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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:01:18 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:01:18 -0700 |
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diff --git a/34269-h/34269-h.htm b/34269-h/34269-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..02e3507 --- /dev/null +++ b/34269-h/34269-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3328 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rookie Rhymes, by The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left;} + .poem3 {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;} + .poem4 {margin-left: 20%; text-align: left;} + .poem5 {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;} + + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by +The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Rookie Rhymes + +Author: The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York. + +Illustrator: C. L. Yates et al + +Release Date: November 10, 2010 [EBook #34269] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 356px;"><a name="cover" id="cover"></a> +<img src="images/coverpage.jpg" width="356" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus002.png" width="550" height="389" alt="Let's Go!!" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h1>ROOKIE RHYMES</h1> + +<div class='center'>BY<br /> +THE MEN OF<br /> +THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL<br /> +TRAINING REGIMENTS<br /> +PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK<br /> + +MAY 15—AUGUST 15<br /> +1917<br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus003.png" width="250" height="191" alt="Rookie composing a poem" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> +NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='copyright'> +<span class="smcap">Rookie Rhymes</span><br /> +——————<br /> +Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers<br /> +Printed in the United States of America<br /> +Published September, 1917<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><i>Page</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Publication Committee</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Foreword</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART I—POEMS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Standing in Line</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The First Time</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Onward Christian Science</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">They Believe in Us Back Home</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ode to a Lady in White Stockings</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Avoirdupois</span>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P.T.R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Go!</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Plattsburg Code</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Conference</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sunday in Barracks</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Ballad of Montmorency Gray</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pendleton King, Co. 6, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Girls</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert M. Benjamin, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Lament</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">H. Chapin, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Manual</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Those "Patriotic" Songs</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Saturday P.M.</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">How Things Have Changed</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Arma Feminamque</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Out o' Luck</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. K. Rainsford, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sherman Was Right</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Troopship Chanty</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Those Rumors</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. L. Bird, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">War's Horrors</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kenneth McIntosh, 2d Lieut. O. R. C., Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Call</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_74">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Allen Bean MacMurphy, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Beans</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_77">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Forward "?"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_78">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">John W. Wilber, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Chant of a Derelict</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_79">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ed. Burrows, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Preoccupation</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_83">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Inoculation Day</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_84">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Don't Weaken</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_86">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. T. Fry, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Three</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_88">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To the Little Black Dog</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_90">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A. N. Phillips, Jr., 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">When East is West</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To My Sweetheart</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_93">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Every Rookie in Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Play the Game</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_94">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Stadium, Plattsburg</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_96">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Rubaiyat of a Plattsburg Candidate</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_97">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. Kerr Rainsford, Co. 7, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dreams</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_100">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">L. Irving, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A 2d Regiment "Who's Who"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_102">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. Elmer Cates, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Eureka</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_106">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Fourth Company, N. E. Song</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_107">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART II—SONGS AND PARODIES</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Long, Long Trail</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_111">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">G. Gilmore Davis, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Willie's Pa</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_112">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. Felbel and L. H. Davidow, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company 2, New England</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_114">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Paul J. Field, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To the Reserve Cavalry</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_115">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">We're on Our Way to Deutschland</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_116">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Fletcher Clark, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">I Want to Be a Colonel</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_117">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">I Want to Be a Doughboy</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_118">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kenneth Bonner, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Our Battle Hymn</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_119">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">New England Will Be Leading</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_121">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">On the Banks of the River Rhine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_122">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. J. Riodan, Co. 3, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">The Simulating of the Green</span>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_123">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Joseph Gazzam, Jr., O. R. C., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Don't Send Me Home</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_125">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. M. Anderson, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company Nine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_126">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">O. W. Hauserman, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">We're On Our Way To Europe</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_128">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">T. L. Wood, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company 5 Song</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_129">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Double Time</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_130">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. J. Littlefield, 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The 8th New England</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_132">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anonymous, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Marching on the Rhine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_134">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Eggs—agerated</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_135">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert B. House, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">With Apologies To Kipling's "The Vampire"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_136">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. E. Hall, 1st Troop, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Finis</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_138">136</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#cover">Cover</a> Illustration</span>, C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Let's Go!!</span></td><td align='right' colspan='2'><i><a href="#Page_2">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The First Time</span></td><td align='center'><i>Page</i></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Right Dress—March!</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Test of Discipline</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">What's Your Name?</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Conference</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Always With Another Fellow</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mr. Sleeper, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">There's a Hungry Surgeon Waiting</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Shadow-pointin' Boche</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>S. O. S.</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mr. Baskerville, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Miss at 5 O'clock</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mess? Yes!!