch at Panama, You will find them very needy Of Marines--that's what we are; We're watch dogs of a pile of coal Or we dig a magazine, Tho' he lends a hand at every job, Who would not be a Marine? Our flag's unfurled to every breeze From dawn to setting sun, We have fought in every clime or place Where we could take a gun; In the snow of far off northern lands And in sunny tropic scenes, You will find us always on the job-- The United States Marines. Here's health to you and to our corps Which we are proud to serve, In many a strife we have fought for life And never lost our nerve; If the army and the navy Ever look on heaven's scenes, They will find the streets are guarded by The United States Marines. HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH! (_A toast by an officer at San Antonio banquet_.) Here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," A "Colt" that has just been foaled; Bred with no "Past,"--but a Future, Which Training and Time will unfold. This "Colt," with his milk-teeth gives promise Of growing to be some fine horse, And if we give him "right raising," Be sure that he'll "come across." Our "Colt" is as "sound" and as "quiet" As any old horse you will see, And, as for his "fit conformation,"-- That's just as fine as can be. Here's hoping that he gets good "grooming," Good "grazing'"--good "stable"--good "stall;" So when they sound "Boots and Saddles," The "Colt" can answer their call. Here's hoping that he gets good "forage," Well "watered"--with "all-fours" well cleaned; And not have to patrol the hot Border,-- At least,--until he is "weaned." We'll swear by this "Colt," who is "hoof-marked" With the "16th Cavalry" brand; And we'll warrant when he "cuts his molars," He'll be as good as the best in the land. We'll see that he gets fearless riders, Who are "kindly" and know every "aid;" So if ever a battle is brewing, He'll go to the "Charge" unafraid. He'll compare with all Cavalry horses, No "I. C." marks for his neck; Instead, upon his new brow-band Resetted Blue Ribbons bedeck. No matter the "sire," no matter the "dam," His "strain" is "pure-blood"--tho "unregistered" yet; He'll "run in the money,"--when put to the test, To "win in the stretch,"--on that you can bet. So here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," The youngest of Cavalry "mounts;" He hasn't a "Past" and a "Pedigree," But 's "all-horse,"--and that is what counts! HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES (_From a Marine's Diary_) (A ONE-DAY HIKE) Rise and Shine, the bugle's calling! Spring up lively from your beds! Into line we'll soon be falling-- Shake a leg, you sleepy heads! Better make a hasty toilet, Like the other fellows do, For I'll guarantee you'll spoil it, Long before the day is thru! Better see the shoes you're wearing Have a heavy pair of soles; Or you'll do some awful swearing When the rocks come thru the holes! Have your canteen filled and ready Haversack swung on your belt, Where it will swing good and steady And its weight is scarcely felt! At your breakfast don't you hurry-- Eat another dish of beans; For you'll need it--don't you worry-- Hiking in the Philippines! Up the dusty road we've started-- Rout Step--walking at our ease; Soon the even lines are parted-- All are walking as they please. Long before the sun has ambled O'er the green hills on our right, Far along the road we've rambled In the early morning light. Thru the narrow trail we're walking, Sticking to the narrow path. Just behind us some are talking, 'Way ahead we hear a laugh. Now a slender bridge we're crossing, Over to a "goo-goo" farm-- Where a Carabao is tossing Up his head, in great alarm. Here we stop to rest a trifle-- Sip a drop from our canteens. Gee! It's tough to "pack" a rifle-- Hiking in the Philippines. 'Round the narrow path we're turning; Tho it's early morning, yet. Down the sun is fiercely burning-- Bringing out the drops of sweat! Where the tropic trees are shading Out the sunlight overhead Leggings, shoes and all, we're wading Thru a shallow river-bed. You can hear the bamboo cracking Underneath our heavy tread, While the forest trails we're tackling-- Following, where we are lead. You have got to be a Hiker To keep up with these Marines, Not a big four-flush or piker-- Hiking in the Philippines! Where the big mangoes are growing, We have halted--Stacking Arms, Far away, a rooster's crowing On one of the native farms. Under branches of big palm trees, We are resting easy now-- Welcoming the cooling sea breeze While we're waiting for our Chow. Plainest fare is a fiesta When you've Hiked for half a day; And a little noon siesta Helps to pass the time away! Like a ribbon all unraveled Starts the line at half past two, There are new trails to be traveled Back to old Olongapo! THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG 1. Fall in. Fall in. Attention, you red-legged mountaineers, With your gun and pack and box of tack, "non-coms." and cannoneers, Baptized in Mindanao, beside the Sulu Sea. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. 2. I'd rather be a soldier with a mule and mountain gun Than a Knight of old with spurs of gold, a Roman, Greek or Hun, For when there is trouble brewing they always send for me To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery. To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery. Here's to pack and aparejo, the cradle, gun trail, And that darned old fool, the battery mule, that was never known to fail. So raise your glasses high and drink this toast with me: Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. THE CAVALRY SONG Come, listen unto this song, I'm as happy as can be, I'm masher and dasher in the U. S. Cavalrie; I stand up straight with legs apart; bowed slightly at the knee, With folded arms across my chest, 'tis the pose of the Cavalrie. Chorus: So fill your glasses to the brim And brace your courage with slow gin, I will tell you all it is a sin To serve in the Infantrie. I'm a cavalryman so fierce and bold, a soldier thru and thru, I ride a horse because of course 'tis the proper thing to do. I wear my spurs both night and day that every one may see. Whatever else I might have been, I'm not in the Infantrie. We went to fight the China horde with sabre, horse and gun. We'd meet them and we'd beat them just the way it should be done; But we left our