THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE MARINES AND OTHER WAR VERSE BY ADOLPHE E. SMYLIE Imicfcerbocfeer press NEW YORK 1919 35*37 50 E. C. S. 623953 CONTENTS PAGE THE MARINES 9 *HOROO! ii *ON His OWN 13 *EYES FOR THE ARMY 16 *WITH STOP-GAP CAREY . . . .19 "OVERHEARD IN A HANGAR . . . .21 *His STAR 23 *TIFFIN TALK 26 *THE FOREIGN LEGION 28 *A DUGOUT SYMPOSIUM .... 30 *A LETTER FROM THE FRONT .... 33 *A BIT OF BLUEST HEAVEN .... 35 *THE RED CROSS ROLL CALL . . .37 THE FOURTH IN PARIS ..... 39 New York Herald, illustrated. A WAYSIDE IN FRANCE .... 42 New York Herald, illustrated. MACARTHUR OF THE GORDONS ... 44 New York Herald, illustrated. "Issued by The Vigilantes, 1918. [5] PAGE LES BLESSES . ... 47 American Golfer, December, 1917. SERGEANT BROWN. . . 51 NENETTE AND RINTINTIN . . 53 BASTILLE DAY, July 14, 1918 . 56 WAR DOGS . . -59 WHY WORRY? . . -63 C(EUR DE LlON . . 64 HOMEWARD BOUND . -65 WITH THE ALLIES . . .68 American Golfer, November, 1914 SOMEWHERE ... -74 MY PAL FRANCOIS 76 THE SMOKED YANKEES .... 78 "SMILES" . .81 ARE WE DOWNHEARTED? . .86 THE GAP IN THE LINE 88 [6] THE MARINES "PARDON! he has no Engleesh, heem, II ne parle que francais; I spik it leetle some, monsieur, Vaire bad, j en suis fach Marines? Mais oui! I fight wiz zem At Chateau Thierry An on ze Ourcq an Marne in grande Bonne camaraderie. I see zem fight at Bois Belleau, Like sauvage make ze yell, Sacre nom de Dieu ! zoze sailor man Eez fightin like ze hell ! All time zey smile when make ze push, Magnifique zaire elan, Zey show ze heart of lion For delight our brav Franchman. An in ze tranch at rest, zoze troop From ze Etats Unis Queeck make ze good frien of poilu Wiz beeg slap on ze knee ! Zey make ze song an joke, si dr61e, An pass ze cigarette; Zey call us goddam good ol scout Like Marquis La Fayette. Next day, mebbee, again ze taps, Ze volley in ze air; Adieu ! some fightin sailor man Eez gone West. C est la guerre! No more ze smile, ze hug, ze hand Queeck wiz ze cigarette; C est vrai, at funerall of heem Ze poilu s eye eez wet. But, every day like tidal wave, Like human avalanche, Ze transport bring more Yankee troop, To get ze beeg revanche ! Zen from ze heart Ame*ricam Come milliards of monnaie ; Eet eez ze end ! Your countree bring Triomphante liberte". So, au revoir ! I mus go on, But first I tell to yo What some high Offlcier remark Zat day at Bois Belleau: He say, our great Napoleon Wiz envy would turn green Eef he could see zoze sailor man, Zoze Oncle Sam Marines!" [10] HOROO! THE stretcher-bearers had just brought them in; It looked like a message to "next of kin" For Private O Leary and Private O Flynn, But the Surgeon said "They 11 be all right! These Irish are tougher than Billy-be-damned, For they can be everlastingly lammed, Shot up or cut up or blown up or rammed And they re back again soon For more fight!" Moaned O Leary, "Mike, man, how do you feel? Tm mashed to a jelly, me head s in a reel, Twas beautiful though whin we stuck em wid stheel, But I missed a sthroke Seein you fall." In] Groaned Mike, "Ivery bone in me body is broke, A squad o thim Fritzies all gave me a soak ; Twas a hell ov a fight ! Sure that s no joke, But it s betther than No fight at all!" ON HIS OWN "You see that young kid lying there Playing a game of solitaire? All shot to pieces in the air; By Heck, Sarge, he s a wonder. The gamest lad I ever met; They re probing him for bullets yet, But s sh ! here comes his nurse Yvette, Kept him from going under. "You think she s passing by him? Nit! D you get that smile? He waves his mitt ; I think he s stuck on her a bit, Can t blame him for that matter. She watches him just like a hawk, Now listen to their daily talk, She s all Paree, he s all New York; Sit quiet, hear their chatter." Pardonnez-moi, d6sirez-vous " Oh , fine and dandy ! How are you ? Quelque chose ? Comprenez-vous ? "Ah, now I know you re kiddin ." " Vous avez bonne mine aujourd hui " "It s high time you were nice to me." "Time? Je comprends, il est midi " "Bright eyes, I think I m skiddin ." "Je crois que je vous donnerai " "I ll back up anything you -say " "Un petit morceau de poulet " "You fascinating creature!" "Avec la crme, dans la coquille, " "Rats! There she goes! I always feel Some blessy s S. O. S. appeal Will call off my French teacher." "The Sarge here nudged my splintered ribs: Well, I ll be damned! Here comes His Nibs. And down the aisle stalked General Gibbs With all the famous aces. They formed around the sick boy s bed, He gasped, saluted, then turned red : Looks like I m pinched! was all he said, Scanning their smiling faces. " So, spoke the General, you alone Brought down three Taubes on your own ! Another Yankee Ace is known [14] To everyone in Blighty. I m proud to know you, put it there,- And now we re going to let you wear This gallantly won Croix de Guerre I m pinning on your nighty. [15 EYES FOR THE ARMY Everyone who owns a field-glass is asked to forward it to Franklin Roosevelt, Naval Observatory, Wash ington, D. C. Exchange, April, 1918. FAREWELL my old binoculars Snug in your well-worn case, Aye ! since the days of Jerome Park We ve seldom missed a race. Gone now the days when you and I Would watch our "one best bet" Get left flat-footed at the post, I see them running yet ! You ve seen my patrimony fade And my stiff upper lip Grow tremulous from dalliance with The sure diurnal tip. Mayhap this parting with our "lamps" May bring surcease to some Whose coin like mine is near the Irreducible minimum. Without you now, the racing game [16] Looks drab and drear and dark; Vale! Jamaica, Aqueduct, And eke fair