</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Title by Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">When East is West</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">With the Rookie to the End</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_141">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mrs. Gertrude Crosby, Wife of Lieut. P. L. Crosby, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The End of a Perfect Day</span></td><td align='right' colspan='2' valign='top'><i><a href="#endpaper">End Papers</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2>PUBLICATION COMMITTEE</h2> + + +<div class='center'>Edward F. Dalton, Chairman Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.<br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="1st P. T. R."> +<tr><td align='center'>1st P. T. R.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>W. Dyar, Co. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>P. J. Field, Co. 2</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>G. B. Blaine, Co. 3</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A. F. Woodies, Co. 4</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>J. C. McMullin, Co. 5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>R. T. Frye, Co. 5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>M. B. Phipps, Co. 6</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>D. Loring, Jr., Co. 7</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>C. H. Ramsey, Co. 8</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>W. W. Webber, Co. 9</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>S. S. Gordon, Tr. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>R. B. Leake, Btry. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>D. E. Currier, Btry. 2</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br />2nd P. T. R.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>W. J. Littlefield, Btry. 3</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>T. C. Jessup, Co. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>E. E. Henderson, Co. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>F. J. Felbel, Co. 2</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Lieut. Kenneth McIntosh, Co. 4</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Capt. Richardson, Co. 5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Pendleton King, Co. 6</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>H. MacKay, Co. 7</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Herbert Clock, Co. 9</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>E. S. Murphy, Btry. 1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>C. G. Shaw, Btry. 2</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>M. N. Kernochan, Btry. 3</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> +<h2>FOREWORD</h2> + + +<div class='poem3'> +River that rolls to the restless deep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From sylvan-born placidity,</span><br /> +Stained issue of the undefiled<br /> +By your own wayward will exiled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,</span><br /> +<br /> +Read me the meaning of your mood.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The waters murmur as they flow,</span><br /> +"Strife is the law by which we live;<br /> +Stagnation, our alternative:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This is the only truth we know."</span><br /> +<br /> +The tides of mortal toilers meet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To merge their rhythms in bloody fray,</span><br /> +And, wave to wave, their armies call—<br /> +Nay, summon us that we shall all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Assume the role we choose to play.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, at the cry, in loyal breasts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As smaller self-concern recedes,</span><br /> +Still burns the old Achillean fire,<br /> +Still eager questing souls desire<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not life but living, not days but deeds.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART I<br /> +POEMS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> +<h2>STANDING IN LINE</h2> + + +<div class='poem4'> +When I applied for Plattsburg I stood for hours in line<br /> +To get a piece of paper which they said I had to sign;<br /> +When I had signed I stood in line (and my, that line was slow!)<br /> +And asked them what to do with it; they said they didn't know.<br /> +<br /> +And when I came to Plattsburg I had to stand in line,<br /> +To get a Requisition, from five o'clock till nine;<br /> +I stood in line till night for the Captain to endorse it;<br /> +But the Q. M. had one leggin' left; I used it for a corset.<br /> +<br /> +We stand in line for hours to get an issue for the squad;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>We stand in line for hours and hours to use the cleaning-rod;<br /> +And hours and hours and hours and hours to sign the roll for pay;<br /> +And walk for miles in double files on Inoculation day.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, Heaven is a happy place, its streets are passing fair,<br /> +And when they start to call the roll up yonder I'll be there;<br /> +But when they start to call that roll I certainly will resign<br /> +If some Reserve Archangel tries to make me stand in line.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus021.png" width="450" height="135" alt="Little rookies in line with giant sergeants" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>THE FIRST TIME</h2> + +<div class='poem'> +My legs are moving to and fro<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel like a balloon;</span><br /> +How my head swims, first time I go<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To boss the damn platoon.</span><br /> +<br /> +My throat and mouth are full of paste<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's nothing in my hat;</span><br /> +My belt is winding round my waist<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But where's my stomach at?</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> +<h2>ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Our Christian Science Battery<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a gun or horse,</span><br /> +Is just a simple oversight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That will be changed, of course.</span><br /> +<br /> +But while we're waiting patiently,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And longing for the day,</span><br /> +They have a funny little game<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They make us fellows play.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bill Hallstead <i>simulates</i> the gun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's sort of short and fat</span><br /> +And doesn't look much like a gun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he's pretty good at that.</span><br /> +<br /> +And they've elected me a horse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off-horse of the wheel pair;</span><br /> +I tie a white cloth on my arm<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">So they can see I'm there.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then when the battery is formed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With each man in his place,</span><br /> +They line the "pieces" in a row<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just like a chariot race.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bill Barnum's "Greatest Show on Earth"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has not a thing on us;</span><br /> +We tear around the old parade<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kick up <i>clouds</i> of dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +For it's gallop all the morning long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They never let us walk.</span><br /> +Why, it gets so realistic<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I whinney when I talk.</span><br /> +<br /> +I wouldn't be a bit surprised<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I should hear some day</span><br /> +That instead of mess they'd issue us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That 14 lbs. of hay.</span><br /> +<br /> +And so I'm looking for the man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one who said to me:</span><br /> +"You don't want to be a 'doughboy,'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go and join the battery."</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus024.png" width="400" height="264" alt="Right Dress—MARCH" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME</h2> + +<div class='poem'> +"Lots of love to our lieutenant,"<br /> +Writes my mother;<br /> +And the letters from my brother<br /> +Contain facetious remarks about "majors" . . .<br /> +He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs. . . .<br /> +But they mean it seriously,<br /> +Those back home.<br /> +They can't seem to realize<br /> +How shaky is our berth up here . . .<br /> +How every "Retreat" means a brief respite;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>Each "Reveille" the dread<br /> +Of some more foolish blunder . . .<br /> +Some new bone-play.<br /> +And yet sometimes our timid vanity<br /> +Blossoms under the warmth of their regard;<br /> +Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us.<br /> +<br /> +There came a blue envelope in the mail today.<br /> +A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh. . . .<br /> +And she ended with<br /> +"<i>Adieu, cher Capitaine</i>."<br /> +<br /> +That very morning<br /> +I started even our sphinx-faced commander<br /> +By bawling out: "Right dress—MARCH!"<br /> +<br /> +"<i>Adieu, cher Capitaine</i>,"<br /> +She had written,<br /> +And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes<br /> +As she thought it.<br /> +<br /> +Bitterly I swore at my luck . . .<br /> +Then<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>Sent her that photograph taken of me<br /> +On July Fourth. . . .<br /> +Of me astride the horse of an officer.<br /> +I scrawled a jest under it.<br /> +<br /> +But what else could I do?<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus027.png" width="550" height="198" alt="A TEST OF DISCIPLINE" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<h2>ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Lady, in your stockings white,<br /> +As you flutter by the road,<br /> +You inspire me to write<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">An ode.</span><br /> +<br /> +Though upon my manly back<br /> +There reposes half a ton,<br /> +Why repine against a pack<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or gun?</span><br /> +<br /> +Though the fire-tressed orb<br /> +Makes mirage upon the street;<br /> +Though the baking soil absorb<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My feet;</span><br /> +<br /> +Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;<br /> +Though the Captain's eye is flame;<br /> +Pray, how should my heart behave—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">The same?</span><br /> +<br /> +I become a thing of steel,<br /> +Buoyant none the less as cork;<br /> +Radiant from hat to heel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I walk.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lady, in your stockings white,<br /> +Don't you note my altered step?<br /> +Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My pep?</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> +<h2>"AVOIRDUPOIS"</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +I sing the song of a Fat Man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Out on the skirmish line,</span><br /> +With a pack chock full of lead and bricks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A'hanging on behind.</span><br /> +<br /> +Maybe you think it's funny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you're out there on the run,</span><br /> +Beside all that equipment<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be pullin' half a ton.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Captain has a heart of stone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It makes no odds to him;</span><br /> +He's there to teach you to skirmish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you'll skirmish fat or thin.