horses, corn and hay out on the ships in 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 call--for country's sake-- For Liberty he will not stake His bit, nor will he ever be But half a man. Not he--not he. His formula contains no sand-- It's plain, he is the Slacker "Brand." A sneak--a snake--a cur--a blasted Dirty rotten scourge, dodgasted Coward, thief, and all the rest-- Can't spell the name that suits the best. There's just one place for such as he-- Not on the earth--eternity. PREPAREDNESS I never had no warlike mind, I b'long to the plowin' peaceful kind Thet stays at home and works along, Sun to sun--I'm good and strong--- But, neighbor, let me speak my mind: When my country sez to back her, Sez I back: "Here ain't no slacker," So walks up thar and signs the roll, Come June the first, thirty-one year ole, Now Uncle Sammy can call Bill Jones Jest any ole time they say, 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today. I hates to leave the old home-folks, They hates to see me go, But I'd rather tote a rifle, Than be shoulderin' a hoe. When Uncle Sammy's needin' men-- And needin' 'em so much, I 'lows how he can call on Bill, To help 'im lick them Dutch. For preacher sez: "God will protect Me out thar," so, then, by Heck! I am all O.K. 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today. The paper 'lows the fightin's bad, As awful as can be-- Guns a-roarin'--blood a-flowin'-- And boats belo' thet sea. But I'm ready--and I ain't a-feered To die--if they do git me. 'Cause I ain't no skunking slacker, If I am a "Georgia cracker," And if I don't come home no more, The wolf won't come to my house door, I am goin' when they say, 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today. "BEANS" A dog there lived in many towns, And he has wondrous wiles; He travels in the Philippines, And visits many isles. "Ubiquitous" should be his name, He's seen so many scenes, But all his soldier friends prefer To call him simply: "Beans"! As a proper, first class passenger, Is "Beans" name on ship's log; You'd think his name was pedigreed-- The way he "puts on dog"! Yet he is not a full blood pup, But just a "yellow cur": A "Nervy-Natty Gentleman"-- With all his fuzzy fur. He chows awhile at Grande Isle; And there he'll make a stay, Until he tires of their mess; Then promptly sails away. He'll take a boat down Subic Bay, To far Olongapo, And when things get monotonous, Then "Beans" is prompt-to-go! He goes o'er to Corregidor, And visits "C. A. C." And if he don't like visiting-- He merely sails the sea! He visits Fort McKinley, And Cavite, too; Now, where Beans has not been, forsooth, I wish I only knew. I know that all the sailors, And all the soldier men Do call him "Beans," and love him For he is their dandy friend. He wags his tail in greeting, And barks at friends with joy; But when his ship's a-sailing, For Beans, it's Ship-A-hoy! So here's to "Beans" old "Sea-dog," Who loves so well to roam; I wish he'd try to settle down And make our place his home. ADVICE Better start in soldiering and mind your P's and Q's, Cut out going absent and ease up on the booze, Don't kick because, you're on fatigue, but mind what you are about, For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out. Don't go a-missing reveille; and be in bed by check, Don't buck against the captain, or you'll get it in the neck. Be sure to turn out promptly when you hear the sergeant shout, For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out. Because you've got some service don't think you know it all, You'll get your extras just the same if you should miss a call. Take what they hand you weekly. Don't grumble, frown or pout. For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out. THE SCENT OF THE COCOA You have heard of the ancient incense; Of the dew of Hermann you've read; You have been told of the precious ointment That poured down on Aaron's head; But tell me--with all your knowledge, Your theory, study and toil, Have you heard of an equal or sequel To the scent of the cocoanut oil? At first it is always repulsive, Makes you gag and back off in despair; But when you've got the scent of the cocoa, Just a scent, a mere whiff in the air, Then you're gone, boy, yes, and forever, Where'er in this world you may roam; When you once get the scent of the cocoa You forget all the precepts of home. You forget those most noble teachings Of fortitude, temperance and truth When you once get the scent of the cocoa. You're gone, boy, gone and forsooth Though you try hard and strive to recover, Pray to God and his angels as well, If you've once got the scent of the cocoa You're destined--your future is Hell. But why should you be predestined By the scent of an innocent oil? When you once get the scent of the cocoa No more can you break from its toil Than a gambler can break from his ventures, The drunkard turn away from his rye. When you once get the scent of the cocoa The longing is there till you die. The great world at large doesn't know all, The guilty ones seldom confess When you once get the scent of the cocoa Wafted up from the bright passing dress That their thoughts are not those of angels Sweet and pure as the dew of the rose, That it's not just the scent of the cocoa But the perquisite that with it goes. There are times when the righteous are doubtful, There are times when no man doubts. When you once get the scent of the cocoa There's a man and his conscience at outs; Reckless of moral destruction, Fearless of anguish and pain, When you once get the scent of the cocoa 'Tis that scent that you long for again. One may part from the Orient gladly, From its garlic and dhobie and goats; But if he's once got the scent of the cocoa As he sits and in reverie dotes,-- His thoughts will revert to the eastward, To the land of yellow and brown And he sighs for the scent of the cocoa, And the sight of a pina gown. MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS They, too, have heard the 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 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, 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, 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 When I've served out this enlistment, And my time in the Reserves, Why, I am going to treat yours truly To the treat that he deserves. For I am tired chasing Villa, In this