Chapter 2

"Life is real; life is earnest"--but a Gamble after all, "Ten million Conscripts" are answering the Call; Ten million men of which I am One-- What were the "odds" when "the wheel was spun"? What were the "odds" that Fate would select Me for a Conscript--another reject? Fate was the Gambler; I was a "chip," Death was the "stake" held in Life's grip; I am a Conscript played in Fate's hand, When the Game's over--how will I stand? Death, will it lose, or Life, will it win, Who'll be the "winner" at the great "Cash-in"? Ten million Conscripts to answer the Call, And at the gusts, the leaves must fall: With submarines launching torpedoes below, Which troop ship to atoms are they to blow? Ghosts of disease lurking in camp, Spectral sickness in trenches so damp; Ten million bullets ripping the air, Which Conscript to be stricken, and when and where? Ten million shrapnel shrieking o'er head, Which Conscript to reckon among their dead? Thousands of wounds, a-gaping and wide, Who will recover, and who will have died? Millions of mothers so anxious at home, Who will wear crepe for loved ones, alone? Millions of sweethearts who'll weep o'er the "lists," Which lovers the lips ne'er more to be kissed? All is a Gamble--this War-Game of Chance-- The life of a Conscript over in France. The "Roulette of Life" is spinning so fast, The "red ball of Death" must drop in at last; Which numbers will win, which numbers will lose, The "odds" or the "evens," the "reds" or the "blues"? Yet Hope is the "Banker" and He will repay The chances that Conscripts must take in the fray; And Fate's a Good sport, when "dealing the cards," He'll give "Fifty-fifty" to Conscript for odds.

THE SLACKER

Why don't he volunteer to serve In Uncle Sammy's grand reserve? He knows quite well his country's call; Has no regard for this, at all. He never thinks to do his part, Because he has a Slacker's heart.

He walks along the street quite spry-- To feign indifference he must try, When suddenly he takes affright, It's just a picture (what a sight) Of Uncle Sam with pointing finger. Take it from me! He doesn't linger.

"Why don't you do it? do it quick!" The Slacker's skull is very thick. It never penetrates the gray, What Uncle Sammy, has to say. "I want you NOW!" Oh, what a Mutt. The words fall on a brainless nut.

He lied on registration day-- Conscription's law he'll not obey. He seeks the nuptial vows to take, Or any other useless fake. Whatever else, he'll never fight. He has the Slacker's ear-marks right.

Oh, what a useless, shameless pest, A blot on human kind at best. His feelings are for SELF alone. He would not give a dog the bone. Behold his attitude--his pose. The Slacker's ring is in his nose.

For country's call--for country's sake-- For Liberty he will not stake His bit, nor will he ever be But half a man. Not he--not he. His formula contains no sand-- It's plain, he is the Slacker "Brand."

A sneak--a snake--a cur--a blasted Dirty rotten scourge, dodgasted Coward, thief, and all the rest-- Can't spell the name that suits the best. There's just one place for such as he-- Not on the earth--eternity.

PREPAREDNESS

I never had no warlike mind, I b'long to the plowin' peaceful kind Thet stays at home and works along, Sun to sun--I'm good and strong--- But, neighbor, let me speak my mind: When my country sez to back her, Sez I back: "Here ain't no slacker," So walks up thar and signs the roll, Come June the first, thirty-one year ole, Now Uncle Sammy can call Bill Jones Jest any ole time they say, 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today.

I hates to leave the old home-folks, They hates to see me go, But I'd rather tote a rifle, Than be shoulderin' a hoe. When Uncle Sammy's needin' men-- And needin' 'em so much, I 'lows how he can call on Bill, To help 'im lick them Dutch. For preacher sez: "God will protect Me out thar," so, then, by Heck! I am all O.K. 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today.

The paper 'lows the fightin's bad, As awful as can be-- Guns a-roarin'--blood a-flowin'-- And boats belo' thet sea. But I'm ready--and I ain't a-feered To die--if they do git me. 'Cause I ain't no skunking slacker, If I am a "Georgia cracker," And if I don't come home no more, The wolf won't come to my house door, I am goin' when they say, 'Cause yisterday I gits insured, And jined the church today.