</span><br /> +<br /> +D'you suppose he gives a tinker's damn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If when you're lying prone,</span><br /> +The pack comes up behind your ears<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whacks you on the dome?</span><br /> +<br /> +He just hollers "fire faster,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though he knows you couldn't hit</span><br /> +The broad side of a barn door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you were fifty feet from it.</span><br /> +<br /> +He doesn't care a little bit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you're gasping hard for breath,</span><br /> +He's there to teach you to skirmish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you skirmish yourself to death.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, well, it's true about fat men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Being always full of fun,</span><br /> +Good Lord, they've got to be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Cause they can neither fight nor run.</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<img src="images/illus033.png" width="282" height="400" alt="WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" title="" /> +<span class="caption">WHAT'S YOUR NAME?</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<h2>GO!</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Your lips say "Go!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyes plead "Stay!"</span><br /> +Your voice so low<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faints away</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To nothing, dear—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">God keep me here!</span><br /> +<br /> +God end the war,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let us two</span><br /> +Travel far<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Love's road, you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I in peace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never to cease.</span><br /> +<br /> +Your lips say "Go!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyes plead "Stay"—</span><br /> +Ah, how I know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What price you pay.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE PLATTSBURG CODE</h2> + + +<div class='center'>1</div> + +<div class='poem'> +By Lake Champlain, where Bourbon tossed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dice of fortune and romance,</span><br /> +Where red-coats won and red-coats lost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We soldiers train to fight in France.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though with no pomp and elegance</span><br /> +Of gold-laced beaux, we have their same<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old code of pluck and nonchalance—</span><br /> +"God give us guts to play the game."<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />2</div> + +<div class='poem'> +May winds that sing like troubadours<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of musket, sword and daring deed,</span><br /> +And ideals won in early wars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inspire each warrior to succeed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight that nations may be freed,</span><br /> +And through all hardships make his aim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The punch of old-time heroes' creed—</span><br /> +God give us guts to play the game.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />3</div> + +<div class='poem'> +And if to-morrow—who can tell?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We hike along a hot white French</span><br /> +Highway, exposed to shrapnel shell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or occupy a first-line trench,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Midst poisoned gas and dead men's stench,</span><br /> +And hand grenades that burst and maim;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May not all hell our spirit quench—</span><br /> +God give us guts to play the game.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />4</div> + +<div class='poem'> +If through entangled wires and mud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charging the Boche, we madly run,</span><br /> +With comrades dropping, dyed with blood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sickening sights and sounds that stun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in death's duel meet the Hun</span><br /> +'Midst shell holes, smoke, and battle flame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steel clashing steel and gun to gun—</span><br /> +God give us guts to play the game.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus038.png" width="400" height="130" alt="Exhausted men" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>A CONFERENCE</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +I was sleeping in the barracks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A week or so ago.</span><br /> +And in the midst of pleasant dreams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard the whistle blow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord, how I hate those whistles!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, it was time to "rouse,"</span><br /> +So we marched down 'mongst the thistles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the old ice house.</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked around in misery,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last I took a seat,</span><br /> +With nothing to lean up against<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no place for my feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +As I sat there in the drizzle<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a good old Plattsburg rain,</span><br /> +I wondered if I'd fizzle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lesson once again.</span><br /> +<br /> +The captain, who, like Nero<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Observing Rome in flames,</span><br /> +Was seated on a packing-box<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perusing all the names.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of patrols both front and rear?</span><br /> +Speak up, Mr. Whitney,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So the men in back can hear."</span><br /> +<br /> +"And please now, Mr. Warnock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just tell us if you will</span><br /> +What you'd do with this problem<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you were Sergeant Hill?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"No! I'll ask you if I want you;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never mind the hands.</span><br /> +Warnock, <i>you</i> are Sergeant Hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just call out your commands."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Whitney! Warnock! Gee, what luck!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chortled in my glee.</span><br /> +My name is Brown, t'was very plain<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd never get to me.</span><br /> +<br /> +So I listened to the questions<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the answers one by one,</span><br /> +And wondered if that 3rd degree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was ever to be done.</span><br /> +<br /> +I thought of cups with handles on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of napkins and clean hands;</span><br /> +I thought of all the pretty girls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That live in <i>Christian</i> lands.</span><br /> +<br /> +I thought of cakes, and pies, and things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought of home in pain,</span><br /> +And wondered if I'd ever sleep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till 9 o'clock again.</span><br /> +<br /> +I wished I had some lager beer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a nice silver fizz;</span><br /> +When, "Mr. Brown, you tell us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a special order is."</span><br /> +<br /> +I rose, saluted, brushed my pants<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then mutely gazed around.</span><br /> +I stood transfixed; the Captain said<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Sit down, Mr. Brown!</i>"</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> +<h2>SUNDAY IN BARRACKS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Little silences<br /> +Sit in the corners<br /> +Munching their finger tips.<br /> +I lie stretched flat upon my bunk. . . .<br /> +I count the cracks in the pine-boards above me.<br /> +I am alone.<br /> +These others who fill the air with talk<br /> +About right and wrong . . . life and death . . .<br /> +With heavy-nailed footsteps<br /> +And sometimes heavier profanity . . .<br /> +What becomes of them on Sunday?<br /> +Dinners . . . the beauty of women . . .<br /> +Pretty talk.<br /> +Camaraderie beside the lake . . . fellow for fellow,<br /> +What does it matter?<br /> +My little silences slide along the floor . . .<br /> +Clamber up my bunk<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>To grin at me in my loneliness.<br /> +Then I think of the millions<br /> +Who have none for whom to be lonely,<br /> +French, English, German, Russ. . . .<br /> +What does it matter the language?<br /> +We are all one,<br /> +Levelled in solitude.<br /> +<br /> +And I laugh at the silences,<br /> +And laugh to see them scurrying back to their corners,<br /> +Gibbering.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY</h2> + + +<div class='center'>I</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Since we came to Plattsburg Training Camp<br /> +Upon the 12th of May,<br /> +A lot of clever candidates<br /> +Have fallen by the way;<br /> +But the strangest fall among them all<br /> +Was Montmorency Gray.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Monty was a clever lad,<br /> +As bright as bright could be;<br /> +He came up days ahead of time—<br /> +Ahead of you and me—<br /> +And got in strong right from the start.<br /> +O a clever lad was he!<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />III</div> + +<div class='poem'> +For Monty was an Officer<br /> +Of Uncle Sam's Reserve;<br /> +His uniform was spic and span<br /> +In every line and curve;<br /> +And what he lacked in other things,<br /> +He made up for in nerve.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />IV</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He learned the I.D.R. by heart<br /> +Before the 1st of June;<br /> +He used to study late at night,<br /> +And in the morning soon;<br /> +No wonder that the Captain let him<br /> +Lead the 1st Platoon.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />V</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He asked the cutest questions<br /> +In the study hall at night;<br /> +He knew the difference between<br /> +A Cut and Fill at sight.<br /> +And when it said: "What do you do?"<br /> +He always did just right.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />VI</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He memorized the map from<br /> +Chestnut Hill to Steven's Run;<br /> +He didn't have to draw a scale,<br /> +As we have always done;<br /> +He <i>knew</i> that you could see Five-Six—<br /> +Ty-Six from Six-O-One.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />VII</div> + +<div class='poem'> +And then this tragic episode<br /> +Of which I write occurred.<br /> +It happened sometime in the night<br /> +Of June the 23rd<br /> +That Montmorency stole away,<br /> +And left no sign or word.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />VIII</div> + +<div class='poem'> +We found at dawn that he had gone<br /> +And left us in the lurch.<br /> +The Colonel sent detachments out<br /> +For miles around to search;<br /> +A strong patrol to every knoll,<br /> +To every house, and church.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />IX</div> + +<div class='poem'> +They found no trace in any place;<br /> +It caused a lot of talk;<br /> +They wired down to every town<br /> +From Plattsburg to New York.