God-forsaken land, When there's nothing much but cactus And the useless miles of sand. Where the Rio Grande is flowing, By El Paso near Fort Bliss, There's a little girl worth knowin', And she's a'savin' me a kiss. Oh, I met her once a'walking, With red corals in her hair; Where the greasers sit a'talking, In the little public square. There's real food there; white women; Most things a man could want; And a pool to go in swimmin' And a Chinese restaurant; Where, across the hot Chop Suey; If you give the Chink a wink, He'll produce a little teapot, Full of something good to drink. Oh, I'm tired of Cactus whiskey, That they stop the trucks to sell; For one bottle's mighty risky, And two starts a man for hell. And the first time that I'm able, When they hand me my discharge, Watch me lean across the table, And say: "Bo, give me a drink of 'large.'" So good-bye, Adobe ladies; My regards to Uncle Sam; Let old Pancho go to Hades; Adios to Col. Dublan! They can't bind me with a lasso, Once this little Doughboy's free; There's a girl right in El Paso, That I'm bound he's going to see. For she's waitin', my Anita; In the Plaza, in the Square; Where the little fenced-in fountain Throws its water in the air; Where the old pet alligator stays, And winks his knowin' eye, And says, "Patience, Senorita," He'll be with you by an' by. OLD BALDY The "Black Eagle" said, "I think it but fair, That I should be ruler of both land and air, And have all the other birds under my reign. How great I shall be over such a domain." The others protested, saying, "This you can't do; We'll never submit to a swell-head like you. Before we'll come under your despotic rod, We'll fight to the very last drop of our blood." But the "Black Eagle" answered: "I'll have what I wish; I'll pay you for suckers, and catch a big fish; I'll clip your wings off with a big pair of shears That I have been grinding, the last forty years. "I'll hook my big talons right into your breast, And get a wild 'Turkey' to help do the rest. We'll pluck that fine plumage all off from your back; And you'll find desolation the brand of my track." And so the fight started. It waxed fierce and long; And proved the "Black Eagle" unusually strong. With three years of fighting, he still was intact, And seemed to be victor--in fight and in fact. But at this very moment of luck for the "Black," A venerable eagle flew into his track. He was gray, he was bald, he was ancient as well; And just where he came from, there's no use to tell. This "Bald-headed Eagle" was hailed with delight, When the other birds saw he was going to fight; But when they beheld the tactics employed, By "Baldy the Great One," they were overjoyed. For he hooked his curved bill in the top of the head Of "Old Blackey the Terror," then quietly said: "Just watch my talons clip up to his throat. With one still free, I will pick this old bloat." The struggle was fierce, and the feathers flew high; The "Black One's" fine plumage came off rapidly; "Old Baldy's" quick work, and to make good his word, Left nary a feather stick on the Black bird. The fight at last ended; the "Black" gave it up, With "Baldy" victorious, awarded the cup; But the "Black One" was stripped of all honor and fame. Has a place in this world with a dishonored name. It may be a fable, but history records This defeat of the "Fowl of Great Boasting Words." How the "Prussian Black Eagle" that thought he could scratch, Found in "Old Baldy" far more than his match. "KAISER BILL" There's a Guy across the Sea, And the "Devil's own" is he. Death! Destruction! Misery! That's the Kaiser. Don't you fancy he's a fool. Satan ne'er had such a tool-- Whether demon, fiend or ghoul As the Kaiser. At the bottom of the ocean Lie the victims of his notion. Bathes in human blood for lotion Does the Kaiser. While his Teuton Choir sings, In the military rings, Of the "Divine Right of Kings." Kaiser Bill. Kinder erst, und den de vimmen-- Shood dem ub vile dey is schwimmen, Den you gif der men a trimmen, Kaiser Bill. For der voorit must pe mine own, So I'll pe der King alone, Mit a unifersal throne Kaiser Bill. But we'll toss you out the tip, (Though the censor seal the lip) That he'll soon be "on the hip"-- Will the Kaiser. For his submarines are sinking, And his men in trenches, stinking, While the Western world is linking 'Gainst the Kaiser. He'll be picked up in a basket, With a U-Boat for a casket, And a name plate, if he ask it. "KAISER BILL." Then "submerge" in kerosene, Kept in memory ever green As the profligate, obscene Kaiser Bill. THE RAW RECRUIT Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: Be gob, ye're a bad 'un; Now turn out your toes; Yer belt is unhookit Yer cap is on crookit Ye may not be dhrunk, But be jabers, ye look it; Wan-two! Wan-two! Ye monkey faced devil, I'll jolly ye through! Wan-two! Time! Mark! Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Park. Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: A saint it ud sadden To dhrill such a mug; Eyes front! ye baboon ye! Chin up! ye gossoon, ye! Ye've jaws like a goat-- Halt! ye leather lipped loon, ye! Wan-two! Wan-two! Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you! Wan-two! Time! Mark! Ye've eyes like a bat, can ye see in the dark? Ses Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: Yer figger wants padd'n-- Sure man, ye've no shape; Behind ye yer shoulders Stick out like two boulders; Yer shins are as thin As a pair of penholders; Wan-two! Wan-two! Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew! Wan-two! Time! Mark! I'm as dry as a dog--I can't spake but I bark! SERVING IN TEXAS To old Satan Texas was given By the Lord who lives in Heaven, And the Devil quoth "I've got what's needed To make a good Hell," and he succeeded. He put sharp thorns all over the trees, And mixed up sand with millions of fleas; He scattered tarantulas along the roads, Puts thorns on cactus, and horns on toads. He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers, And put an addition to the rabbit's ears; He put a little devil in the bronco steed, And poisoned the feet of the centipede. The rattlesnake bites, the scorpion stings, The mosquitos delight with their, buzzing wings; The sand burs prevail, and so do the ants, And those who sit down, need half-soles in their pants. The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten, Too hot for the Devil and too hot for the men; The wild boar roams thru the back chaparral, 'Tis a hell of a place that he picked for a hell. O'REILLY'S GONE TO HELL O'Reilly was a soldier man, the pride of Battery "B." In all the blooming regiment no better man than he; The ranking duty Non Com., he knew his business well, But since he's tumbled down the pole, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. Chorus: O'Reilly's gone to Hell, since down the pole he fell. They drank up all the bug juice the whiskey man would sell. They ran him in the mill. They've got him in there still. His bob tail's coming back by mail, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. 