Belmont Park ! For now I ve sent you, Lord knows where, Because I know I should; Could I but share your adventure, I wish to Heaven I could But adolescence; golden youth; The fires of yesteryear; Gone glimmering with the auld lang syne, That s why I must stay here. Atone then for our empty days, Our futile hours of ease And take this message with you To our comrades overseas : Stand fast, you war-worn allies, with Your "backs against the wall," Can t you hear the tramp of millions? We ve heard your bugle call. The Almighty may forgive us For our apathetic start, But now America sees red, Fear not ! She ll do her part. We ll send our blood and treasure for The death grip just begun To rid the world of hellish spawn, The execrated Hun. On guard, then, with your lenses bright And furnish "eyes" to see The last swath of spiked helmets mowed In shell-torn Picardy. [18] WITH STOP-GAP CAREY "THEY wus mostly cooks an teamsters As made up our misfit crew That followed Stop-Gap Carey, But not a Boche got through. That stand promoted Carey From the ranks o Brigadiers An that s where I met that daffy bunch O Yankee Engineers. A andful o those bridge men Ummin some old college song Wuz a fixin up a causeway When our pick-ups rushed along. They sensed wot wuz a-doin Their Lieutenant yelled : Hey, Bo ! If you ll let us in the picture We ll kick in this movie show. Can you swap some guns for shovels? Never mind ! Fall in there, boys ! Grab those crowbars and short canthooks, Let s join in with the big noise! [19] 44 1 wuz near that young Lieutenant When the Fritzies tried our trench, E d used up is automatic An e swung a Stillson wrench. No baynit seemed to reach im As e smashed on through the line, An is mates with picks an shovels Wuz a-backin of im fine. E wuz champion, that e wuz, A bonnie sight to see, An e kept chantin Here s your jam And there s your dish o tea ! " E said to me next mornin , Lloyd George, I like your map ! You re all Ai merino And a yard wide in a scrap ! Come spend a week-end with us If you like Westphalia ham, At our shooting-box for schweinhunds Called Sans Souci near Potsdam. With that, they went back to their job, Their laughter in the breeze, But oo can understand their talk? It s worse than Senegalese." 20] OVERHEARD IN A HANGAR I LIKE my job, to hang around And tune up motors on the ground Give em that smooth old purring sound And start them off a-screeching. The job has done me good, I think, Leastwise, my doubts are on the blink I m getting pretty near the brink Where I ll believe in preaching. Take young Jim s case. He flew, back home, Then came here, where they cut his comb; He comes from Watertown or Rome, Some place near the big river. Got all shot up as you lads know Then volplaned forty miles or so Unconscious I Now that bunk won t go About a "wise old flivver." I saw him come at ten o clock A full-speed nose-dive, like a rock, But landed sweet, no jar or shock [21], You get that, mechanicians! He says he fainted past their line, His watch exactly half -past nine Now who brought home this pal o mine ? Well, I have my suspicions. Don t hand me that subconscious stuff; I m not religious, half enough; But you can note this on your cuff: It is a Higher Power Than gasoline that drives a plane And brings limp airmen home again Through fog and sleet and hurricane A hundred miles an hour ! I know God makes his presence felt To birdmen up in the moon-belt, Or Jim would be dead as a smelt ! And now, that tough young geezer Admits he always seemed to feel Some Spirit hand was on his wheel; If that kid doesn t learn to kneel I ll bang him on the beezer. [22] HIS STAR WE laughed when little Bill said "Dad, I m going to the war!" But that s his star a-waving On the flag outside our door. It didn t seem conceivable That such a puny lad Could get into the Army, But it shows the spunk he had. Yes, Bill was a persistent, Bull-headed little cuss, Though when the doctors turned him down He didn t make a fuss, Just said: "Me for the country, Dad, I ll come back fine as silk; I ll eat my weight in potcheese And I ll swim in cream and milk." That night he came and told me Just before he went to bed, As near as he remembered, What the Army doctors said : [23] "They listened through a stethoscope To get some inside news And something in my heart told me That I was going to lose. They didn t mention leprosy, I m glad I haven t that, But I ve got everything else, Dad, To put me on the mat. I m underweight and undersized; They say I have flat feet ; I m short a few bicuspids Used for fletcherizing meat. My right lung is as good as new, The other one s a wreck, But though the left one is not right The right one s left, by Heck! Then, infantile paralysis They say I ve barely missed, But spinal meningitis may Soon put me on the list. My optic nerves do not project Clear pictures to my brain ; My pericardium shows that I m suffering from ptomaine. Then somewhere in my system There s a floating kidney loose And there s too much saly-something [24] In my pancreatic juice. They hinted at sarcoma Of the epithelium; I don t know what it is but you ll Admit that s going some! My respiration is too short ; My tonsils are too long; My whole metabolism is Absodawlutely wrong ! But why should a corpse worry ? I don t care now, what they said Their autopsy distinctly shows I ve been a long time dead!" Bill left next day for the old farm Owned by his doting aunts, We haven t seen him since, although He wrote to us from France. We laughed when little Bill said, "Dad, I m going to the war!" But that s his star a-waving On the flag outside our