"BEANS"

A dog there lived in many towns, And he has wondrous wiles; He travels in the Philippines, And visits many isles.

"Ubiquitous" should be his name, He's seen so many scenes, But all his soldier friends prefer To call him simply: "Beans"!

As a proper, first class passenger, Is "Beans" name on ship's log; You'd think his name was pedigreed-- The way he "puts on dog"!

Yet he is not a full blood pup, But just a "yellow cur": A "Nervy-Natty Gentleman"-- With all his fuzzy fur.

He chows awhile at Grande Isle; And there he'll make a stay, Until he tires of their mess; Then promptly sails away.

He'll take a boat down Subic Bay, To far Olongapo, And when things get monotonous, Then "Beans" is prompt-to-go!

He goes o'er to Corregidor, And visits "C. A. C." And if he don't like visiting-- He merely sails the sea!

He visits Fort McKinley, And Cavite, too; Now, where Beans has not been, forsooth, I wish I only knew.

I know that all the sailors, And all the soldier men Do call him "Beans," and love him For he is their dandy friend.

He wags his tail in greeting, And barks at friends with joy; But when his ship's a-sailing, For Beans, it's Ship-A-hoy!

So here's to "Beans" old "Sea-dog," Who loves so well to roam; I wish he'd try to settle down And make our place his home.

ADVICE

Better start in soldiering and mind your P's and Q's, Cut out going absent and ease up on the booze, Don't kick because, you're on fatigue, but mind what you are about, For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out.

Don't go a-missing reveille; and be in bed by check, Don't buck against the captain, or you'll get it in the neck. Be sure to turn out promptly when you hear the sergeant shout, For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out.

Because you've got some service don't think you know it all, You'll get your extras just the same if you should miss a call. Take what they hand you weekly. Don't grumble, frown or pout. For the Summary Court will get you if you don't watch out.

THE SCENT OF THE COCOA

You have heard of the ancient incense; Of the dew of Hermann you've read; You have been told of the precious ointment That poured down on Aaron's head; But tell me--with all your knowledge, Your theory, study and toil, Have you heard of an equal or sequel To the scent of the cocoanut oil?

At first it is always repulsive, Makes you gag and back off in despair; But when you've got the scent of the cocoa, Just a scent, a mere whiff in the air, Then you're gone, boy, yes, and forever, Where'er in this world you may roam; When you once get the scent of the cocoa You forget all the precepts of home.

You forget those most noble teachings Of fortitude, temperance and truth When you once get the scent of the cocoa. You're gone, boy, gone and forsooth Though you try hard and strive to recover, Pray to God and his angels as well, If you've once got the scent of the cocoa You're destined--your future is Hell.

But why should you be predestined By the scent of an innocent oil? When you once get the scent of the cocoa No more can you break from its toil Than a gambler can break from his ventures, The drunkard turn away from his rye. When you once get the scent of the cocoa The longing is there till you die.

The great world at large doesn't know all, The guilty ones seldom confess When you once get the scent of the cocoa Wafted up from the bright passing dress That their thoughts are not those of angels Sweet and pure as the dew of the rose, That it's not just the scent of the cocoa But the perquisite that with it goes.

There are times when the righteous are doubtful, There are times when no man doubts. When you once get the scent of the cocoa There's a man and his conscience at outs; Reckless of moral destruction, Fearless of anguish and pain, When you once get the scent of the cocoa 'Tis that scent that you long for again.

One may part from the Orient gladly, From its garlic and dhobie and goats; But if he's once got the scent of the cocoa As he sits and in reverie dotes,-- His thoughts will revert to the eastward, To the land of yellow and brown And he sighs for the scent of the cocoa, And the sight of a pina gown.

MEN OF THE HOSPITAL CORPS

They, too, have heard the drum-beat, They follow the bugle's call, Those who are swift with pity On the field where brave men fall.

When the battle boom is silent And the echoing thunder dies, They haste to the plain, red sodden With the blood of sacrifice.

