E-text prepared by Al Haines
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 appert