door. Yes, Bill was a persistent, Bull-headed little cuss, He writes he s now chief deck-hand On an eight-ton Army bus. 25 TIFFIN TALK HERE S a stray Tommy ! Hey there ! Arf a mo ! Come chow with our bunch o Marines ! Cast your lamps on this pile o doughnuts; Take a slant at these Boston beans! Sure, throw out your clutch, that s the idea, Slack off your belly band. Eat ! But, if you re too tender for splinters, Grab a sandbag or two for a seat. What s new? Is All Highest complaining That the Allies are getting too rough ? We ve got a hunch in this Corps, old top, That Jerry has near had enough ! What s the dope in the London papers, Do they think we ve got Fritz on the run Or, do they in spite of our land-grabs, Say our troubles have only begun ? " "Th* last news is what Conan Doyle says In the Standard, as I ave just read, E says Berlin shall be occupied By invadin their country, e said; [26] An when we all sits at the tible To decide what to do with th Un, Twill be th sime blinkin tible In Potsdam, where war wuz begun. E says th blighters as notions That they re sife on th Rhine an Mo selle, E looks for sudden collapse, an then We ll drive th pigs ome sure as ell!" Attaboy ! That s the stuff, Tommy ! Conan Doyle s got the high-sign all right ; I like to blurt out my convictions And I tell you surrender s in sight ! Meanwhile just wetnurse that motto That goes with our crackerjack tanks, Treat em rough ! the rougher the better, And that goes with two million Yanks. Remember the Lusitania, And pray for the order to-night, 1 No quarter from now for the Heinies, Fifty-fifty on Schrecklichkeit ! Then for a brick-wall atonement From Bill and his degenerates, After giving them torch, sack, and pillage, That s the verdict of me and my mates!" 27] THE FOREIGN LEGION HATS off to the Foreign Legion! Your health, Sergeant Michael McWhite ! We picked your name out at random, As a rhyme co-efficient for "fight." The papers tell us you are Irish, A popular race in New York, Where we have more sons of old Ireland Than there are in your County of Cork ! We have a sneaking affection, Mike, For you and your prototype Pat, Whose coat tails we prefer to sidestep When it comes to the drop of the hat. We know your Serbian record, Sarge, And have followed you up ever since, By the stains on your musket and sabre, Your bloody, tell-tale finger prints ! Death scoffers, with lives on your coat sleeves, Dedicated to beloved France; The same sangfroid in your devil-may-care Ancient order of thrilling romance ! I 28] All hail to the bold Foreign Legion, Their home any casual trench, With their English, Irish, Egyptians, Moroccans, Poles, Belgians, French; Americans too, some immortal In the death that the Legionnaire seeks, Brave Rockwell and Seeger, the poet, And Whitmore and Kelly and Weeks ! Thrice welcome, scarred men of the Legion, Who honor our country to-day; America reveres the uniform Of the Legion d Honneur fourrager ! A DUGOUT SYMPOSIUM "Wi* ye baud yer tongue, Jock MacGreegor? Dinna cheep us anither wurd; Hoots ! gie thon obleegin Frenchmen A chanst fur his song tae be hurd. Ye re liker a wean nor a sojer, Fur yinst haud yer gab onyways, Ye sudna mak mock, nae doot lad He ll be singin th Marsylaise! Toots, havers! guan wi yer singin , Dinna fash yersel mon, sing awa , Furbye there s naught tae be feart aboot, We re auld fechtin freens one an a !" "Merci, vous tes tres aimable; Je veux vitement obliger Mais je chante tou jours ce ravissant Overzaire: C est une peche; e"coutez! Oui, la-bas! Oui, la-bas! Chantons-le, chantons-le, oui, la-bas! Que les Yanks arrivent, que les Yanks ar- rivent, [30] Les tambours battent un rataplan ! Alors, Boche! Garde a toi! Chantons-le, chahtons-le, garde a toi ! Nous arrivons nous sommes en route, Nous ne lacherons pas, nous tiendrons jus- qu au bout!" "Scaramouch! da leetla Franchman He carry da frog in da throat ! Ah, Milano ! mia La Scala ! Dees Franchman he getta ma goat ! Nobody singa da moosic Like da greata tenori Caruse ! Rigoletto ! I cry, I go crazy, I maka da monk an da goose!" "Garn with yer blinkin haspersions! Caruse! Oo th ell is e? No doubt some fat organ-grinder From a dump down in Italy. Cheero, there, Frenchie! ye re rippin ! Though I don t know a damn word ye said, But I eard that played back in Lunnon With th Stars an Stripes over ead ! Gar blimey, that tune puts th punch in Th ole bally batterin -ram ; [31] That s th marchin song o th Yankees An ye ll ear it soon in Potsdam. That singin bunch is a fightin bunch, Yer can t old em back o th tanks, They re top- ole troops; we re bloomin proud To brigade with th ard- ittin Yanks!" [32] A LETTER FROM THE FRONT " I VE studied hard since last I wrote For I haven t much else to do, Since I muffed that inshoot hand-grenade, But brush up my parleyvoo. So I wrestle verbs while loafing, Dan, On my first-base-hospital cot, Je parle, tu parle, il (or elle) parle, Sounds kind o highbrow, eh what ! Wait til I spill this at Luna Park, Combien ces saucissons ci? They ll never know I m asking what The price of hot dogs might be ! The table d hdte talk is quite easy, Not half as hard as it seems, Though I ll never get wise in nickels To quatre-vingt-dix-huit centimes! However, I ll get so Frenchified I ll scare folks when I get home, A bonehead turned philologist With a bulging Gallicized dome ! The nut ! I can hear you saying, What s started him on this hunch? 