The flag that floats above them Is marked with a crimson sign, Pledge of a great compassion And the rifted heart divine.

And so they follow the bugle And heed the drumbeat's call, But their errand is one of pity:-- They succor the men who fall.

GARRISON LIFE

I want to go home, wailed the private, The sergeant and corporal the same, For I'm tired of the camp and the hikin', The grub and the rest of the game. I'm willing to do all the fightin', For that is a game two can play; But I want to go home, for me goil's all alone, An' I want to go home to-day.

For I've marched 'til me throat was a-crackin', 'Til crazed for the want of a drink, I've drilled 'til me back was a-breakin', An' I haven't had time to think. And I've had me share of policin', And guard and I'm tired of me lay; For me goil's all alone, an' I want to go home, An' I want to go home to-day.

Do they heed us a-dying in garrison life? They say it's the water and such, We think that more apt it's the hikin', For the life of a private ain't much; But we know we can fight if we have to, And they won't have to show us the way, But me goil's all alone, an' I want to go home, An' I want to go home to-day.

THE PHILIPPINITIS

My friend, have you heard of the town of Manila, On the banks of the Pasig River, Where blooms the wait-awhile flower fair, And the "some time other" scents the air, And the soft-go-easy grow? It lies in the Valley of What's-the-use, In the province of Let-her-slide. That old tired feeling is native there, It's the home of the listless I don't care. Where the Put-it-off abide.

THE EAST IS A'CALLING

They say that the East is alluring; The balmy green isles of the sea. But with all their wild splendor assuring, They have no fascination for me.

I camped with the boys at Siassi, Way down in that sequestered isle, Where the garb of a primitive lassie, Was naught save a gee string and smile.

I hiked o'er the hog trails of Jolo, In the blistering rays of the suns, As the wild savage wielding his bolo, Fell beneath the onslaught of our guns.

With a cartridge belt, rifle and knapsack, I tramped through the wooded ravine, On a ration of hard tack and bacon, And a swig from a rusty canteen.

In Mindanao island so dreary, From Malabang to Hawaiian hill, Ever faithful though footsore and weary, I shouldered my Krag for the drill.

On the outpost when night darkened o'er us A lone vigil I kept through the rain, And watched for the bloodthirsty Moros, That prowled through the desolate cayan.

I have seen the half clad Filipino, In his nipa thatched shack in Luzon, Dispensing the tuba and bino, Amidst our gay laughter and song.

At eve the brown-hued senoritas, Strolled leisurely over the green, In hobbles and gaudy camisas, Their more loving than handsome queens,

They may say the East is a'calling, The picturesque isles of the sea, But with all their wild splendor enthralling, They have no fascination for me.

TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE CORPORAL OF THE GUARD

If number one you are walking, And to a comrade talking, While around the country gawking, Keeping neither watch nor ward, And an officer unsaluted, Swears at you with voice polluted, Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard.

If you are at the bridge of Spain, And a foreign lady vain-- While a native with a rein Jerks the skinny pony hard, When to her aid you'll turn, Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard.

If on the Escolta posted, And the sun your back has roasted, And rebel chieftain boasted As he handed you his card-- That he soon would clean you out And put your Dewey's fleet to rout, Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard.

If to the canteen you are sent, And your frame with thirst is rent, And your spirits drooped and bent, And the soldiers and the sailors bottle-crazed-- All are drinking fizzes cool, Do not rave and act the fool, Tell your troubles to the Corporal of the Guard.

If you should a bottle get, No matter on which beat, Or a morsel sweet to eat, In the dreary times so hard; You will find a friend to share it-- Call promptly for the Corporal of the Guard.

GENERAL ORDERS OF THE KITCHEN POLICE

My General Orders are:

1. To take charge of these spuds and all gravy in view.

2. Dish slum in a military manner; keeping on the alert and observing all meat balls that go within sight or hearing.

3. To report any private or non-com who asks for thirds.

4. To receive, transmit and obey all orders from and allow myself to be relieved by the Mess Sergeant, first and second cooks only.

