Rhymes of the Rookies

Excerpt

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....