<br /> +As it was plain he took no train<br /> +He must have had to walk.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />X</div> + +<div class='poem'> +'Twas well into the Fall before<br /> +The mystery was cleared.<br /> +(They'd never heard a single word<br /> +Since Monty disappeared),<br /> +When the Colonel had a caller,<br /> +An old farmer, with a beard.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />XI</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He said his name was Topper,<br /> +And he lived in Table Rock,<br /> +And what he told the Colonel<br /> +Gave the Old Man quite a shock;<br /> +They were closeted together<br /> +Until after ten o'clock.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />XII</div> + +<div class='poem'> +From Gettysburg to Plattsburg<br /> +Mr. Topper came to say<br /> +How he'd found a man in uniform<br /> +Down near his home one day,<br /> +Who, judging from his clothing, must<br /> +Have walked a long, long way.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />XIII</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He told the sad and tragic tale<br /> +Of how he came to find,<br /> +While on his way to Hershey's Mill<br /> +With a load of corn to grind,<br /> +The young man wandering on a hill,<br /> +And wandering in his mind.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />XIV</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He took him to his farmhouse, where<br /> +For seven weeks he lay<br /> +And talked and muttered to himself<br /> +In a most peculiar way.<br /> +He gave his name before he died<br /> +As Montmorency Gray.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />XV</div> + +<div class='poem'> +He seemed more sick than lunatic,<br /> +Mr. Topper had to grant;<br /> +As meek and mild as a little child,<br /> +He did not rave or rant,<br /> +He only cried, until he died:<br /> +"You ought to, <i>but you can't!</i>"<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus049.png" width="500" height="374" alt="ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW" title="" /> +<span class="caption">ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2>GIRLS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +They wander everywhere about<br /> +The dears in pink, the dreams in yellow,<br /> +With fetching smile, with pretty pout,<br /> +And always with another fellow.<br /> +<br /> +They spend their mornings baking cakes,<br /> +Their afternoons in making cookies;<br /> +And, oh! the soul within me aches—<br /> +Their sweets are all for other rookies.<br /> +<br /> +Often, when 'neath their eyes we pass,<br /> +I hear some maiden sigh divinely,<br /> +And murmur to another lass,<br /> +"Dear, isn't <i>Jackie</i> marching finely?"<br /> +<br /> +Ah, girls, a sorry lot is his—<br /> +Dull are his days, his nights are dreary—<br /> +Who knows no maiden where he is,<br /> +Who has no dame to call him "Dearie."<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<h2>A LAMENT</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<span class="smcap">After C. Lamb</span>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses<br /> +That used to range along the fragrant bar;<br /> +Gone, all are gone, and in their places<br /> +Milk, Pop and Dietade its beauty mar.<br /> +The Big Four now has turned to Prohibition,<br /> +Anhäuser Busch no longer sells at par,<br /> +Bar-maids have joined the Army of Salvation,<br /> +The voice of Bryan governs from afar;<br /> +All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses,<br /> +Where once they glistened on the fragrant bar.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MANUAL</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Did you ever run into the butt of your gun,<br /> +Or dig the front sight with your nose?<br /> +Did your stomach turn over and stand up on end,<br /> +When you dropped the damn thing on your toes?<br /> +<br /> +When coming to Port did the rifle fall short,<br /> +And the swivel ram into your fist?<br /> +When the rest did present did you so intent<br /> +Find a count that the others had missed?<br /> +<br /> +And when at "Inspection" you clutched to perfection,<br /> +Then shot up the piece with a thrust,<br /> +Was there some dirty pup who pushed your cut-off up<br /> +So your bolt dug a cave in the dust?<br /> +<br /> +Then when on the range your windage you'd change<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>For the flag that the Anarchists wave,<br /> +And the old cocking piece smeared your nose with red "grease,"<br /> +Did you learn what it meant to be brave?<br /> +<br /> +How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks<br /> +With the rifle that now has such charms,<br /> +And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget<br /> +That exhausting old Manual of Arms.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br />I</div> + +<div class='poem'> +To put the pay in patriot<br /> +Is the order of the day.<br /> +And some delight to sing of fight<br /> +For royalties that pay.<br /> +The louder that the eagle screams<br /> +The more the dollars shout,<br /> +And, if you please, atrocities<br /> +Like this are handed out:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br /> +I love you, dear America,<br /> +I love the starry flag,<br /> +We're proud to fight for you-oo-oo;<br /> +We never boast or brag.<br /> +We always will remember you,<br /> +We always will be true;<br /> +Maryland, my Maryland! hurrah, boys, hurrah!<br /> +As we go marching on to victory.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem'> +That some are actuated<br /> +By intentions of the best,<br /> +Is surely clear, and so we fear<br /> +To class them with the rest.<br /> +And yet conceive some long-haired chap,<br /> +Or sentimental miss,<br /> +Who takes the time to fit a rhyme<br /> +To music, say, like this:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br /> +I love you, yes, I love you,<br /> +And when I'm across the sea,<br /> +I'll take your picture to the front,<br /> +'Twill always be with me.<br /> +I shall not mind the bullets<br /> +When I am far away,<br /> +You'll be a soldier's sweetheart,<br /> +My girl in U. S. A.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem'> +To make the war more horrible<br /> +Some chap will surely try<br /> +To set to rag the starry flag,<br /> +And dance the battle cry.<br /> +We only hope we may be spared;<br /> +It did not fail to come,<br /> +A dashing trot of shell and shot,<br /> +Of bugle call and drum.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br /> +That khaki glide! O! that army slide,<br /> +It seems to say:<br /> +"March away, march away!"<br /> +I feel so queer each time I hear<br /> +The music of that military band.<br /> +It's just too grand!<br /> +Fills me full of joy and pride,<br /> +See them marching side by side,<br /> +That's just the good old khaki glide!<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus058.png" width="400" height="131" alt="Fainting rookie getting a shot" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>SATURDAY P.M.</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br />I</div> + +<div class='poem'> +When you've had a shave and a shower,<br /> +And have picked up all the news;<br /> +When you've donned your Sunday Stetson<br /> +And your shiny pair of shoes;<br /> +When your work for the week is over,<br /> +You think that you are through.<br /> +You're wrong, my son, you're wrong, my son<br /> +There's something more for you.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The prophylactic needle.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a hungry surgeon waiting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he's waiting just for you.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Tho' you lasted through the horrors<br /> +Of a test in skirmish drill,<br /> +And proved yourself a captain<br /> +When you bellowed "Fire at will!"<br /> +You are very much mistaken<br /> +If you think you've finished then;<br /> +There is something after luncheon<br /> +For all the Plattsburg men.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />III</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Tho' you stood a strict inspection<br /> +And your dirty gun got by;<br /> +Tho' you'd grease spots on your breeches,<br /> +And the Captain winked his eye;<br /> +Tho' you ate your fill at dinner,<br /> +And enjoyed a Lucky Strike;<br /> +There is something at one-thirty<br /> +That I know you will not like.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />IV</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Tho' you proved yourself a hero<br /> +After three hours in the line,<br /> +And when the doctor jabbed you<br /> +Just said, "Let's have a shine!"<br /> +And smoked a large-sized stogie<br /> +And thought that it was fun,<br /> +My noble-hearted candidate,<br /> +You'd only half begun.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />V</div> + +<div class='poem'> +When you woke up at twelve-thirty<br /> +In a state of some alarm,<br /> +To feel a tortured muscle<br /> +In the region of your arm;<br /> +When you heard the groaning barracks,<br /> +You wiped your brow and said:<br /> +"Two million more next week-end,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>And I guess that I'll be dead."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The needle, the needle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The prophylactic needle.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You softly damn the surgeon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his needle tinged with red.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +When first I landed in this camp<br /> +I used to write most every day<br /> +To all my friends I left behind,<br /> +And ask them what they had to say<br /> +About the old town and the girls,<br /> +Or what they thought about the war;<br /> +And in return the daily mail<br /> +It brought me letters by the score.<br /> +<br /> +But now my friends write me and ask<br /> +What keeps me from replying,<br /> +And when I answer, "It's the work,"<br /> +Why, they just think I'm lying.<br /> +So now the letters I receive<br /> +Are few and very far between;<br /> +They're mostly from my family<br /> +And never any from a queen.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"> +<img src="images/illus063.png" width="410" height="158" alt="Charging a dummy" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>ARMA FEMINAMQUE</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +No man would doubt a woman's nerve,<br /> +We know you're brave enough;<br /> +You put a man to shame at times,<br /> +You're tender—and you're tough.<br /> +And yet I feel, with all your grit<br /> +And talk of cave-men stuff,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you're sorter out of place</span><br /> +When I'm twistin' up my face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-thrustin' and a-jabbin' with my gun-knife.</span><br /> +<br /> +There's some things in this queer old world<br /> +That's awkward things to see,<br /> +They can't be tied with ribbon<br /> +And they can't be served with tea.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>They're not the least bit sociable<br /> +And women—as for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish you'd stay away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I'm training for the day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I'm goin' to get in action with a gun-knife.</span><br /> +<br /> +This ain't no country club affair<br /> +Of smiles and clever skill;<br /> +There ain't no silver cups around<br /> +When doughboys train to kill.<br /> +It's you or me—and do it quick,<br /> +A simple murder drill.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I want no women 'round,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I'm tearin' up the ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shadow-pointin' Boches with my gun-knife.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;"> +<img src="images/illus064.png" width="375" height="195" alt="Bayonetting a dummy" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<h2>OUT O' LUCK</h2> + + +<div class='poem2'> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If, in spite of hopes and promises, your pay day doesn't come,</span><br /> +If the sergeant antedates the call, or Friday's fish is bum,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the waiter empties soup on you—don't let 'em see you glum.