5. To quit the coffee only when properly relieved.

6. To repeat all calls for "seconds" from the dining room.

7. To hold conversation with no one who asks for onions.

8. To allow no one to pass the cooks tobacco or booze.

9. To salute all slum not incased in an overcoat.

10. In any case not covered by instructions call the first cook.

11. In case of fire take out the ashes and get a bucket of coal.

12. Between reveille and retreat turn out the cook and the cook's police for all objects found in the slum, such as bedbugs, lizards, cockroaches, snakes and other insects not on the bill of fare.

BY ORDER OF GENERAL R. U. HUNGRY: Peelem Spud, Commanding Kitchen Police Brigade.

OFFICIAL: O. U. Meatball, Major, 3rd Cook Corps, Brigade Adjutant.

IS HE A SOREHEAD?

You've heard of the famous six hundred, who at Balaklava fell; Who charged like death's avengers straight into the mouth of hell. But there's deeds unsung, unheard of; brave deeds gone by unseen, Just listen to the tale of a soldier, told in ought thirteen.

Part of the Colonial Army for duty in the Philippine group. If I had the gink that sent me I sure would make him loop the loop. Our valor is tested daily. We fight the mosquitos and heat. The country is fine for a Gu-Gu, but I long for old Market Street.

The hiking is fine for a soldier, you fill up on dust on the road, And to eat on a dusty stomach makes you feel like any toad. You may talk of a seven-year enlistment, God help me get this one in, When you do one on the Archipelago, you will never be free from sin.

They work you from morning till evening. They've got you, there's no pulling out. Can you blame us for drinking, old timer, no chance, here's to you, old scout. Our troubles may be all imaginary and caused by too much sun, But how much imagining is called for in the war games they play for fun.

I try to do all they require me, but, God, who can do all that? The man is not made who can obey all orders of a man with a gold cord on his hat. Some are better than others, they don't feel the polish and such, But I've learned my lesson--they'll get you in dutch.

Don't think for a minute I'm a sorehead because I am in for bob, My muscles shure got hard in the army; I can d----! easy get a job. And if some time, in the future, I would hate someone to think me a friend, I'll advise him to enlist in the army, good night, I know that sure is his end.

FUNSTON

Never any style about him, Not imposing on parade, Couldn't make him look heroic, With no end of golden braid. Figure sort o' stout and dumpy, Hair and whiskers kind of red, But he's always moving forward, When there's trouble on ahead. Five foot five, of nerve and daring, Eyes pale blue, and steely bright, Not afraid of man or devil, That is Funston in a fight.

Fighting since he learned to toddle, Soldier since he got his growth, Knows the Spaniard and the savage, For he's fought and licked 'em both, Not much figure in the ball room, Not much hand at breaking hearts, Rotten ringer for Apollo, But right thing when something starts; Just a bunch of brains and muscles, But you always feel somehow That he'll get what he goes after, When he mixes in a row.

Weyler found out all about him, Set a price upon his head; Aguinaldo's crafty warriors Nearly filled him full of lead. Yellow men and yellow fever, Tried to cut off his career; But since he first hit the war trail, He has never slipped a year. And the heart of all the nation Gives a patriotic throb, At the news that Kansas Funston Has again gone on the job.

YEAR 2016 IN CHIHUAHUA

Through the mesquite in old Chihuahua, Aimlessly one day I strode, Till I chanced upon a figure Standing silent in the road. Such an odd, ungainly figure! I stopped, then staggered back, Thinking it an ancient spirit That had wandered from its track.

A campaign hat was on his head, With strap beneath his chin, On his legs some battered leggins, And his shoes were old and thin. On his shoulder was a musket, Red with the rust of years, Like himself, the whole equipment, Seemed to justify my fears.

"What masquerade is this"? said I, Though my breath came quick and short, Then he, from force of habit, Brought his rifle to a port. "Long years ago," he answered, In a mild and patient tone, "There was trouble in Chihuahua, Where Villa used to roam.

"When I left the States for Mexico, With the Regular Cavalry, We numbered several thousand, Young, healthy, strong and free. All the others,--they are sleeping On the hillside over there, Far from home and loving kindred And the native country dear.