3 [33] Near-English was always good enough For him and his pinochle bunch ! So I might as well fess up, old son, I ve had sinking spells of late; I m rubbing the Katies and Maggies And Honorias off my slate ! A slip of a girl here, started me At frisking the French grammaire, One who could take me captive With a strand of her dusky hair; An orphan maid who teaches us French And what it means to be brave, Not a man left of her kith and kin, Each one in a soldier s grave. Bless God, when I hear that Black Jack Is unter den linden tree I ll know that this oblate spheroid Is safe for democracy; Then back to the dear old U. S. A., But first I will tell Yvonne That I know a bank up in Harlem Where I have cached some mon, And if she will flicker an eyelash That I can interpret as Oui, I ll transplant my Picardy flower, That s what we d call fait accompli!" [34] A BIT OF BLUEST HEAVEN "T ake a chair, old comrade, pull up and toast your feet ; H aven t had mine warm before since Forty-Second Street. E ver see a place like this ? it s true what they all say, Y ou ll find anointed ones of God at the Y. M. C. A. M any of our soldier wrecks have crawled here half insane, C are and tender mothering put life in them again. A Iways, in the hearts and minds of all Humanity R ed triangles will symbolize a Christlike charity, E xplaining more to me than all the Saints and Prophets wrote; D ash it all ! it sure gives me a big lump in my throat. [35] T hrough war s saturnalia God s flag has been unfurled R ight here ! where boundless pity brings redemption to the World. I t s a little bit of all right here in your easy chair A nd these cheery foster-Mothers grudge none their zealous care; N ever tiring, unfaltering though Inferno flares the sky, G iving melting sympathy that almost makes you cry. L ordoflove! I ll tell you what the Y HUT is to me E arth s bit of bluest Heaven in this Hell of butchery." [36] THE RED CROSS ROLL CALL "THROW up your hands! all of you! No, it s not burglary, We only want to count you in The Red Cross drive, you see. It s their Christmas roll call So, each Mother s son of you Sign up ! of course we also mean Each Mother s daughter, too. Just fancy what that blessed band Has done in la belle France ! Put down your names for Mercy s sake; Be thankful for the chance.. Just a few weeks back it seemed A figment of the brain, But here s a joyous Christmas come With peace on earth again ! No more to scan those cabled lists, Dread casualty notes, With fear that we would find his name Clutching our hearts and throats ! Cheero! let s get together; [371 Can we put you on the list ? The amount is insignificant And never will be missed. Think of your priceless birthright And the golden days to come, Join ! and thank God you can say Americanus sum! " [38] THE FOURTH IN PARIS New York Herald, Sunday, Aug. 18, 1918. "YOU RE right, Mate, that was some parade On Independence Day, Down President Wilson Avenue, Out Strasbourg Monument way, When our blood-baptized youngsters Went marching through Paree, Back from those gun-nests, Bois Belleau And Chateau Thierry. Yes, we were the Exhibit A, The Teufel Hunden Corps, And that town sure went bughouse As it never did before. Remember how we all were bombed From both sides of the street By those bewitching French girls Throwing flowers at our feet ? And after all my dodging And ducking shrapnel shells I got hit plumb on the bugle 139) With a bunch of immortelles ! Leastwise, that s what I call them Their fragrance haunts me yet ; I ve pinned them near my wishbone For a good-luck amulet. Sure, I ve got them! right here, Mate, Inside my flannel shirt The first thing ever sent to me By any living skirt ! I saw her when she threw them Threw me a shy kiss, too I see her starry eyes right now In this slumgullion stew. It s natural for them to flirt, Come opportunity, But I marched with some classy kids, Why pick a hick like me? I must be fascinating Like the cobra, I m afraid, For I have got the ugliest map Le bon Dieu ever made ! I hope the One Omnipotent Will change the human race A man s no right to have a heart With an ingrowing face! To me last Independence Day Was just a screen parade, [40! Dissolving in a close-up Of my inconnue maid. I wonder if she ll ever know That dainty, mocking lass The hell she raised with your old pal, A sentimental ass!" [41] A WAYSIDE IN FRANCE New York Herald, Sunday, September i, 1918. "COME shake hands, my little peach blossom ; That s right, dear, climb up on my knee. This big Yankee soldier is lonesome Ah, now we ll be friends, ma che"rie. We won t understand one another, Your round eyes are telling me so, But the cling of your chubby fingers Is a language that all daddies know. When I caught a sight of your pigtails And those eyes of violet blue, It made me heart-hungry, ma petite, For I ve a wee girl just like you. She lives way across the wide ocean, Out where the bald eagles nest, And she knows all the chipmunks and gophers At my shack out in the West." "Tu dis 1 ouest! Est-ce ton pays? Veux-tu, quand tu iras chez-toi [42! Maman est toujours a pleurer Me retrouver mon soldat Papa? II etait avec sa batterie Pres des Anglais la, en campagne, Mais Papa est alle dans 1 ouest, Des Anglais disaient a Maman. Alors, Maman sera heureuse Et, tu vois elle ne pleurera plus; Je veux te donner un baiser, Merci! Tu es si bon pour nous !" " There she goes! She told me her secret, Kissed me and then flew away, Say, Poilu! you savez some English, Now what did that little tot say?" "She say Engleeshman tol her Mama Zat her soldat Papa eez gone West ! You said West, bien ! zen you live zaire, So she make you her leetle request, Zat you find heem in your countree So her Mama no more she weel cry ; Zen she thank you an kees you, si joyeuse, Pauvre mignonne, she think