</span><br /> +You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you must deploy your skirmish line with nothing in your dome,</span><br /> +Or send supporting picket-lines to countermarch the Somme,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chances are you've guessed it wrong and "may as well go home."</span><br /> +You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you drop between the battle-lines and no one finds the place,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>Or jump into a pit and drive a bay'nit through your face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or try to stop a ten-inch shell and leave an empty space.</span><br /> +You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;"> +<img src="images/illus067.png" width="359" height="550" alt="S.O.S." title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<h2>SHERMAN WAS RIGHT</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +You may talk about your marching<br /> +And your stiff, close-order drill;<br /> +You may cuss out recitations,<br /> +And of skirmish have your fill;<br /> +The difficult manoeuvers<br /> +Which you do most every day<br /> +May get your goat like everything,<br /> +And spoil your Plattsburg stay.<br /> +But for me it's far, far harder<br /> +Makes me feel more like a prune,<br /> +To march at strict attention<br /> +Past the Hostess House at noon.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> +<h2>TROOPSHIP CHANTY</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +The sea is green as green-pea soup<br /> +And half-way down the green-o,<br /> +A U-boat's lying snug and tight<br /> +All bellied out with dynamite,<br /> +And twenty guns between-o!<br /> +And twenty guns between-o!<br /> +<br /> +So scrape yer hatchways clear of brine,<br /> +And bawl yer jolly song-o.<br /> +For if she "blows," my lads, why, then<br /> +We'll blow her back to Hell again,<br /> +With compliments along-o!<br /> +With compliments along-o!<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOSE RUMORS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He sauntered in</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a knowing grin,</span><br /> +The news he'd been to hear;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We knew right well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He'd come to tell</span><br /> +The latest from the rear.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A hundred went," he said, "to-day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Five hundred more must go they say;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Looks bad, Bill, guess you're on your way;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Darn few of us can hope to stay.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I got this straight from a friend of mine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A friend of his in Company 9,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Heard from a friend in Company 10,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That Company 5 lost fifty men."</span><br /> +With this you'd think<br /> +Our hopes would sink,<br /> +It ought to change our humor.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We knew the source,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So smiled of course,</span><br /> +It was an L. T. rumor.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> +<h2>WAR'S HORRORS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +I hate to talk of a Regular<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without the proper respect;</span><br /> +But given a chance to criticize,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's a bunch that I'd select.</span><br /> +And they are those musical miscreants,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those malefactors of noise,</span><br /> +Those rookie Second Cavalrymen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The amateur bugle boys.</span><br /> +<br /> +They blow retreat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from head to feet</span><br /> +Coagulate your spine;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or at company drill</span><br /> +They send a chill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-shivering down the line.</span><br /> +Just try to salute<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their twittering toot,</span><br /> +Their yodeling, rasping groan,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their blithering bleat,</span><br /> +And you'll swear that they beat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hindu quarter-tone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By Gad!</span><br /> +The Hindu quarter-tone.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CALL</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Spring to arms, ye sons of freedom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lift your country's ensign high;</span><br /> +Join her undefeated Army,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Succor France, her old ally.</span><br /> +Stand for freedom, truth and justice,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crush the Prussian tyrant's power;</span><br /> +Emulate your worthy forebears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their Homeland's crucial hour.</span><br /> +Britain, mother of your nation;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">France, her hope in ages past;</span><br /> +Belgium, home of peaceful people,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seared by foul oppression's blast;</span><br /> +Russia, newly born to freedom;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seeking honor, God and right,</span><br /> +Call on you to aid in crushing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prussianism's cursed blight.</span><br /> +Are ye men? Then meet the challenge<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As your fathers did of old;</span><br /> +Help the cause of all the races,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your muscle, brain, and gold.</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus075.png" width="450" height="382" alt="On the firing Line "A Miss At 5 O'clock"" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> +<h2>BEANS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Consider then the Army bean<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So various and quaint.</span><br /> +Sometimes we find they're just plain beans,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then again they ain't.</span><br /> +They're funny shades of yellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brown, green, and red, and white;</span><br /> +While striped and spotted, polka dotted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beans our taste delight.</span><br /> +But nix on beans Manchurian,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beans of age Silurian,</span><br /> +Which same could stand a buryin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they come on—Good Night!</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> +<h2>FORWARD "?"</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the parade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Soft and low,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rookie hiccoughed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, Ho!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Another youngster</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Feeling smart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tried to shout,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, Hart!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One requested,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, How!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From somewhere else,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There came a "Yow!"</span><br /> +<br /> + * * * * * *<br /> +<br /> +Perhaps a mile or so away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We heard not "Harp!" nor "Harch!"</span><br /> +But stalwart Major Koehler's voice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thunder, "Forward, March!"</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHANT OF A DERELICT</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Sad is my song, mates, for I've got the axe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got to go, I've got to go;</span><br /> +Farewell to Plattsburg and life in the shacks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home I must go, I must go.</span><br /> +Told not to let such a small matter grieve me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sent to the parents who hate to receive me,</span><br /> +Hearing my story, they'll never believe me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got to go, got to go.</span><br /> +<br /> +No more to sleep in a two-story bunk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back I must go, I must go;</span><br /> +No more to sag 'neath a pack full of junk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home I must go, I must go.</span><br /> +Leaving the books I could never have learned,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buying a straw hat—the old one was burned—</span><br /> +Even the wrist watch must now be interned,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back I must go, I must go.</span><br /> +<br /> +Here is the moral of this plaintive cough,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sung as I go, moaned as I go;</span><br /> +Here is the reason for my sounding off,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now as I go, as I go:</span><br /> +Comrades in arms, oh! be prompt at formations,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neat in your dress, and observe regulations,</span><br /> +Else, you, like me, will rejoin your relations,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home you must go, you must go.</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus081.png" width="550" height="165" alt="MESS? YES!!" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MESS? YES!!</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREOCCUPATION</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +The captain stops and yells to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Wake up there, rear rank number three!"</span><br /> +And then, perchance, he makes some mention<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of how I do not pay attention.</span><br /> +But is it <i>my</i> fault? No, it's you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your persistent eyes of blue,</span><br /> +That halt the flow of reason's stream<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make me dream and dream and dream,</span><br /> +Until the captain comes and—well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To put it plain—he gives me <i>Hell</i>.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> +<h2>INOCULATION DAY</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +My blood the surgeons fortify<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With antiseptic serum;</span><br /> +The dread bacilli I defy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What cause have I to fear 'em?</span><br /> +<br /> +We form outside the pest-house door<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At one o'clock precisely,</span><br /> +But if we get our dose at four<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We think we're doing nicely.</span><br /> +<br /> +And in our arm the surgeon stabs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hypodermic squirter,</span><br /> +E'en as the hungry hobo jabs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His fork in a frankfurter.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm full of dope for smallpox germs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For typhus and such evils,</span><br /> +For broken heart and army worms,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For chestnut blight and weevils.