Chapter 1

RHYMES OF THE ROOKIES

Sunny Side of Soldier Service

by

W. E. CHRISTIAN

1917

To the Colors

Here's to the Red of the Firing Line; Here's to a World White-Free; Here's to the Blue of the Yankee Sign; Here's to Liberty!

--W. E. C

To

THEODORE ROOSEVELT Colonel of the Rough Riders

Who, more than any other one man gives out The Spirit and the Meaning of the AMERICAN SOLDIER

CONTENTS

MY BUNKIE OUR OFFICERS PAY DAY THE ARMY GROUCH WEANING TIME "HANDS ACROSS THE SEA" THE HIKE A-B-C OF ARMY LIFE A SOLDIER'S PRIMER THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE A MARINE'S HYMN HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG THE CAVALRY SONG THE RED GUIDON THE CONSCRIPT THE SLACKER PREPAREDNESS "BEANS" ADVICE THE SCENT OF THE COCOA MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS GARRISON LIFE THE PHILIPPINITIS THE EAST IS A-CALLING TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE CORPORAL OF THE GUARD GENERAL ORDERS OF THE KITCHEN POLICE IS HE A SOREHEAD? FUNSTON YEAR 2016 IN CHIHUAHUA WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO OLD BALDY "KAISER BILL" THE RAW RECRUIT SERVING IN TEXAS O'REILLY'S GONE TO HELL ON THE "BORDER" ROUTINE THE UNIFORM IN THE COLD GRAY DAWN OF THE MORNING AFTER THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POSTER ARMY FEVER ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN LITTLE THINGS SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE QUEEN OF MAY A YOUNG ROOKIE'S LAMENT DANNY DEEVER BALLAD PUZZY LAPPINS A CYNIC'S VIEW OF ARMY LIFE THE SONG OF THE SHOVEL AND THE PICK

ARMY SLANG ENGLISH ARMY SLANG WORDS TO THE ARMY TRUMPET CALLS FIRST AID IN CASE OF ACCIDENTS FRENCH MONEY ENGLISH MONEY

MY BUNKIE

He's mostly gnarls and freckles and tan, He'd surely come under society's ban, He's a swearin', fightin' cavalryman, But--he's my bunkie.

He's weathered the winds of the Western waste. (You, gentle Christian, would call him debased) And he's loved at his ease and married in haste, Has my bunkie.

In a Philippine paddy he's slept in the rain, When he's drunk rotten booze that drives you insane, And he's often court-martialed--yes, over again, Is my bunkie.

He's been on the booze the whole blooming night, To mount guard next morning most awfully tight, Though he's "dressed" like a soldier when given "Guide Right," He's my bunkie.

He doesn't know Browning or Ibsen or Keats, But he knows mighty well when the other man cheats And he licks him and makes him the laugh of the streets, Does my bunkie.

He stands by and cheers when I'm having fun, And when it is over says, "Pretty well done," But he takes a large hand if they rush two to one, For--he's my bunkie.

When Taps has blown and all the troop is asleep, We nudge each other and gingerly creep, To where the shadows hang heavy and deep, I and my bunkie.

And then when the fire-flies flittering roam, We sit close together out there in the gloam, And talk about things appertaining to home, I and my bunkie.

If the slow tropic fever is a-shaking my spine, And they blow "boots and saddles" to chase the brown swine, He'll give me a leg-up and ride me in line, Will my bunkie.

And if I get hit--his arm goes around, And raises me tenderly off of the ground, And the words on his lips are a comforting sound, The words of my bunkie.

OUR OFFICERS

I'm goin' to be discharged, sir; My time is near its close, I want to tell you, cap'en, You're the best the country grows. They ain't no man in all the world Can beat the army man, That wears the shiny leggins and That does the best he can.

I've seen them, sir, in battle With the bullets flyin' round, I've seen them lying wounded With the blood-stains on the ground. I've watched them when the fever Was a-ragin' in the camp, I've seen them nurse the cholera-- A-wrestling with the cramp.

I've seen them pin to that ol' flag Another glory more, That made the stripes look brighter Than they ever did before. They weren't winning V.C.'s, either, But because the country said For them to go, they went. They done it or they're dead.