you weel try!" 43l MACARTHUR OF THE GORDONS New York Herald, Wednesday, October 30, 1918. "HEY, Sergeant, I just met a Kiltie By Gee t they grow bigger than whales This one six-five in his holeproofs And he d bust any Fairbanks scales! He left footprints in the roadway Like a big he-elephant s spoor And the heather that grew on his knee joints Would stuff a fair sized ostermoor. He d a hand like a bunch o bananas, As red as his scrawny wrist And when I shook hands with him later He cracked every bone in my fist ! I saw the braw Hielander coming, Bonnet and plaids and a* that, And I thought I d flag wee MacGreegor For a smoke and a bit of a chat. So I called, Whoa there, Caledonia! Back pedal, let s chin for a spell; I m Private McGrath, of the Rainbows; What s your name, little lady from hell? [441 I certainly felt like a sawed-off Looking up at that haggis-fed, Who proved to be Arthur MacArthur, Of the Gordons, I think he said. I couldn t dope his dialect Sarge, But just write this down in your book If Tie ever goes into vaudeville They ll give Harry Lauder the hook! I couldn t get much of his prattle, Although I tried pretty hard, For the burr on his tongue was thicker Than the cooties in my back-yard. I slipped him a Pittsburg stogie, The first one, I think, he had seen, Then he joyfully smashed my fingers Fading in a tobacco-smoke screen. I know he s a worthy descendant Of a hardy old sheep stealing line, The kind that will charge the blazing gates If he hears the old bagpipes whine ! I hope I will meet him again, soon, On this cuppy fair-green somewhere; I ve got a present to give him That once nearly gassed me for fair ! It s that box of smokes Sis sent me I sure love to try and please Those black Porto Rico man killers [45] All spotted with skin disease. He ll eat em! Oh, he s a blast furnace, His forced draft is something to see ; A nicotine hound, that s what he is I ve seen him smoke take it from me! Nice kid ! I hope he gets home safe, Though he s such a Goliath mark, It would be as easy to snipe him As the hippo in Central Park. I ve thought of his little mither - Their meeting ! You get what I mean, After four years talking her baby talk In her dreams to her little wean And planning the old plaid apron Would make him a nice suit of clothes; No stepladder s needed in dreamland To wipe her wee duckie doo s nose!" I 461 LES BLESSES From The American Golfer, December, 1917 (revised). "WHEN you re ridin your war- obbies Keep an eye out for a bloke Oos been trimmed close to th knee-joint, Says e comes from Roanoke. Strike me balmy es a cuckoo An perlite as any swell But these Varginia specimens Are hobstinate as ell ! " If you ll old your gab I ll tell you While we re munchin of our chow Ow e smashed our bloomin idols, Me an Pierre s, this is ow: It appened when Pierre an me Just like two little boys Wuz a-knockin out th sawdust From each others bally toys. (471 " For me an Pierre wuz wranglin , Our wheel-chairs in a line Where Marcel the nurse ad took us For a dose o French sunshine. Twuz in a swell toff s garden Near th Orspital Chatoo Where they brought us lousy beggars When th Surgeon s job wuz through. " My room-mate Pierre sat near me An es ard to understand But e sputtered broken English Wavin of is only and. Once more e wuz a-ravin Of Petain an Joffer. Gawd! Til I squelched im good an proper With my Aig an Byng an Maude ! " We wuz at it ot an eavy E for is an me for mine, One nipper Yorkshire Rifles T other, Batterie eighty-nine. Jus then we card a gentle laugh Which made us look around, There sat a Sammy near us With is slouch- at on the ground. [48] " A lanky, pale young blessy With a shock o tawny air Showin where th shrapnel combed it, An e d left a leg somewhere. Is eyes, deep-set from fever Ad a grayish look o steel Yet they twinkled kind an friendly, Sort o comradeship appeal. " E laughed, then lit a cigarette, Louisey Ann perique An in aled a couple lungfuls As e started in to speak : I shore doan want to butt in On yo pow-wow, Gentlemen But I ve had a right-smart earful Of yo fighting supermen ! " I ve been waiting, standing pat here With a straight flush all the while And as it s my bet, table stakes, I think I ll bet my pile. The fighting man / cheer for Has U. S. A. on his grip; His rough-necks are two-gun men And they shoot from either hip. 4 [49] " I was with him on the border Where they drink their pulque neat And he shore can use my carcass When he wants to wipe his feet. No offense, my fellow-cripples But if I may be so bold I reckon when God made Pershing He just natchelly broke the mould! " [50! SERGEANT BROWN July 1 8th After killing or capturing the crews of four machine guns and raking a Boche-filled trench with his automatic rifle, Sergeant J. F. Brown walked into American Headquarters late yesterday with 159 prisoners. " I am sorry, Sir, that I was unable to bring in all I had," he said in reporting, "but four of the wounded died on me." A POOR excuse ! we think you would Have gotten your just due If you had suffocated when Those Heinies died on you. If you had not been careless With your automatic gun You could have goose-stepped to the rear With every cursed onef Are you a spineless weakling And to discipline so slack That you couldn t drive a flock o Huns And tote four on your back ? How do we know there were four more ? Your word s of no account, [51] You should have lugged them in somehow, To verify the count. When the war is over, Sarge, And back you finally come, Don t say in telling your exploit "I think that s going some!" There s no extenuation In that kind of specious bunk E en though you are round-shouldered From wearing medal junk. They ll give you all that s coming To you in your home town, We mean the whole damvillage, Serves you right too, Sergeant Brown. 