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm doped against the bayonet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wielded by German demons;</span><br /> +But no one seems to think I'll get<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear old delirium tremens.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> +<h2>DON'T WEAKEN</h2> + + +<div class='poem4'> +When you feel on the bum and the outlook is glum,<br /> +And you're wonderin' what's comin' next;<br /> +When most every thing's drear and life loses its cheer,<br /> +And the Skip and Reverses are vexed;<br /> +If this Plattsburgish heat knocks you clean off your feet,<br /> +Or your bunkies they ain't even speakin';<br /> +Keep your shirt on your back, don't knock over the stack,<br /> +It's a great life, if you don't weaken.<br /> +<br /> +When they launder your sock till it ain't fit to hock,<br /> +When they shrink up your shirt like a rag;<br /> +If you blister your toes and then sunburn your nose<br /> +And then can't even go on a jag;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>Why, you're sure out of luck, but just pass the old buck,<br /> +Keep a stiff upper lip like a deacon;<br /> +Though you shoot ten straight blanks do not kick with the cranks,<br /> +Summon a grin and don't weaken.<br /> +<br /> +If you're late for retreat and must police the street,<br /> +If at reveille you're still in your bed;<br /> +If your girl sends you flags which some other cuss bags,<br /> +Or they clip all the hair off your head;<br /> +If the mess comes out burned,<br /> +So your stomach gets turned,<br /> +Or the "upper man" keeps you from sleepin';<br /> +Don't you growl, that won't help,<br /> +For they'll dub you a whelp;<br /> +Can the grouch—but don't weaken.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE THREE</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Three dead men rose on nimble toes<br /> +Above the frozen clay;<br /> +And as they sped, each of the Dead<br /> +Told how he died that day.<br /> +<br /> +Said one, "I sent the Regiment<br /> +To safety as I fell."<br /> +The Second cried, "Before I died<br /> +I hurled the foe to Hell."<br /> +<br /> +As for the Third, he spoke no word<br /> +But hastened on his way,<br /> +Until at last a whisper passed:<br /> +"How did <i>you</i> die today?"<br /> +<br /> +"There was a maid slept unafraid<br /> +Within a hut," he said.<br /> +"I searched the place and for a space<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>I thought that all had fled.<br /> +<br /> +"But her breast glowed white in the morning light<br /> +As the early dawn grew red;<br /> +Tiptoe I came in lust and shame<br /> +And stood beside her bed.<br /> +<br /> +"And there I fought an evil thought<br /> +And won—and turned to go;<br /> +Then as I went into my tent<br /> +A bullet struck me low."<br /> +<br /> +The others heard and spoke no word<br /> +(For dead men understand),<br /> +But 'round they turned and their deep eyes burned<br /> +As they gripped his leaden hand.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> +<h2>TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +We see you in the morning<br /> +When Reveille implores;<br /> +We meet you in the evening<br /> +At end of daily chores.<br /> +On march, fatigue, or drilling<br /> +Our friend we find you still,<br /> +With kindly, pleasant bearing<br /> +And independent will.<br /> +You're small, you're thin, you're homely,<br /> +You're battered, scratched, and lame;<br /> +But in our tasks before us<br /> +Pray God we be as game!<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus091.png" width="350" height="211" alt="Man with chart in wind" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>WHEN EAST IS WEST</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +See that man in khaki clothes,<br /> +Squirming in the dust;<br /> +Toying with a sketching board,<br /> +Uniform all mussed.<br /> +Squinting 'long a little stick,<br /> +Grunting fit to bust—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br /> +<br /> +First he drills a "starting point."<br /> +Then he takes a "shot;"<br /> +Someone's scare-crow gets a line,<br /> +Closes Jones's lot.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>Paces stiffly down the road,<br /> +Worried—tense—and hot—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now an "intersection point;"<br /> +Watch the compass turn.<br /> +Think to see him finger it<br /> +Bloomin' thing would burn.<br /> +Missed an inch by motor truck;<br /> +Eyes it proud and stern—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br /> +<br /> +Plants an orchard in the road;<br /> +Leaves a forest bare.<br /> +Runs a railroad through a house;<br /> +Fakes a village square.<br /> +Twenty contours in a swamp,<br /> +Thirteen in the air—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calls the thing a road sketch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<h2>TO MY SWEETHEART</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +I love you when the bugle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calls, "Awake, the day's begun!"</span><br /> +I love you as we work and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweat and drill beneath the sun.</span><br /> +I love you at retreat, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the sun sinks out of view;</span><br /> +Sweetheart of mine! quite all the time,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I—love—you.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> +<h2>PLAY THE GAME</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +When everything goes wrong<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it's hard to force a song,</span><br /> +The proper stunt we claim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is to grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +If things break worse than fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Say the Frenchmen, "<i>C'est la Guerre</i>."</span><br /> +Which to them is just the same,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As to grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +If you find the mess is punk—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kidney beans and other junk—</span><br /> +Try to eat it just the same;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stretch a grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +When for nothing you've been bawled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though you've done your best get called,</span><br /> +And you know you're not to blame;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Force a grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +When we're hit by some big shell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And almost catch a glimpse of hell;</span><br /> +When we think how close we came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll just grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +While our work is being done<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We will show the mighty Hun,</span><br /> +In the land from whence we came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How we grin, and play the game.</span><br /> +<br /> +When the last long line is passed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the victory's ours at last,</span><br /> +Greater far will be the fame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we've grinned, and played the game.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +I hear the mighty song of singing men<br /> +Crashing among the pine-trees through the night,<br /> +And thund'ring, trumpet-wise, down every glen,<br /> +A song to France, whose soul is bleeding white.<br /> +<br /> +But hark!—out rings a deeper, stronger cry.<br /> +A Nation, which has newly learned to give,<br /> +Is singing as its sons go forth to die,<br /> +Because, God knows, they're going forth—to live!<br /> +<br /> + * * * * * *<br /> +<br /> +O little Maid of France, who rests in Heaven,<br /> +Crowned with the Lilies Three (and Lilies Seven),<br /> +Send us the clear-eyed Faith that came to thee,<br /> +Praying beneath the pines, in Domremy.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> +<h2>RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake! 'tis morning, though it should not be—</span><br /> +Come, can the yawns, it's speed they want to see—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stagger forth upon a hostile world,</span><br /> +In flannel shirt and cotton pants O. D.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the phantoms of the night were done,</span><br /> +Methought I idled somewhere in the sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Debating whether beauty to pursue,</span><br /> +Or touch a bell, and cultivate a bun.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lovely maids in garments pale did seem</span><br /> +To shimmer round me in continuous stream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each with a glass of something in her hand,</span><br /> +And then I turned—and lo! it was a dream!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ere the cock crew he that stood before</span><br /> +The barracks, shouted "Half a minute more!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belts, bayonets, and pieces—on the jump—</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>And signal-flags and alidades," O Lor'!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sometimes think that never battles din</span><br /> +Were so unwelcome as the words "Fall in!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor any victory could taste so sweet</span><br /> +As French vermouth with ice and Gordon gin.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yesterday's problem 'twixt the Red and Blue</span><br /> +Involved our journey down the Road Peru;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The day before we took the Peru Road—</span><br /> +I'll bet a hat we're there to-morrow, too.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Myself when fresh and full of zeal and spunk,</span><br /> +Hung on the words whence wisdom should be drunk;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But this was all the harvest that I reaped—</span><br /> +To say "as fast as possible" is punk.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Platoon commanders, captains by the score,</span><br /> +Each takes his turn—and then is seen no more;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But no one ever thinks of him again</span><br /> +One half so kindly as they thought before.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-day's commander, with commands profuse,</span><br /> +To-morrow to the rear rank will reduce.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think, and you know not what he meant to say—</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>He knows not neither, so—ah, what's the use?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waste not your hour to criticize or blame,</span><br /> +You would have done it worse, or just the same.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Better to pack your troubles with your kit,</span><br /> +To keep your shirt on, and to play the game.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some for the shriek of shot and shell, and some</span><br /> +Sigh for the bottle of New England rum.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, face the facts, and let the fiction go—</span><br /> +I'll bet "<i>la vie des tranchèes</i>" will be bum.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One moment's rest, then back into the mill</span><br /> +With butt and point to lacerate and kill.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I often wonder what the Germans teach</span><br /> +One half so cultured as our "Bay'net Drill."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For war is hell, and Plattsburg not a jest,</span><br /> +And yet, by gravy, we will do our best,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till submarine and Kaiser are forgot,</span><br /> +Or Angel Gabriel hollers out, "At rest!"<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2>DREAMS</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Says Captain Peek to Company Two,<br /> +"Let's have an exam to-day;<br /> +"So get your rifles and bayonet, boys,<br /> +"And fall in right away.