We've lots of men of this kind an' Of course, we've some that ain't, We'll cover up their faces In the picture that we paint. I'll follow men like you, sir; You can't go too fast an' far, You're officers and gentlemen Like Congress says you are.

I wish I could re-up, sir, Till you get your silver stars, I'm sure you'll do them credit, sir, As you have done the bars. I know I shouldn't talk so much, But somehow I'm inclined, On leavin' the old outfit Just to speak the company's mind.

PAY DAY

Oh, it's early in the morning, The mules begin to squeal, You hear the cooks a'bangin' pans To get the mornin' meal; The Bugler, sort o' toodlin, Outside the Colonel's tent, And you kind o' feel downhearted, 'Cause your last two bits is spent.

With a leggin-string you're fussin' When the band begins to play, And you listen, and stop cussin',-- What is that the bugles say? Oh, it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day, And the drums begin to roll, And they sure do carry music To the busted Johnnie's soul.

Some think about the girls they'll get, And some, about the beer; Some say they'll send their money home, And all begin to cheer. The games will soon be goin' Snap your fingers at the dice; With the canteen spigots flowin' 'Til the Barkeep's out of ice.

For it's pay-day, pay-day, pay-day; Can't you hear the bugles call? The privates and the Non-Coms, The officers and all Have been waitin', waitin', waiting 'Til they're broke or badly bent For the coins stacked up on blankets And table in a tent.

Fifteen dollars in the mornin' By the evenin' in the hole; And "Private Jones is absent, Sir." When the Sergeant calls the roll. The officers are lookin' up The "Articles of War"; There's sixteen in the guard-house, And the Provost has some more.

THE ARMY GROUCH

When the Grouch gets up at reveille, He puts his elbow on his knee; His head upon his hand; And tho' he's slept ten hours or more, His back is weak, his feet are sore, And he can hardly stand. And, as he goes to get his chow, He says, "By Gosh!--I don't see how A soldier lives so long. The spuds is rotten and the slum Is always worse than on the bum. The coffee is too strong. That cow was killed ten years before They organized this bloomin' war; These flapjacks taste like wood." And so he growls through all the day, And fills his comrades with dismay; They'd kill him if they could. When "First Call" wakes up Billy Lott, He sits upon his Army cot, And whistles "Casey Jones," And as he jumps into his shoes, He says, "By Jinks I've had a snooze That's good for skin and bones." And Billy always has a smile That you can see for half a mile, And when he stops to say, 'How Do!' He chases dimples to your cheeks That stay there for a couple of weeks, And he makes you happy too.

WEANING TIME

(To A. W. D.)

Mothers, O, ye mothers of the land! With broods of sisters, brothers--hand in hand-- 'Tis weaning time. Clip ye the thread That apron-strings the lad! Give him his head! Pluck from your teat the clinging lip That should be tight with valor's grip! "You were my child-in-arms," she said; "Suckled I you, and gave you bed; But now you are my man, my son. For battle lost or battle won, Go, find your captain; take your gun, To stand with France against the Hun! Reck not that tears might wet your crib; Nor fear my fondling of the bib You wore--when you are gone. Your mother will not be alone; Her love-mate will be Duty Done: Her nights will kiss that midnight sun. If tears? They will be tears of Joy, For having milked a man, my boy. Farewell and live, heart of my heart. God steel my soul! I bid you start! He goes! God knows I idol him. And may no backward glance Unheart me now. To France! To France! Fair France of La Fayette's romance. My man-in-arms advance, advance! Take down your grand-sire's crimsoned lance! For man-wide Freedom and for France!"

"HANDS ACROSS THE SEA"

We're off for France to make "Fritz" dance To the tune of shot and shell. We'll march right in to old Berlin, And give the Kaiser hell.

The French are right--they'll hold the fight, And British "drives" are fine; But Pershing's boys will find but toys In the "Hindenberger" Line.

We leave hearts dear--the coast we clear For the ocean's wide expanse. A submarine on the ocean seen Will have but little chance.

The cause is just--yet more we trust-- For the Honor debt we owe Can ne'er be paid. 'Twas the timely aid Of the Frenchman long ago.