52 I NENETTE AND RINTINTIN "YouR letters are the jolliest That reach this salient; Cheerios to buck me up When, feeling like a lonesome pup I m wondering if a hemlock-cup Would not be heaven sent For my nostalgic blues, Then come your billets-doux! " I know their subtle fragrance, That intangible perfume; It is the hair, the hands, the eyes In dreams I nightly visualize Of one I ll always idolize, Who dissipates my gloom By writing funny stuff, Oh Mumsy, what a bluff! [53] \ " I know if I could see you When you re writing to your son, Your hands are ice, your heart is lead, You know I m wounded, gassed or dead, Then headache takes you off to bed The letter just begun; But first a little prayer For Juney over there. " Our men here wonder at the steel That s in the gentler sex. They ve shown the world their women s might With faces calm, serene and bright, Heart-riven with the hellish blight, This swirling flame-vortex That makes a shambles here Where loved ones disappear. " But Pm safe; I wear amulets! I m bomb-proof now inside; I smoke and sing on night patrol, The parapet s my daily stroll; Snipe on, you Boche! no bullet hole Can ventilate my hide Thanks to wee maid and man, Nenette and Rintintin ! [541 " Henceforth back on my bayonet Dead Huns I ll daily bring; These worsted, good-luck Belgian twins Protect the wearers precious skins, I cannot even bark my shins; Oh death, where is thy sting? Don t worry about me, I m Harvey ized, you see!" I55l BASTILLE DAY, JULY 14, 1918 Fifth Avenue and 4Oth Street, New York. VIVE LA FRANCE! SOLDATS ET MARINS SOYEZ LES BIENVENUS UN DINER DE POULET AVEC LES COMPLIMENTS DE LA MAISON THIS chalked-up blackboard caught my eye As I was slowly sauntering by; I stopped to read and rest my legs And thought I savored ham and eggs. It was the witching "ham and" hour In that gastronomic bower. I peeked within, where waiter-girls In Canteen caps and cutey curls [56] Were serving tables, rows on rows, Dear volunteering twinkletoes ! The blackboard proved it was not chance That filled the room with boys from France As they knew it was graft diner And gorged themselves with free poulet. Two sailor lads who d had their fill Came out, first settling up their bill, U. S. Marines, a husky pair Who d eaten through the bill-of-fare. They stood and talked not far from me; Note my short-hand proficiency. Said Bill: "No, Mate, we got no bleats Agin that line o Canteen eats. By Gripes ! It made me lick my paw, But I can t help a-feelin sore To see them Frenchies full o beans An not a nickel in their jeans ! That Cop there, wised that Froggie bunch An pointed in to the free-lunch; He pushed em to that blackboard there An then they beat it in for fair! An all because this is the day When some ol booby-hatch, they say, Fell down out there in gay Paree Which means we fill their faces free ! If our crew ever gets to France [57] We ll frisk one o their resterants And yell for em to fill our plates With rooster-meat for all our mates An we won t cough a measly sou, Hell! Libby prison fell down too!" [58] WAR DOGS IN a deserted village sat Our weary, war-worn bunch, Near a shell-torn Chateau Where we d halted for our lunch. Each one telling how he felt In his first "zero" hour, All except the sphinx-like Leatherneck we called "old sour." He lay prone upon his back Apart from all the rest, Eyes in the clouds, his fingers locked Across his massive chest. He was a giant bearcat, A gloomy, tongue-tied cuss Who d talk to birds and animals But wouldn t talk to us. [59l He was an ugly fighter too, The best I ve ever met For I ve waded through the welter From his murderous bayonet. Well, as we smoked and chatted We were suddenly aware That a maimed, skulking, starving dog Appeared from God knows where. We called and coaxed and whistled But he crouched, alert to run, Mistrustful of a uniform, He d met the treacherous Hun! A sword-thrust had gashed his back, One leg off at the knee, A merry jest of kultur That s the way it looked to me. Just then we heard "old sour" Crooning softly to the pup, It wasn t that we heard him speak That made us all look up; His gentle, sympathetic voice Amazed us, I confess, With its tender note of pity, Almost like a caress. [60] "Be friends, poor little blesse", Oh, pas Anglais ! I forget That you don t speak the language Of my dog in Joliet. " So, viens ici pauvre p tit chien, Je suis ton bon ami, Tu as tres faim, j en suis certain, Bien, manges done ici ! " Prends vite mon dejeuner, Le voila ! poor old chap, Bless God your faith in man s restored Here in your buddy s lap." There was the dog up in his arms His tail wig- wagging joy While "old sour" fed the starveling, Lunch meant for a doughboy. "Get this!" said he turning round "Here is man s truest friend, Faithful, trustful, loyal And devoted to the end. " You may be homeless, friendless, Not a red cent to your name But your dog not being human Will still love you just the same. [61] " No human being cared a hoot When I left my home town But I can see two agonized Imploring eyes of brown. " He s waiting at the Station now For me to reappear And they ll find him dead there, waiting, If I go West from here!" [62 WHY WORRY? VON ARNIM, Von Quast and Von Buelow, Von Marwitz, Von Huteir, Von Bohm; Generals sent by the Kaiser To bring all the bacon home But McGinnis, McCabe and McSweeny, McManus, McCann and McCall Are there with the "fighting Sixty-ninth" To