<br /> +<br /> +"Line up whenever you're ready to go;<br /> +"At route step do squads right:<br /> +"Light up your pipes, roll up your sleeves,<br /> +"We'll try to make this light."<br /> +<br /> +With joyful faces they march to parade,<br /> +Fall out and rest on the grass.<br /> +"Will someone please perform right face?<br /> +"We'll let slight errors pass."<br /> +<br /> +Then Captain Peek shuts up that book<br /> +"I won't give one black mark.<br /> +"Officers, beat it; get the hook!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>"I'll drill you right till dark.<br /> +<br /> +"You seem to know the drill all right;<br /> +"Don't bother about those maps;<br /> +"Put on your 'civies' as fast as you can,<br /> +"And don't come back for taps."<br /> +<br /> +'Twill be thus perhaps in a happier land,<br /> +When they've run that American drive,<br /> +Where we drill in white all armed with harps;<br /> +But not while our Cap's alive.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> +<h2>A 2nd REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Major Collins is careful of<br /> +His regiment's health.<br /> +Lemonade and other things,<br /> +Taken on march,<br /> +Have been known to cause<br /> +Soldiers to die, and pie?<br /> +Perish the suggestion! 'Tis<br /> +Safe to bet the major<br /> +Was not born in New England.<br /> +<br /> +If in a deep wood or desert vast<br /> +One would never be lost<br /> +With Captain Barnes. He knows<br /> +How to orient the landscape<br /> +By sun or star.<br /> +<br /> +Lieutenant Meyer is tall,<br /> +He holds his hat on<br /> +By a strap<br /> +Under his chin.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>A cyclone couldn't blow it off.<br /> +<br /> +Captain Latrobe came on<br /> +From Texas way,<br /> +"Sif bofe" his saddle<br /> +And himself. He might as well<br /> +Have saved the freight on the saddle,<br /> +For he has no horse to ride on.<br /> +He leads his steedless troop<br /> +On charger invisible.<br /> +<br /> +Arnold, Major now, fares better.<br /> +His horse is real<br /> +And has white feet.<br /> +Do not talk to his<br /> +Command while it is marching,<br /> +Nor count for the men, or<br /> +The winning smile will<br /> +Turn into a volcano,<br /> +And you will be reduced to<br /> +A shapeless mass. Beware!<br /> +<br /> +Carr's horse is black,<br /> +And a beauty, too,<br /> +But neighs out loud; hence<br /> +Never should be used to patrol.<br /> +The enemy would listen, and<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Know you were near.<br /> +<br /> +The straightest man<br /> +On horseback is,<br /> +Doubtless, Wainwright;<br /> +And he doesn't lean backward to do it, either.<br /> +<br /> +Matthews has a deep voice;<br /> +No ear trumpet is needed to hear his commands.<br /> +He believes in exercise.<br /> +His men should be able to<br /> +Throw Samson or Sandow,<br /> +If they are not dead<br /> +By August Eleventh.<br /> +<br /> +Waldron knows how to patrol—<br /> +At least he wrote a book<br /> +For thirty cents.<br /> +He next should write a book on how<br /> +To spot a periscope when we cross the sea.<br /> +If we don't know that, we'll never<br /> +Spot anything else<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>But bubbles on the ocean's face.<br /> +<br /> +Capt. Goodwyn just came up<br /> +From Panama, and brought<br /> +Chivalry with him.<br /> +It's as hot here as there,<br /> +But he is showing us how<br /> +To make it hotter<br /> +For certain people<br /> +To the eastward.<br /> +<br /> +There is a fat Q.M.,<br /> +Whose name is<br /> +Unknown, but not his form.<br /> +Once seen<br /> +Never forgotten;<br /> +He must have<br /> +The keys to the ice-box.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> +<h2>EUREKA</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +It may be from hot Tallahassee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It may be from cold northern Nome,</span><br /> +But there's nothing that can be compared with<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That BIG little letter from home.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> +<h2>FOURTH COMPANY, N.E. SONG</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +'Way up in Plattsburg, right near the northern border,<br /> +They sent us off in May,<br /> +There for three months to stay,<br /> +So we could all become lieutenants.<br /> +Then when they put us all in comp'nies<br /> +We made New England Four.<br /> +It's the finest little company<br /> +That ever did Squads Right and ran into a tree.<br /> +New England, you've got to hand it to us—<br /> +Good old Company Four!<br /> +<br /> +'Way up in Plattsburg—that's where they make us soldiers—<br /> +They drill us every day.<br /> +Damn little time for play,<br /> +'Cause when we do not drill we study.<br /> +New England number four's our comp'ny,<br /> +We're always full of pep.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>Now if you want some men for good, hard work<br /> +You'll always find this company will never shirk.<br /> +New England, you've got to hand it to us—<br /> +Good old Company Four!<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART II<br /> + +SONGS AND PARODIES</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<h2>LONG, LONG TRAIL</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: There's a Long Trail</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +There's a long, long trail before us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into No-Man's land in France,</span><br /> +Where the shrapnel shells are bursting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we must advance.</span><br /> +<br /> +There'll be lots of drill and hiking,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before our dreams all come true,</span><br /> +But some day we'll show the Germans,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the Yankees come through.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> +<h2>WILLIE'S PA</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Solomon Levi</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='center'>I</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +O, Willie Jones's fond mamma brought him to Plattsburg town,<br /> +To see his father at the Camp go marching up and down;<br /> +And Willie grew excited as the band began to play,<br /> +And when he saw his papa march, the people heard him say:<br /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> +<div class='poem4'> +"O, look at him, Ma-ma, ain't he simply grand?<br /> +See the way he holds his gun and swings his other hand.<br /> +The Captain's walking up in front, and now he's calling 'hep,'<br /> +And everyone but my papa is marching out of step."<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +O, Willie Jones, he loved to see the soldiers marching by,<br /> +He went down to the target range to see the bullets fly,<br /> +And every time they made a shot, he cried "Ain't that a beaut!"<br /> +And clapped his hands in glee to see his papa start to shoot.<br /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> +<div class='poem4'> +"O, look at him, Ma-ma, see him hold his gun,<br /> +And every time he shoots it off it hits him on the bun.<br /> +He puts his hand around the thing and gives an awful pull,<br /> +The red flag there is waving, O! it must have been a bull."<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> +<h2>COMPANY 2 NEW ENGLAND</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Lord Geoffry Amherst"</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem4'> +Oh, good old Uncle Sam declared a war on Kaiser Bill,<br /> +When, his pledges "Bill" neglected to fulfill;<br /> +And the War Department ordered that a training camp should be,<br /> +So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?<br /> +So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?<br /> +And the men from all New England came along and gathered there,<br /> +And the companies they chose with greatest care.<br /> +But out of all the candidates selected but a few<br /> +To organize New England Number 2.<br /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> +<div class='poem4'> +Oh, Captain Peek and Company Two<br /> +They'll be names known to fame the whole world o'er.<br /> +They will ever be glorious<br /> +When the Hohenzollerns reign no more.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> +<h2>TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: The Infantry, the Infantry, with Dirt Behind +Their Ears</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='center'>I</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +The Cavalry, the Cavalry, they haven't any horse,<br /> +They're taking riding lessons by a correspondence course,<br /> +You'd think they were equestrians to hear the way they talk,<br /> +But when it comes to riding, why! We always see them walk.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +The Cavalry, the Cavalry, are marching down the street,<br /> +The Cavalry, the Cavalry, with blisters on their feet,<br /> +The Artillery is mounted now and ready for the course;<br /> +But we never see the Cavalry with any kind of horse.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> +<h2>WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Hit the Line for Harvard</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +We're on our way to Deutschland,<br /> +We're Yankees through and through,<br /> +And we'll show the Huns of Germ'ny<br /> +What the U. S. A. can do.<br /> +With France and Old England,<br /> +Victory or die;<br /> +And we'll give a rousing cheer, boys,<br /> +As the allied flags go by.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<h2>I WANT TO BE A COLONEL</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: I Want to Be Back Home in Dixie</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem4'> +I want to be, I want to be, I want to be at least a Colonel,<br /> +Have the Majors handing me salutes, and a man to black my boots.<br /> +I want to be, I want to be, at least a Colonel, C-O-L-O-N-E-L,<br /> +Hold down a desk and give the captains Hell.<br /> +I want to be, I want to be, I want to be a Colonel <i>now!</i><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> +<h2>I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: I Want to Be a Yale Boy</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +I want to be a doughboy,<br /> +Doughboy tried and true;<br /> +I want to be a doughboy,<br /> +With a hat cord of baby blue.<br /> +I want to be a doughboy,<br /> +Do as the doughboys do;<br /> +So, papa, if I can<br /> +When I get to be a man,<br /> +I want to be a doughboy, too.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<h2>OUR BATTLE HYMN</h2> + +<div class='center'>(Air: "Battle Hymn of the Republic")<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='center'>I</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +We have heard a lot about a place they call "Somewhere in France,"<br /> +And we're going "Over There" to put some pep in the advance;<br /> +"There's a long, long trail before us," but you bet we'll take the chance,<br /> +As Five goes marching on.<br /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> +<div class='poem4'> +Glory, glory, for we're going to beat the Hun,<br /> +Old Hindenburg will execute a new strategic run,<br /> +And Kaiser Bill will find he has no place beneath the sun,<br /> +When Five goes marching on.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />II</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>We are handy with the rifle and the bayonet and such;<br /> +And though Fritz is used to running and is sort of hard to touch,<br /> +We will show him when we get there that it doesn't matter much,<br /> +When Five is marching on.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> + + +<div class='center'><br />III</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +You may say that we're not modest, but our faults we will confess,<br /> +We hate to rise at Reveille, we're not too fond of mess;<br /> +And we never, never, never get a good line at Right Dress,<br /> +But we do keep marching on.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> + + +<div class='center'><br />IV</div> + +<div class='poem4'> +Now all you other fellows who are going overseas,<br /> +Just remember that we guarantee the foeman to appease;<br /> +So when you hear we're coming you may rest or stand at ease,<br /> +When Five goes marching on.