For Lafayette is with us yet, Still held in memory dear. Our hearts now burn to give return, While his name we all revere.

Oh! we're off to France--we want a chance At the ecstatic thrill Of being there to have a share In the funeral of "Kaiser Bill."

THE HIKE

The orders are, "Prepare to hike!" So pack your war bag. Hit the pike. Throw back your shoulders--keep the step, For this is where we get the pep.

"Prepare to hike," the orders are. And don't you dare to ask how far. We'll get what's coming, don't you see? So what's the odds to you and me?

Prepare to hike! Roll up your kit. Strap on equipment. Hit the Grit Your corns will ripen on the road,-- Just pare them down when taps are "blowed."

We're billed to hike--the bugles blow. "'Tis column right" and off you go. Civilians watch as we pass by-- We watch the girlies wink the eye.

Prepardness is the slogan now, And rumor says there'll be a row-- A real one on the Western Front. We're drilling for this special stunt.

Prepare to hike! Get in the game. Your feet get sore, but don't go lame, Just set your jaws, with stiffened lip, And hold the lines with sand and "zip."

War may be "Hell." So let it be. Yet, must be fought, if liberty Is still to reign upon her throne,-- Else all is lost. The best is gone.

Prepare to hike! Once more I say. Round out your muscles for the fray. Life's not worth living any more, Should Teuton force invade our shore.

A-B-C-OF ARMY LIFE

A is the ARMY, With its shot, and its shell, B is the BATTLE That makes the War, Hell. C is the CAVALRY, Dashing and Bold, D is the "DOUGHBOY," Whom the trenches must hold; E, ENGINEER, Who lays out the plot, F the "FIRST AID," With stretcher and cot; G is the "GUARD," Our "Border-Patrol"-- H is HEADQUARTERS, The high-ranking role. I is the INFANTRY, That's hot on the Hike, J is JAW-BONE, Oh, "Pay-as-you-like"; K is the KITCHEN, Where they turn out the "stew," L is LANCE-CORPORAL. Who ranks just a few; M is the MESS, Where the rations are served, N is "NON-COM," Whose "Stripes" are deserved; O is the OFFICER, "Spick and so span," P is the PRISONER, Who's "under the ban," Q is the QUARTERS, With "lights out at Taps," R is the ROOKIE, Whom everyone raps, S is the SERGEANT, Who keeps 'em in line, T is TATTOO, Three-quarters past nine, U is the UNIFORM, Buttons so bright, V is the VOLLEY, That settles the Fight; W the WAGON, With "four Army mules," X the eX-soldier, Whose ardor now cools, Y is the YOUNGSTER, Just out of the "Point," Z--can't you tell This line's out-of-joint?

A SOLDIERS PRIMER

A man, a hat, a blouse, a gun, Call this a soldier just for fun. A dog tent, blanket, candle, match, His home is built with rare dispatch; With hard tack, bacon, army beans, Army life is not what it seems. A damp cold night, aching head, The next day fever-soldier dead. The story is brief (we know it well), And plain is moral--"War is Hell."

THE TALE AND WAIL OF A ROOKIE

When I was young I said to myself, Choose a career and start after the pelf, Early to bed and early to rise, You're sure to get wealthy and awfully wise, So I started out to look around, But nice fat jobs weren't easily found.

However, while taking a walk down the street, A bright colored poster my eyes did greet, "Young Men Wanted." I said, "That's me," And stepped up closer so I could see. "Join the Army and see the World," My fingers around my last dollar were curled.

So I went around where they hung out the flag. But that 7-year hitch made my interest lag. They explained it, however, and made it quite plain That to join the Army would be my gain. So here I am in the damn Philippines, They feed me nothing but bacon and beans.

The land of the goo-goo is no place for me, The reason porque is easy to see. I never was strong for bugs and lizards, Or the amoebic bug that tickles your gizzards. I have a reverse on fleas and snakes, And I hate the noise the Gekko makes.

I have three square feet of prickly heat, And some dhobie itch that can't be beat, I've had the dengue and also the fever, Of all diseases I've been the receiver. I'm bitten by all that's invented to bite us, At the end of the year I'll have Philippinitis.