2. O'Reilly hit the bottle after six years up the pole, He blew himself at Casey's place and then went in the hole, He drank with all the rookies and saved his face as well. The whole outfit is on the bum, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. Chorus: 3. O'Reilly swiped a blanket and shoved it up I hear; He shoved it for a dollar and invested that in beer, He licked a coffee cooler because he said he'd tell, He's ten days absent without leave, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. Chorus: 4. They'll try him by Court Martial, he'll never get a chance To tell them how his mother died or some such song and dance. He'll soon be in Company "Q" a-sleeping in a cell A big red "P" stamped on his back, O'Reilly's gone to Hell. ON THE "BORDER" This is the Land That God forgot. Arizona. This is the land That the Devil be-got. Arizona. In respects, it's possibly Better than Hell, In Naco. Hot air, mixed With sulphur smell, In Naco. There every acre Is desert sand, To take the place Of the "Brim-stone" Land. In Hell. Also, we have the Prickley-pear, In Naco. Sage-brush and cacti That might compare To pitch-forks. But should you ask me Where I'd dwell-- Naco, or in that place below-- Just three words From my mouth would flow: "Me for Hell." Conditions are settled Down in Hell; While on the Border, You never can tell. Arizona! Hell, yes! No watchful waiting, No peace at a price, Like Naco. The Devil's policy Is firm and concise, In Hell. No friendly raids, Nor Mexican strife; Like Naco. One's die is cast: To boil for Life, In Hell. In case of trouble, Of any kind,-- The Devil acts Without change of mind. Naco--Hell. Think of the wonderful Peace Sublime, In Hell. I only wish That peace were mine. ROUTINE (From a Marine's Diary.) 5:05 A. M.--FIRST CALL I heard the First Call sound, and then-- Just yawned and went to sleep again. 5:10 A. M.--REVEILLE At Reveille I shook the dope, Broke out a towel and a hunk of soap. 5:20 A. M.--ROLL CALL My name rang out upon the air; I hollered, "Here," for I was "there." 5:25 A. M.--SETTING-UP EXERCISE Took exercise, without a rest; I like the Breathing Movement best. 5:45 A. M.--CHOW Oh, what a difference breakfast makes! 'Twas Punk and Java, Dog and Cakes. 6:10 A. M.--FIRST CALL FOR DRILL First call for Drill reminded me-- I'll try the rear rank--"number three." 6:20 A. M.--DRILL Street Riot Drill and Company square; I nearly went up in the air. 7:20 A. M.--RECALL FROM DRILL Recall was music to my ears; I hadn't felt so tired for years. 8:00 A. M.--COLORS The Guard turned out for Uncle Sam And handed him the "Grand Salaam." 8:10 A. M.--SICK CALL One fellow went to show his corn For there's a Hike to-morrow morn. 8:20 A. M.--FIRST CALL FOR TROOP I shaved and washed, then cleaned the Gat, And had ten minutes left at that. 8:30 A. M.--TROOP The Captain sized us up for fair, But no kick comin' anywhere. 8:45 A. M.--GUARD MOUNT Guard Mount, my name wasn't booked; How is it I was overlooked? RESPITE No more calls to answer now Til I hear them holler, "Chow" For this is my easy day: Guess I rate it anyway. 12:00 N--CHOW--LIBERTY Chow was the regular menu, Spuds et cetera--carabao. I heard "Liberty" when it went But I didn't have a cent. 1:00 P. M.--POLICE Glad I have no work today; I'll turn in and hit the hay. AFTERNOON--NO CALLS Woke up promptly, half past two; Walked around Olongapo. Came in--played a checker game; Wrote a letter to my dame. 5:00 P. M.--CHOW Supper surely was some class! Steak and Onions--Apple "sass." 6:00 P. M.----COLORS Six o'clock when colors went; Guard turned out and gave "present." 8:30 P. M.--TATTOO Came in early, took a shower, Read a book for half an hour. 9:15 P. M.--CALL TO QUARTERS Let down my Mosquito net-- Puffed a Durham Cigarette. TAPS--P. M. Safely in my bunk I curled And was soon--dead to the World. THAT UNIFORM Tis strange, but yet 'tis true, we see Sane men who seem to think that we, Who wear the blue, are not the same As other men. We have a name Scarce thought of with respect; 'tis used To frighten children, and abused By those who only wish to show A few of the many things they don't know. We read "the soldiers came to town And raised particular ----," and so on down A column or more of such vile stuff; 'Twould make us all cry "Hold! Enough!" You see, there's scarcely anything To write about. While these things sting, What's that to us? We may lose by it; But the public's fed, ye gods, the diet. An old saw, which, perhaps, e'en you Have heard, and some thought true, Seems to have been forgotten, quite, Or else we do not think it right. Our fathers used to think that way, But we are wiser (?) in our day. Try to remember it, if you can, Tis this: "The clothes don't make the man." Don't turn the soldier down. You may, For aught you know, or others say, Be entertaining, unawares, An angel; and, if not, who cares? For, be he good, bad, weak or strong, 'Mid summer's sun or winter's storm, You call on him to right your wrong, Altho he wears a uniform. IN THE COLD GREY DAWN OF THE MORNING AFTER Bring me a dry Martini, waiter, Chase in something that's wet, I was out to a clam bake yesterday, And I haven't got over it yet. Throw me a pleasant look, waiter, Smile at me pretty, don't frown, And pour some glue on my breakfast So I can keep it down. I hear they have discovered the pole, waiter, I wish I had it here now, They can't come any too cold for me To put on my aching brow. Many a schooner was wrecked last night, And the waves ran mountain high. Personally, I was soused to the gills, But today I'm awfully dry. It was a terrible night at sea, waiter, And many are missing, I think, But as near as I can remember I never missed a drink. The one in blue got my purse, waiter, Her side-kick got my clock, I don't want to know what time it is, Please lead me down to the dock. Lead me down to the dock, waiter, For a watery grave I pine, The place for a man that is pickled Is over my head in brine. Tell them in Olongapo, I died as a hero should, Up to the neck, in cold, cold suds Guaranteed drawn from the wood. I'd like to leave you a gift, waiter, Just to remember me by And to show you that I'm not tight, You can have my piece of pie. And after I sink in the water, waiter, You'll do me a favor, I hope. Tell them, if I blow up bubbles It wasn't from eating soap. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POSTER They told me that the Army was a joy for evermore; They told me of the pleasures I'd have in it by the score; They told me of its comforts and the jolly life I'd lead, But by thunder they have fooled me and I'm sorrowful indeed-- I ever joined the Army. They told me of the polished boots and the buttons bright I'd wear, And of the splendid things I'd find upon the bill-of-fare; But never a word they told me in the fine recruiting shop, Of hoeing weeds upon the roads, or hauling out the slops-- When I joined the Army. They told me of the pleasant hours, away from every care, I could spend when not on duty, in town or anywhere; But a thing they never told me is the punishment they'd mete Out to a luckless rookie who went absent from retreat-- In Uncle Samuel's Army. They told me of the canteen, where good lager beer is sold, And of the fine post hospital, that cures all kinds of colds; But a hint about the guard-house they never to me gave, That skeleton they kept hidden as though buried in a grave-- Until I joined the Army. They showed me good looking chromos of good looking soldier men, With little V's upon their sleeves and hats they shone like tin; But there is one uncanny picture they never to me showed Of a soldier with a knapsack, and he hitting up the road-- In the U. S. Army. They told me of the nice soft bunk, made out of woven wire, Where I could lay my carcass, whenever my bones would tire; But a whisper of the pick and shovel was never to me told, So I'm pondering o'er my contract, and I think I was sold-- When I came into Uncle's Army. They told me of the non-coms, who knew a soldier's worth, Who made the Army jolly, a place of endless mirth; But not a word they told me of the amount of beer I'd buy, Just to keep a "stand in" with those that rank up high-- In Sammy's splendid Army. They told me of the bill-of-fare that changed with every day, And when landed in the Army for thirty years I'd stay; But not a word they told me (No wonder they were mum), About the stuff they feed us, commonly known as "Slum"-- In our conquering Army. It is hinted that experience of all others is the school, Where common sense alone is learned, by him that plays the fool; And though I hate the medicine, I must take it with a will, And keep convincing myself, it does me good-- It's time to leave the Army. ARMY FEVER When your first hitch is over, and you have cashed your finals few, And a breakfast and a boat ride are all that's left for you, And you toy with your collar as you don your suit of "citz," While your bunkie, sitting near you, has the bluest kind of fits; You a-bubbling over with pleasure at the thoughts of going out; The friends at home will welcome you, of that there's not a doubt; And it never seems to strike you that you have made a beaten track, In these years you've been a soldier--that you might come back. So you hasten out as boat call goes--last call you have to stand-- And you wave farewell to comrades as you push away from land. First call for drill is sounding from the bugler's throat of gold, But you are free--"don't have to stand no drill in heat or cold." Altho' you get to wondering as things fade from sight, If drilling really was so bad as walking post at night. You think, of course, when first discharged, one feels just sort of sad; But it's Army fever symptoms--And you've got 'em bad. You're in business on the outside, and you're making good, it seems; But the bugle keeps a-calling, and a-calling through your dreams. Then some day you meet a soldier on a furlough for a week; And you think it only friendly to go up to him and speak; And you find you knew his brother, or his cousin, or his friend, And your job upon the outside has found a sudden end; For a longing fierce comes over you, and you cannot resist-- It's the crisis of the fever--and you reenlist. ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN I've eaten funny dishes on Luzon's tropical shore, I've eaten Japan's bamboo shoots and oysters by the score. Of caviar I've had my share, I love anchovies, too, And way down in old Mindanao I've eaten carabao; Of Johnny Bull's old rare roast I nearly got the gout, And with chums at Heidelberg I dined on sauerkraut; In China I have eaten native rice and sipped their famous teas; In Naples I, 'long with the rest, ate macaroni and cheese; In Cuba where all things go slow, manana's their one wish; I dined on things that had no names, but tasted strong with fish. In Mexico the chili burnt the coating off my tongue; And with Irish landlord I dined on pigs quite young, Yet you may have your dishes that is served to kings and queens, But I am happy and contented with a dish of Army Beans. LITTLE THINGS Little drops of water, Little grains of sand Make the mighty ocean And the desert land. Little hours of drilling, Little "rifle shoots" Make efficient soldiers Out of raw recruits. Little hours some spend in Breaking liberty, Oft' amount to something More than E. P. D. Little words of kindness, When you spare a few, Sound all right to some one; Do they not to you? SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE Sing-a-song-a-sixpence Every-body dry-- Half-a-dozen Privates Opening some rye. When the rye was opened The Bucks began to sing: Every blessed one of them Feeling like a king. The Sergeant at the Guard-house Saw them walking straight-- Marked them "Clean and Sober," When they passed the gate. But, when Taps was over, They sang and danced a jig, Along came a Corporal And slammed them in the Brig. QUEEN OF MAY If you wake, why, call me early--call me early, won't you, bunk? The captain says I'll be a non-com., if I don't get on