give them the scraps, that s all! [63] CCEUR DE LION Darkest days of 1917 HE licks his bleeding wounds as he lies The British Lion at bay ! A lurid gleam in his bloodshot eyes The fighting spirit that never dies In Albion s breed he typifies Ware of the coming day ! Deep in his throat an ominous roar Portent to Attila s crew Ware the sweep of his mighty paw Ware the crunch of his massive jaw Giant ally in Liberty s war Dauntless, steadfast and true! [6 4 1 HOMEWARD BOUND "IT S daybreak Bill, let s tumble out, We ve had beaucoup of sleep, This boat must be in sight of land I think I ll take a peep. "Oh boy! here s God s own country! Oh, Glory be, just look We re nosing up the channel, Bill, We ve just passed Sandy Hook. " Good morrow Barren Island! Gee, You look sweet as a rose Although you used to lacerate The Knickerbocker nose. " And there s old Staten Island, Panorama for sore eyes! It s Home and Mother now, Bill, Though hard to realize, s [65] " La-bas matey, is Hoboken, Ding ding you am-bu-lance ! Come get your cootie-cootie Little derelicts from France ! " Back there s dear old Manhattan Where my best girl waits for me, I m sidestepping all others For that blonde affinity. " She s the one I raved of When I got my ether bun For when you think you re croaking, Bill, You ll find there s only one!" "Hell s bells! you re always bragging Of the girls who love you so ! You gave us all an earache With that spiel at Bois Belleau. " If you hadn t got me when I crumpled on the wire I d feel like bashing in the face That all your dames admire. " You had your nerve too, when you brought Me back to Thierry, You asked me who to notify If things went bad for me [66] " And when I said I had a girl, A real tip-topper here, You muttered poor old pie-face Bill, He s wandering, Doc, I fear ! " You thought of course a map like mine Made me a hopeless case; You didn t give a Chinaman s chance To my denatured face ! " But you thought wrong, you blighter For you ll see her presently; She s waiting at the same old spot To keep her tryst with me. " She doesn t mind my face at all, Just sees my khaki kit, That s what won her affections Starting out to do my bit. " Look! there she is! my Bronze Girl! On Bedloe s Isle you see, Je suis heureux de vous revoir, C est moi, BILL! ma cherie! " [6 7 1 WITH THE ALLIES From The American Golfer, November, 1914. y DOES latent love of powder smoke Come from heredity? If so, the family itch for war Has recrudesced in me. They say most of my forebears Had a shoulder for a gun; Some went with Scott to Mexico, Some fought at Lexington. At Waterloo they fought the French ; Time s whirligig finds me In step with the "red trousers" In bonne camaraderie. My father was with Sherman Where he heard the rebel yell; He also heard his General say He reckoned war is hell ! [68] And judging from the shambles here I think he was quite right, Though he ne er saw the bloodless death From fumes of turpinite. Yea ! he was with the Sherman troops When they marched to the sea, I guess his marching blood has made A vagabond of me. As a mere boy I disappeared From "little old New York," They brought me back from Frisco For a serious family talk. Then College, where perched on the mound I spent my student days To get the "stuff" upon the ball For inshoot fadeaways. Then I went on a ranch out West To punch the maverick But soon a restless fit came on, I knew I couldn t stick. From there to Catalina isle For super-dreadnought fish, Then back from Walla Walla, Wash., To Escanaba, Mich. [ 69 ] I ve done a turn in vaudeville, I ve run a trolley car, I ve braked upon the B. & O. And dug in Panama. In Winnipeg I froze my feet ; Was sunstruck in Fort Wayne, Fell overboard and nearly drowned Off Kennebunkport, Maine. I joined a Kansas cyclone once, A perfectly good blow It blew most of Topeka Nearly over to Saint Jo. It blew me a full brassie And a mashie pitch or two Until a stone wall stymied me, I couldn t quite get through. I had to leave the highway When I got to Muskogee, That stone wall having left me "Casual water" on the knee. The "wanderlust" is just a lofty Dilettante term To indicate the presence Of the common hobo germ. [70] When this great cataclysm broke I was in Aberdeen; I d heard the ominous rumblings Of a war that I d foreseen. I joined the troops at Liverpool Whence my ancestors came, Some impulse I could not resist Just pulled me in the game. So here I am as foreordained, A nomad ne er-do-well Who scribbles this while out of work Due to a piece of shell. Why not? Some Yankee poet From his wallow in a trench May get his V. C. from the hands Of Kitchener or French ! One s not so brave to get shot up Or blown to bits, or worse, But it surely takes an iron nerve To write my kind of verse ; Still, fair-haired Sergeant Temple says : "It s ripping, dear old boy!" Come roars of their approval From MacTavish and Molloy; [71] Though Greek to my French comrades They cry "Mondoo, c est tres bung!" The rest of the world s critics Can all go to, well, get hung! L ENVOI Hark ! cries of many nations With their backs against the wall ! Are you listening cross the ocean? That s the English bugle call ! A cheer, then Tipperary, In they go to jaws of hell, A nation s flower gasping Side by side there as they fell. Are you murmuring my kinsmen With responsive clutch at heart At the fate which keeps the Anglo-Saxon Brotherhood apart? Shall the ages see the Stars and Stripes With Union Jack unflung, A life and death alliance Among those who speak our tongue? Would polyglots acclaim it as World Strife forever hushed, A covenant that monstrous