A long centipede just crawled in my bunk, This tropical service is certainly punk, Not a chance in the world to go over the hill, And half my time is spent in the mill. But why should I worry, I'll soon be free. A "G. C. M." does the trick for me.

A MARINE'S HYMN

From the Halls of Montezuma, To the shores of Tripoli, We fight our country's battles On the land as on the sea. First to fight for right and freedom And to keep our honor clean, We are proud to claim the title Of United States Marine.

From the Pest Hole of Cavite To the ditch at Panama, You will find them very needy Of Marines--that's what we are; We're watch dogs of a pile of coal Or we dig a magazine, Tho' he lends a hand at every job, Who would not be a Marine?

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze From dawn to setting sun, We have fought in every clime or place Where we could take a gun; In the snow of far off northern lands And in sunny tropic scenes, You will find us always on the job-- The United States Marines.

Here's health to you and to our corps Which we are proud to serve, In many a strife we have fought for life And never lost our nerve; If the army and the navy Ever look on heaven's scenes, They will find the streets are guarded by The United States Marines.

HERE'S TO THE SIXTEENTH!

(_A toast by an officer at San Antonio banquet_.)

Here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," A "Colt" that has just been foaled; Bred with no "Past,"--but a Future, Which Training and Time will unfold.

This "Colt," with his milk-teeth gives promise Of growing to be some fine horse, And if we give him "right raising," Be sure that he'll "come across."

Our "Colt" is as "sound" and as "quiet" As any old horse you will see, And, as for his "fit conformation,"-- That's just as fine as can be.

Here's hoping that he gets good "grooming," Good "grazing'"--good "stable"--good "stall;" So when they sound "Boots and Saddles," The "Colt" can answer their call.

Here's hoping that he gets good "forage," Well "watered"--with "all-fours" well cleaned; And not have to patrol the hot Border,-- At least,--until he is "weaned."

We'll swear by this "Colt," who is "hoof-marked" With the "16th Cavalry" brand; And we'll warrant when he "cuts his molars," He'll be as good as the best in the land.

We'll see that he gets fearless riders, Who are "kindly" and know every "aid;" So if ever a battle is brewing, He'll go to the "Charge" unafraid.

He'll compare with all Cavalry horses, No "I. C." marks for his neck; Instead, upon his new brow-band Resetted Blue Ribbons bedeck.

No matter the "sire," no matter the "dam," His "strain" is "pure-blood"--tho "unregistered" yet; He'll "run in the money,"--when put to the test, To "win in the stretch,"--on that you can bet.

So here's to the "Sixteenth Cavalry," The youngest of Cavalry "mounts;" He hasn't a "Past" and a "Pedigree," But 's "all-horse,"--and that is what counts!

HIKING IN THE PHILIPPINES

(_From a Marine's Diary_)

(A ONE-DAY HIKE)

Rise and Shine, the bugle's calling! Spring up lively from your beds! Into line we'll soon be falling-- Shake a leg, you sleepy heads!

Better make a hasty toilet, Like the other fellows do, For I'll guarantee you'll spoil it, Long before the day is thru!

Better see the shoes you're wearing Have a heavy pair of soles; Or you'll do some awful swearing When the rocks come thru the holes!

Have your canteen filled and ready Haversack swung on your belt, Where it will swing good and steady And its weight is scarcely felt!

At your breakfast don't you hurry-- Eat another dish of beans; For you'll need it--don't you worry-- Hiking in the Philippines!

Up the dusty road we've started-- Rout Step--walking at our ease; Soon the even lines are parted-- All are walking as they please.

Long before the sun has ambled O'er the green hills on our right, Far along the road we've rambled In the early morning light.

Thru the narrow trail we're walking, Sticking to the narrow path. Just behind us some are talking, 'Way ahead we hear a laugh.

Now a slender bridge we're crossing, Over to a "goo-goo" farm-- Where a Carabao is tossing Up his head, in great alarm.

Here we stop to rest a trifle-- Sip a drop from our canteens. Gee! It's tough to "pack" a rifle-- Hiking in the Philippines.

'Round the narrow path we're turning; Tho it's early morning, yet. Down the sun is fiercely burning-- Bringing out the drops of sweat!