a drunk. Then some day I'll be a sergeant with three stripes upon my arm, Zig zag, like the old rail fences on Dad Posey's Country farm. Call me early, though I'm dreaming, wake me up that I may see How the sun that sinks in grandeur rises in obscurity. I've been a private, bunkie, such as privates seldom are, Borne my share of public censure, let it heal without a scar. Till upon the fair escutcheon of my name and humble rank Captain says he'll add the title and a stripe on either flank. Then I'll be a non-com., bunkie, wake me up that I may see My own glory bubble appearing, hear it burst at reveille. Wake me early from my slumbers, henceforth I would early rise, Health and wealth are common virtues--dawn will brand me both, and wise. Bunkie, I'll be boss tomorrow, uniformed in blue and white, Knew I'd get it, if the captain only did what's square and right. But I will not chastise the comrades who may doubt my word is law, I'll be easy with them, bunkie, patient, 'tho they feel no awe. Bunkie, I'm growing sleepy; wake me when the morning breaks; For upon the track of merit, I will land the non-com. stakes. Let me hear the joyful clamor when I wake from pleasant dreams That the fellows rise when greeting a noncom., who is what he seems. Wake me early, bunkie, comrade, tell the fellows who I am, Not forgetting all the favors I will do you when I can. Tell them that I wouldn't have it, if it sacrificed their love, Tell them that I'm the same as ever, though they think me far above. Bunkie, I have dreamed so often of the buff that I shall wear, That I feel the honor greater than a man like me can bear. Long I've waited; long I've cherished thoughts of how I'd look and feel When the captain said: Howard, here's a stripe to aid your zeal. Then I'd be a non-com., bunkies, then I'd write to dad and say, Modest-like: "A Corporal's greetings to his folks so far away!" A YOUNG ROOKIE'S LAMENT As I sit in the gleam of the camp fire, 'Neath the Oriental skies, In fancy I picture the homeland shore And a town I highly prize; It's Gardner, dear old Gardner, A town so dear to me, But I'm many miles away Across an endless sea. I at the age of 17 was-- Fickle as a clam I took a train for Fitchburg And joined old Uncle Sam. They sent me on to Slocum, And filled me up on beans. They made me take a rifle And a pair of khaki jeans. They sent me to the Philippines, We call it no man's land. We never see a flake of snow, We bake our eggs in sand, We hike o'er burning mountains 'Til it drives us near insane, We pitch our camp in a rice field In a storm of drizzling rain. At night we walk our outpost With a great big heavy gun And 90 Dum-Dum bullets To make the Moros run. They're accurate as a weasel And, boys, they never fan, You have to keep your ears pricked up, For they'll get you if they can. Now, boys, you may think Gardner slow, But that notion you'll destroy If you ever hold your hand up To be a soldier boy. You have no dear old Mother. To mend your tattered pants, When you stick yourself with a needle, With rage you'll fairly prance. So, boys, I found my big mistake, I was altogether wrong, And that's the simple reason I sing this little song. So take a piece of fool's advice, And never run away, Just stay in dear old Gardner Where life is bright and gay. DANNY DEEVER BALLAD "Where're all the soldiers goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, "What are they all a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; "I dunno where they're goin' to," said Files-on-Parade, "I dunno what they're goin' to do," the Color Sergeant said. For they're goin' back towards U. S. A. and leave the Philippines, They're tirin' of the Islands and the Army "pork and beans," That "single time," and "two per mile"--they all know what that means-- So now they're all a'goin' to leave the Army. "Where is the 'Doughboy' goin' to?" asked Files-on-Parade, "And what is he a-goin' to do?" the Color Sergeant said; "Back to his farm! Back to his farm!" said Files-on-Parade, "Behind the plow! Behind the plow," the Color Sergeant said. No hiking o'er rice paddies,--but furrowed fields of corn, To go to bed real early and get up in the morn', To be his own "K. O." once more, in the country where he's born, So soon he'll be a-quittin' of the Army. "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 ass). I took on in the Army--and now I'm cutting grass. 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 class, But since I joined the Army, I am simply cutting grass. I get up in the morning to the sound of martial strain. The sergeant says: "Go get that scythe and sharpen it again. The grass 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 grass 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 "mass." But all we learn with Uncle Sam is grass, grass, GRASS! 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 God, 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. Belly-ache--to complain. Black strap--liquid coffee. Blind--sentenced by court-martial to forfeiture of pay without confinement. Bob-Tail--a dishonorable discharge, or a discharge without honor; to be "bobtailed"--to be discharged or to be given a discharge without honor. Bone--to study; to try; to cultivate. Bone bootlick on--to cultivate the favor of. Boots and Saddles--trumpet call. Bootlick--to flatter. Brig--guard-house. Bow-legs--cavalrymen. Buck-private--a term sometimes used in referring to a private. Bucking for Orderly--giving clothing and accoutrements extra cleaning so as to compete for orderly. Bunkie--a soldier who shares the shelter of a comrade. Bust--to reduce a non-commissioned officer to the grade of a private. Butcher--the company barber. Canned Horse--canned beef. Chief--name by which the chief musician of the band is usually called by the enlisted men. Cit--a civilian. Cits--civilian clothes. C. O.