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> +<h2>NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: John Brown's Body</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem4'> +New England will be leading when we're marching up the Rhine,<br /> +New York will be the rear guard and we'll leave them far behind,<br /> +We'll conquer German cities and we'll capture Kaiser Bill,<br /> +As we go marching on.<br /> +Glory, glory to New England!<br /> +Glory, glory to New England!<br /> +Glory, glory to New England!<br /> +As we go marching on.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> +<h2>ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Through Those Wonderful Glasses of Mine"</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem4'> +Germany, we're coming over, we are going straight to France;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are praying for a chance,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just to make your soldiers dance.</span><br /> +Kaiser Bill, your doom is coming; take a tip, old top, RESIGN!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we'll drink beer in June,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the light of the moon,</span><br /> +On the banks of the River Rhine.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> +<h2>"THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Wearing of the Green"</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem4'> +Oh, Major dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?<br /> +We Cavalry must simulate till horses can be found;<br /> +We gallop and we single-foot as handsome as can be,<br /> +But on our own two feet we ride—a horse you'll never see.<br /> +'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green;<br /> +A hundred men a-riding where no horses can be seen.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, Colonel dear, ye'll grieve to hear Artillery's the same,<br /> +Compared to simulating guns, a horse is rather tame;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>Last night I was the left rear wheel—it made me moighty sore,<br /> +But dommed if I will be the swab and crawl inside the bore.<br /> +'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green,<br /> +A-firing rounds and salvos where no cannons can be seen.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> +<h2>DON'T SEND ME HOME</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Don't Take Me Home</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Don't send me home, please don't send me home.<br /> +Tell me, where did I make that break?<br /> +Oh, oh, oh, oh, have a little pity.<br /> +I'm a poor candidate, in search of war I roam.<br /> +I'll do anything you want me to, but don't<br /> +Send me home.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> +<h2>COMPANY NINE</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Far Above Cayuga's Water"</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Hark, ye Rookies, to the chorus<br /> +Of old Company Nine;<br /> +Captains, Colonels, all adore us,<br /> +When we fall in line.<br /> +Tho' we're doughboys, we're not slow boys,<br /> +Thanks to Sargeant Hill;<br /> +And when we take our stand in Deutschland,<br /> +Lord help Kaiser Bill!<br /> +<br /> +In the morning at the warning,<br /> +"Clothes on Company Nine!"<br /> +Feeling rocky, into khaki<br /> +Jumps our valiant line.<br /> +We shun strawberries in the valley<br /> +Off the Peru road,<br /> +But in mess shack none can beat us<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>At the order "Load!"<br /> +<br /> +In Pabst-less Plattsburg, bone-dry rookies,<br /> +Waiting for our kale,<br /> +Our healths we drink in foamless bumpers,<br /> +Full of Adam's ale.<br /> +But when the "Sammies" take their Münchener<br /> +On the river Rhine,<br /> +The toast will be to old New England<br /> +And to Company Nine.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> +<h2>WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "My Wife's Away in Europe"</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +We're on our way to Europe,<br /> +And we won't come back.<br /> +And we won't come back.<br /> +We're going to shoot an awful pill<br /> +Into the hide of Kaiser Bill.<br /> +Von Hindenburg can't stop us;<br /> +We laugh at him, hee! hee!<br /> +We've shot the pistol twice before,<br /> +Can't hit the side of a barn door.<br /> +We're on our way to Europe<br /> +To lay Bill cross our knee.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<h2>COMPANY 5 SONG</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Original Music by Mr. H. T. Morgan</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='center'>1</div> + +<div class='poem'> +On guard! We're always on our toes;<br /> +Plattsburg has taught us pep.<br /> +We're good at being Red or Blue,<br /> +But oh, that step!<br /> +Though we may lose a few patrols,<br /> +Just watch the Allied drive.<br /> +Right where they reach the Rhine, there<br /> +You'll find New England Five.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />2</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Forward! We're on our way to France;<br /> +We'll make it hot for Fritz.<br /> +With bayonet or rifle,<br /> +Watch us score all hits.<br /> +Heads up! We're after Hindenburg,<br /> +We'll show him we're alive;<br /> +When we get through with him, he<br /> +Will know New England Five.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> +<h2>DOUBLE TIME</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Tammany</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class='poem'> +Double time, double time!<br /> +We're the boys with running feet,<br /> +And we never mind the heat.<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +Battr'y three, you always see at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br /> +<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +On the run we always keep,<br /> +We even do it in our sleep.<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +When we eat our food goes down at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br /> +<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +Always jump and run like Hell,<br /> +Faster than a British shell.<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +Boche can't hit us, for we move at<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br /> +<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +It's the surest road to fame,<br /> +If you live and don't get lame.<br /> +Double time, double time!<br /> +Hammond's favorite outdoor sport is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Michael Roy</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class='poem2'> +The Eighth New England Infantry is the one that shows them how;<br /> +If Kaiser Bill could see us drill, the war would be over now.<br /> +Out in front of the Hostess House, as we go marching by<br /> +Where the ladies are sitting, they drop their knitting, and all begin to cry:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."</span><br /> +<br /> +If Elihu Root could see us shoot out on the rifle range<br /> +He'd send us to Russia to help lick Prussia—oh, what a glorious change!<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>If General Pershing could hear us cursing the whistle that blows too soon,<br /> +There'd be a decree that reveille would come in the afternoon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> +<h2>MARCHING ON THE RHINE</h2> + +<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Rocky Road to Dublin</i>)<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class='poem'> +When marching on the Rhine, boys,<br /> +We'll be singing this song<br /> +As we're marching along.<br /> +When marching on the Rhine, boys,<br /> +On our hunt for Kaiser Bill,<br /> +We'll shoot the Germans out of France,<br /> +We'll keep them on the run;<br /> +When we get there the world will know,<br /> +New England has begun,<br /> +To fight for Uncle Sammy.<br /> +We'll do our best,<br /> +And never will rest,<br /> +Until Old Glory rises to the sun.<br /> +Over the sea, boys,<br /> +Over the sea to Victory,<br /> +New England will fight on forever.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> +<h2>EGGS—AGERATED</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +Since I've come to Plattsburg<br /> +I've eaten so many eggs,<br /> +That feathers now adorn my skin,<br /> +And spurs are on my legs.<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> +<h2>WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +A fool there was, and he made his prayer,<br /> +(Even as you and I)<br /> +Tho't he would hold down a colonel's chair,<br /> +So he came up here to do and dare,<br /> +But the skipper decided he wasn't there,<br /> +(Even as you and I).<br /> +<br /> +Oh, the days we waste, and the pay we waste,<br /> +And the work of our hands and feet<br /> +Belong to the days we did not know,<br /> +(And now we know we never could know)<br /> +Enough to stand still at retreat.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, the sleep we lost and the weight we lost,<br /> +And the things we had to eat<br /> +Can never come back to make us want,<br /> +(We hope they can't and pray they sha'n't)<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>If they did we'd admit we were beat.<br /> +<br /> +The fool was stripped to his foolish hide,<br /> +(Even as you and I)<br /> +And they wouldn't let him be rear guide,<br /> +(So some of him lived, but the most of him died)<br /> +And he stayed a "rookie" just outside<br /> +(Even as you and I).<br /> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>FINIS</i></h2> + + +<div class='poem5'> +There's a lot that's pretty funny in the life we lead up here,<br /> +The problems and the hikin' and the mess;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sometimes when I'm all alone I get a little blue,</span><br /> +And that's the way with everyone, I guess.<br /> +<br /> +I often sit and wonder what it's really all about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what the end of all this will be;</span><br /> +It seems almost impossible that we will be at war,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And see the things a soldier has to see.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's something more than just parade and something more than drill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And something more than hiking in the rain.</span><br /> +It means that lots of friends we've made are going over seas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some of them will not come back again.</span></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<div class='poem5'>There's not a single man of us who really wants to fight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And maybe die somewhere in France—but then,</span><br /> +It's war, and since it must be done, we'll try to do it right.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God willing, we'll acquit ourselves like men.</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus141.png" width="400" height="400" alt="With the Rookie to the End." title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a name="endpaper" id="endpaper"></a> +<img src="images/endpaper.png" width="600" height="452" alt="Endpaper" title="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b> + +<p>Table of Contents: The page numbering in the Table of Contents is off by +one beginning with THE CALL which the Table of Contents indicates should be on page +73. It actually begins on the next page. By the end of the book the page numbering is +off by two. The final poem "Finis" is on page 138. I have edited the links in +the Table of Contents so that the reader will go to the correct page even though +the original page numbers have been retained, i.e. clicking on the link for 136 +will take you to page 138.</p> +<p>Closing quotes were added to both stanzas of the +poem "THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND" which begins on <a href="#Page_132">page 132</a>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by +The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. 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