Where the tropic trees are shading Out the sunlight overhead Leggings, shoes and all, we're wading Thru a shallow river-bed.

You can hear the bamboo cracking Underneath our heavy tread, While the forest trails we're tackling-- Following, where we are lead.

You have got to be a Hiker To keep up with these Marines, Not a big four-flush or piker-- Hiking in the Philippines!

Where the big mangoes are growing, We have halted--Stacking Arms, Far away, a rooster's crowing On one of the native farms.

Under branches of big palm trees, We are resting easy now-- Welcoming the cooling sea breeze While we're waiting for our Chow.

Plainest fare is a fiesta When you've Hiked for half a day; And a little noon siesta Helps to pass the time away!

Like a ribbon all unraveled Starts the line at half past two, There are new trails to be traveled Back to old Olongapo!

THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY SONG

1.

Fall in. Fall in. Attention, you red-legged mountaineers, With your gun and pack and box of tack, "non-coms." and cannoneers, Baptized in Mindanao, beside the Sulu Sea. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery.

2.

I'd rather be a soldier with a mule and mountain gun Than a Knight of old with spurs of gold, a Roman, Greek or Hun, For when there is trouble brewing they always send for me To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery. To start the row with a row, row, row, from a mountain battery.

Here's to pack and aparejo, the cradle, gun trail, And that darned old fool, the battery mule, that was never known to fail. So raise your glasses high and drink this toast with me: Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery. Here's How, and How, how, how, to a mountain battery.

THE CAVALRY SONG

Come, listen unto this song, I'm as happy as can be, I'm masher and dasher in the U. S. Cavalrie; I stand up straight with legs apart; bowed slightly at the knee, With folded arms across my chest, 'tis the pose of the Cavalrie.

Chorus:

So fill your glasses to the brim And brace your courage with slow gin, I will tell you all it is a sin To serve in the Infantrie.

I'm a cavalryman so fierce and bold, a soldier thru and thru, I ride a horse because of course 'tis the proper thing to do. I wear my spurs both night and day that every one may see. Whatever else I might have been, I'm not in the Infantrie.

We went to fight the China horde with sabre, horse and gun. We'd meet them and we'd beat them just the way it should be done; But we left our horses, corn and hay out on the ships in Taku Bay And consequently had to stay while the dough boys hiked away.

I'm a man of experience, I've been to Fort Monroe, I've garrisoned Fort Hamilton and the Presidio. I went out to the Philippines and in the Walled Citie. I fought the Filipino War in the Coast Artillerie.

Chorus:

So make way for the red stripe man, The pride of our armee And let him tell the glories of The Coast Artillerie.

About another soldier man I'd like to say a word: He's neither fish nor flesh nor fowl, but he is a bird, He finds his way o'er foreign seas by sun and moon and star, But he could not find his way across the Island of Samar.

Chorus:

So make way for the web-foot man The good U. S. Marines. They need four guides for every man, Out in the Philippines.

THE RED GUIDON

Come, fill up your glasses. I'll give you a toast. We'll drink to the red and the blue, The first in the battle, the last from its post, Old comrades so faithful and true. Here's to friends who have passed o'er the last long divide, Their spirit is still marching on, As it did in the days when we marched side by side As we followed the red guidon.

Chorus:

Then here's to the crossed cannons, they never will run, The limber and rolling caisson, The clank of the collar and rumble of gun As we follow the red guidon.

We've soldiered together, brave hearts ever true, We've marched, we have fought and we've bled For the dear old flag with its red, white and blue That floats in the breeze overhead. We've joked and we've laughed around the camp fire's red glare From Cuba to distant Luzon, As we told the old stories that drive away care 'Neath the folds of the red guidon.

Come, toss off your tankards, we'll drink long and deep, Brave hearts ever gallant and true, To friends who now rest in their long peaceful sleep, Who once wore the red and blue. We'll prove true in the future as they in the past, Old comrades of gun and caisson; We'll fight like true soldiers from first to the last As we follow the red guidon.

Chorus:

Then here's to the crossed cannons, they never will run, Here's the limber and rolling caisson, The clank of the collar and rumble of gun And Hurrah for the Red Guidon!

THE CONSCRIPT