"Perhaps twenty died from sickness, Victims of the fever's rage, Or amoebic dysentery, All the rest,--from ripe old age! I'm the last of all those thousands, Through this place I still must roam, Waiting for expected orders-- Welcome orders to go HOME."

WITH PERSHING IN MEXICO

When I've served out this enlistment, And my time in the Reserves, Why, I am going to treat yours truly To the treat that he deserves. For I am tired chasing Villa, In this God-forsaken land, When there's nothing much but cactus And the useless miles of sand.

Where the Rio Grande is flowing, By El Paso near Fort Bliss, There's a little girl worth knowin', And she's a'savin' me a kiss. Oh, I met her once a'walking, With red corals in her hair;

Where the greasers sit a'talking, In the little public square. There's real food there; white women; Most things a man could want; And a pool to go in swimmin' And a Chinese restaurant; Where, across the hot Chop Suey; If you give the Chink a wink, He'll produce a little teapot, Full of something good to drink.

Oh, I'm tired of Cactus whiskey, That they stop the trucks to sell; For one bottle's mighty risky, And two starts a man for hell. And the first time that I'm able, When they hand me my discharge, Watch me lean across the table, And say: "Bo, give me a drink of 'large.'"

So good-bye, Adobe ladies; My regards to Uncle Sam; Let old Pancho go to Hades; Adios to Col. Dublan! They can't bind me with a lasso, Once this little Doughboy's free; There's a girl right in El Paso, That I'm bound he's going to see.

For she's waitin', my Anita; In the Plaza, in the Square; Where the little fenced-in fountain Throws its water in the air; Where the old pet alligator stays, And winks his knowin' eye, And says, "Patience, Senorita," He'll be with you by an' by.

OLD BALDY

The "Black Eagle" said, "I think it but fair, That I should be ruler of both land and air, And have all the other birds under my reign. How great I shall be over such a domain."

The others protested, saying, "This you can't do; We'll never submit to a swell-head like you. Before we'll come under your despotic rod, We'll fight to the very last drop of our blood."

But the "Black Eagle" answered: "I'll have what I wish; I'll pay you for suckers, and catch a big fish; I'll clip your wings off with a big pair of shears That I have been grinding, the last forty years.

"I'll hook my big talons right into your breast, And get a wild 'Turkey' to help do the rest. We'll pluck that fine plumage all off from your back; And you'll find desolation the brand of my track."

And so the fight started. It waxed fierce and long; And proved the "Black Eagle" unusually strong. With three years of fighting, he still was intact, And seemed to be victor--in fight and in fact.

But at this very moment of luck for the "Black," A venerable eagle flew into his track. He was gray, he was bald, he was ancient as well; And just where he came from, there's no use to tell.

This "Bald-headed Eagle" was hailed with delight, When the other birds saw he was going to fight; But when they beheld the tactics employed, By "Baldy the Great One," they were overjoyed.

For he hooked his curved bill in the top of the head Of "Old Blackey the Terror," then quietly said: "Just watch my talons clip up to his throat. With one still free, I will pick this old bloat."

The struggle was fierce, and the feathers flew high; The "Black One's" fine plumage came off rapidly; "Old Baldy's" quick work, and to make good his word, Left nary a feather stick on the Black bird.

The fight at last ended; the "Black" gave it up, With "Baldy" victorious, awarded the cup; But the "Black One" was stripped of all honor and fame. Has a place in this world with a dishonored name.

It may be a fable, but history records This defeat of the "Fowl of Great Boasting Words." How the "Prussian Black Eagle" that thought he could scratch, Found in "Old Baldy" far more than his match.

"KAISER BILL"

There's a Guy across the Sea, And the "Devil's own" is he. Death! Destruction! Misery! That's the Kaiser. Don't you fancy he's a fool. Satan ne'er had such a tool-- Whether demon, fiend or ghoul As the Kaiser.

At the bottom of the ocean Lie the victims of his notion. Bathes in human blood for lotion Does the Kaiser. While his Teuton Choir sings, In the military rings, Of the "Divine Right of Kings." Kaiser Bill.