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