--commanding officer. Coffee Cooler--one who seeks easy details away from troops; one who is always looking for an easy job. Cold-feet--fear, lack of courage (to have cold feet is to be afraid, to lack courage). Commissaries--groceries. Crawl--to admonish. Dog-robber--name by which the enlisted men call a soldier who works for an officer. (An offensive term, the use of which generally results in trouble.) Dough-boy--infantryman. Dough-puncher--the baker. Down the Pole--to drink, after having stopped. Duff--any sweet edible. Fatigue--extra work. File--a number on the lineal list. Fogy--ten percent increase in pay for each five years' service. Found--to be found deficient or wanting in anything, especially an examination. French leave--unauthorized absence. Absent on French leave--absent without authority. Goat--junior officer in post, regiment, etc. Goaty--awkward, ignorant. Guard House Lawyer--a soldier with a smattering knowledge of regulations and military law; quite loquacious and liberal with advice and counsel to men in the Guard House or other trouble. Hand-Shaker--a soldier who tries to win the favor of first sergeant or troop commander. Hardtack--hardbread, biscuits. Hash Mark--enlistment or service stripe, worn on sleeve. Hike--a march; to hike; to march. Hitch--a term for enlistment period. Hive--to discover, to catch. Hobo--the provost guard. Holy Joe--the chaplain. Hop--a dance. How--form of salutation in drinking, meaning "Here's to your health," "My regards," etc. I. C.--condemned by an inspector. Jaw-bone--credit (to get things on "jawbone," is to buy on credit). Jump--to admonish. K. O.--the commanding officer. Major--name by which the sergeant-major is usually called by the enlisted men. Mill--Guard-house. Mule-skinner--a teamster. Non-Com--non-commissioned officer. O. D.--the officer of the day. Officers Line, or Officers Row--the row of houses where the officers and their families live. Old Issue--an old soldier. Old File--an old officer. Old Man--the company commander. On Official Terms--not to be on speaking terms except officially. On the Carpet--called before the commanding officer for admonition. Openers--cathartic pills. Orderly Buckle--a soldier when going on guard who strives by extra neatness of appearance to be designated as orderly for the commanding officer. Orderly Room--company office. Outfit--one's organization in the army. Over-the-Hill--to desert. P.--Prisoner. Pills--the hospital steward. Punk--light bread. Q. M.--the quartermaster. Q. M. D.--quartermaster's department. Ranked-out--to be compelled to vacate by a senior, as "to be ranked out of quarters." Red-tape--official formality; that is, the close or excessive observance of forms and routine in the transaction of business. Regimental Monkey--the drum major. Re-up--to re-enlist at once. Rookie--a new recruit. Sand-rat--an officer or soldier on duty in the rifle pit at target practice. Saw-bone--the doctor. Shave-tail--a new second lieutenant. So called, after the young, unbroken mules in the Quartermaster's Department. Shoved up--to pawn. Shutters--camphor or opium pills. Sinkers--dumplings. Sky-scout--the chaplain. Sky-pilot--the chaplain, Slap-Jacks--pan cakes. Slum--a stew of meat, potatoes and onions, mostly potatoes and onions. Soap Suds Row--the laundresses' quarters. Soldier, to--to soldier, to serve; also to shirk. Soldiers' One Per Cent--one hundred per cent. Sow-belly--bacon. Stars and Stripes--beans. Striker--a soldier who works for an officer. Take-on--to re-enlist before the expiration of three months after discharge. The Old Man--term sometimes used by officers and soldiers in referring to the commanding officer; sometimes used by soldiers in referring to their company commander. To Take Another Blanket--same as "Take-on." Top Sergeant--first sergeant. Up the Pole--to swear off drinking. Yellow-leg--cavalryman. Youngster--a young officer (a first or second lieutenant). Wagon-soldier--light or field artilleryman. Wind-jammer--a trumpeter or bandsman. Wood-butcher--company artificer. ENGLISH ARMY SLANG Gravel Crushers--infantry soldiers. Poultice Wallahs--Royal Army Medical Corps men. Doolally Tap--when a soldier becomes mentally unbalanced he is said to have received the "Doolally Tap." "Doolally" is a corruption of the name of an Indian town, Deolali. Bun Wallah--a soldier who drinks nothing stronger than tea, and is in consequence supposed to eat voraciously of buns. Chips--the regimental pioneer sergeant, who is usually a sergeant. Lance Jack--a lance-corporal. Quarter Bloke--the quartermaster. Rookey--a recruit. Scrounger--a man with plenty of resource in getting what he wants. Yob--one who is easily fooled. Bobygee--a soldier cook. In India a native one. Baggies--sailors in the Navy. Badgy--an enlisted boy. Long-faced Chum--a cavalryman's term for his horse. Rooty--bread. Slingers--a meal of bread and tea. Muckin--butter. Bully Beef--the tinned meat ration. Lamping--eating heartily. C. B.--confined to barracks. Chucking a Dummy--when a man faints on parade he is said to "have chucked a dummy." Clink or Mush--the guard room. Brief, Cheque or Ticket--discharge documents. Dock--a military hospital. Swinging the Lead--the equivalent of "telling the tale." Weighed off--when a soldier has been awarded punishment for an offense he is said to have been "Weighed off." High Jump--an appearance before the C.O. to answer a charge of breaking regulations. Lost His Number--a man is said to have "lost his (regimental) number" when he is reported for any offense. It is "lost" because it is placed on the report sheet. Stir--imprisonment in a detention barracks. Chancing His Arm--committing an offence in expectation that it will not be discovered. A N.C.O. is said to be "chancing his arm" because he may be deprived of his stripes. Jankers--defaulter's drill. Dog's Leg--the first stripe received on promotion. Bundook--a rifle. Bobtack--powder mixed into a paste to clean buttons and brass work on equipment. Muck-in--share in. Square-Pushing--courting. Your best boots, cap, etc., are called square-pushing boots, etc. Square-bit--your best girl. Atcha--all right. Blighty--home. WORDS TO THE ARMY TRUMPET CALLS REVEILLE: I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up in the morning; I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up at all; Corp'rals worse than the privates; Sergeants worse than the corporals; Lieutenants worse than the sergeants, And the capt'n's the worst of all. Chorus-- I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, etc. MESS CALL: Soup-y, soup-y soup, Without a single bean. Pork-y, pork-y, pork, Without a streak of lean; Coffee, Coffee, Coffee, Without any cream! (Or, the weakest ever seen!) SICK CALL: Come and get your quinine, come and get your pills, Oh! come and get your quinine, come and get your pills. STABLE CALL: Come all who are able and go to the stable, And water your horses and give 'em some corn; For if you don't do it, the Col'nel will know it, And then you will rue it, sure as you're born. TAPS: 1 2 Fades the light; Love, good night. And afar When the day Goeth day, Must thou go Cometh night; And the night And a star Day is done Leadeth all, Leave me so? Speedeth all Fare thee well; To their rest. Night is on. ANOTHER VERSION. When your last Day is past, From afar Some bright star O'er your grave Watch will keep, While you sleep With the brave. FIRST AID IN CASE OF ACCIDENTS The following hints are only intended as a reminder to assist you when in doubt. TO STOP BLEEDING.--Place a pad of clean cloth on the wound and bandage firmly. Raise the part affected. If raising the limbs or applying the pad does not control the bleeding, compress with your two thumbs over bone and as near the wound as possible. Give no stimulants as long as bleeding remains uncontrolled. BURNS AND SCALDS.--Exclude the part from the air at once, by dusting flour on it and covering with cotton wool. If there is a blister do NOT pick it for 24 hours. Soothing applications are Carron Oil, Salad Oil, Vaseline, Lard, etc. If there is severe shock, give it immediate attention, even before attending to the burn or scald. FRACTURES.--The two main classes of fractures are simple and compound and the first aid treatment you give is to prevent the simple fracture from becoming the more serious compound fracture, which has a wound caused by the jagged end of the broken bone. Attend to the patient on the spot, and fix the injured limb, at once, by splints and bandages. Use great gentleness. If there is a wound, cleanse it and apply antiseptic dressing before putting limb in splints. Disturb the limb as little as possible and make the patient comfortable until arrival of doctor. SNAKE BITES.--Tie something tightly around the limb, between the wound and the heart. Give patient a good dose of brandy or some other spirit. Encourage the bleeding by squeezing the bitten part and bathe with warm water. If breathing is bad, use artificial respiration. POISONS.--In the first place endeavor to find out the poison. If you cannot, and there are no stains about mouth or lips and no burning sensation in mouth and throat, give an emetic or tickle throat to make patient vomit. Emetics are: three-teaspoonfuls of mustard in pint of tepid water; salt and water, two tablespoonfuls to pint of warm water. (See First Aid for Poisoning.) When there are stains, etc., give cream, white of eggs, olive or linseed oil (no oil with phosphorus poisoning). Antidotes to follow. GRIT IN THE EYE.--Do not rub the injured eye. By rubbing the other eye you will bring tears, which may wash the grit out. If not, roll back the upper eyelid over a match or pencil, and remove the grit with the corner of your handkerchief or small camel hair brush. If lime in eye, wash out at once with water, then drop olive or castor oil between the lids. Do not attempt to remove anything deeply imbedded--drop in olive oil and bandage. FAINTING---The patient is very faint and partially or completely unconscious. Pulse is weak and rapid and breathing quickened. No convulsions. Place the patient in a lying position with the head lower than the rest of the body. Loosen his clothing at neck and chest. Give patient plenty of fresh air. Sprinkle face and chest with cold water and apply smelling salts to nose. Rub the limbs toward body. Give stimulant when patient is able to swallow. SPRAINS.--A sprain is the tearing of the ligaments or capsule of a joint and bursting of small blood vessels, and swelling. Apply cold water dressings as long as they give comfort, and afterwards apply hot fomentations. Rest the part in an easy position. If movement of limb be essential, bandage it tightly. If in doubt, treat as a fracture. [*]FRENCH MONEY 5 centimes (one sou) ......= 1 cent 25 " ......= 5 cents 50 " ......= 10 " 1 franc ......= 20 " 2 " ......= 40 " 5 " ......= 1 dollar ENGLISH MONEY Half Penny ...............= 1 cent One " ...............= 2 cents Three Pence ...............= 6 " Six " ...............= 12 " One Shilling...............= 24 " Two " ...............= 48 " Half a Crown or Two Shillings Six Pence .. = 60 " Five Shillings ........... = $1.20 Ten " ............. = 2.40 1 Pound .................. = 4.80 [*]French currency has depreciated since the war about 10 per cent., so that ten per cent. deduction should be made for accurate reckoning. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES: SUNNY SIDE OF SOLDIER SERVICE *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. START: FULL LICENSE THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license. Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. 1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. 1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others. 1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States. 1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: 1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed: This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. 1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. 1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. 1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License. 1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. 1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that: • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works. • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work. • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. 1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. 1.F. 1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. 1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem. 1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. 1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. 1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause. Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life. Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS. The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate. While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate. International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate. Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org. This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.