Militarism is crushed? [72! Your silent men are thinking Through their stern neutrality; Are they pondering the empty phrase Of "hands across the sea"? In dreamland were they marching With the British lads who fell In fighting for "a scrap of paper"? History will tell! [731 SOMEWHERE MACLAREN of the Seaforths ! A visage leonine; Drum-fire spit of machine guns, A decimated line. MacLaren of the Seaforths ! The sands are running low; Forebodings of a stricken lass Where bonnie blue-bells blow. MacLaren of the Seaforths! With premonition true, Your trenchmates gone of yester-eve Are beckoning to you. MacLaren of the Seaforths ! Objective just ahead; The flame-blighted shell-scarred knoll Its slopes o erstrewn with dead. (74l MacLaren of the Seaforths ! Patter of leaden rain; A choking gasp, a crumpled form, A quick surcease from pain. MacLaren of the Seaforths! A body stiff and stark Where man s death-dealing messenger Had found its giant mark. A chaplain s requiescat, A grave in foreign mold Neath poppy blooms nid-nodding, The story s oft been told. Somewhere in war s grim record, Just one more valiant part; Somewhere in the bleak Highlands, Just one more broken heart. 751 MY PAL FRANCOIS Artilleur, Douzieme Batterie "EEZ eet good-bye zen, aujourd hui? You leave wiz your artillerie For go back to Etats Unis ! Sacr6 nom ! il est bien loin d ici. " My heart eez sad; so now shak ban s Here by my ol soixante-quinze ; Cessez le feu ! have spoil our plans For mak ragout of allemands. " Long time we boce have serve ze guns For send ze foodstuff to ze Huns ; C est vrai we feed zem tons an tons Franco-Ame ricam lyddite buns. " Eet was my life! I am like you, We now have nozzing left to do, Ze flaming orchestra eez through, C est dommage, il n y en a plus. 176] " I wanted tak you a Paris For one, qu est-ce que c est, beeg spree ! Ce n etait pas ma faute you see, Comprenez-vous ce que je dis? " I have ze horreur of zis day When you tell me you gone away. Eet eez adieu ! oui, je le sais, J en suis extre mement faclie". " I would not leave you, au contraire, Eef we been fightin overzaire, I send for my charmante sistaire For keep ze house, apres la guerre. Who say, fren ship like you an me C est passe ou il est fini ! Some day bien stir your eyes weel see Moi, Franc, ois! vraiment je vous suis. " I have resolve de tout mon coeur J irai avec ma jolie soeur; I tak my sistaire parce que Mebbee you fall in love wiz her. Zen peut tre, my dream come true Zat my sweet Jeanne she marry you, Zen when night come an work eez through I have ze chair an pipe chez-vous!" [77] THE SMOKED YANKEES "YASSIR! I got dose wound-stripes In foreign jography With the Three Hundred Sixty-ninth 01 Fifteenth Infantry. " I got my honor ble discharge Account o my right wing; Dat hand was blown clean off de map With my gold token-ring. "Jus came back on de Celtic, Boss, An now our Tenderloin Meanin ol Sixth Avenoo Will soon eat up my coin. " Den back to my ol job again, A hash house, servin eats, Dat busts my army pride to go Back yellin brown de wheats ! (781 "An* once yo snuff dat mustard From de gas dat skins yo raw Yo can t smear no ham sandwiches With dat compound no mo " An with no C. O. near me An a cleaver round somewhere One order for a Hamburg steak Might send me to th chair ! " I guess I ll try to get a job At some Fifth Avenoo shop To wear a gold-lace uniform, A limousine bell-hop, " Den some day Colonel Hay ward Maybe come a-strollin by An my left-hand salute will catch His military eye. "Maybe he ll stop, stretch out his hand An say, Boy, put it there! Yo re one o my Smoked Yankees, I can tell em anywhere ! " I hate to see yo dolled up In a Admiral s uniform But presume yo needs th money Fo po k chops an somethin* warm. l79l " O I place yo now, Mose Washington, Corporal, Company B, I pinned dat medal on yo Fo dat intrepidity ! " Yo black hide s perforated Like a ol tin pepper-box Fo yo re de gluttonest coon dat ever Stood in army socks ! " Shrapnel, bayonet, trench-grenades An sprayed with liquid fire, Yo got mo lives dan a black cat, Yo have, or I m a liar! "No white man in de army, Mose, Has fought mo gallantly; I never had a braver nigger Fightin under me ! " Den Boss, my cup o pipe-dreams Will be full up to de brim; He s my ol Colonel, fo two bits I d go to hell fo him!" 80] "SMILES" AT Twenty-seventh Headquarters A goggled youth dubbed "Smiles" Had streaked a motorcycle Over leagues of lumpy miles Doing dispatch-riding Back and forth for the C Os, Not a soporific job As every soldier knows. Sunlight, moonlight, rain or shine They d see him whizzing by Dodging shells and taking all Pup-craters on the fly. He brought along his cheery smile So all the doughboys say, From Spartanburg, where he picked up His fitting sobriquet. He d picked upalmost everything They pick up in a trench From live-stock to a knowledge Of extraordinary French Which on occasions he would air (The French) quite willingly To puzzle the long-suffering Gallic peasantry. With good-humored complaisance He d embrace the frequent chance To show the friendly poilus He was quite at home in France. One night, one of his Company Brought "Smiles" a fountain-pen And said, "Corp, you always write The love notes for us men. " I just got this here postcard, I think it s from my best, See, here she signs it Fifi, That s the peach I met in Brest. "Naw! I can t read the damn thing, Please de-code the stuff for me And cop out a swell answer Like a hunk o poetry. [82! " You re hell on French an I don t know A word except bebe ! It s gotta be in French or she Won t get a word I say. "Just hand her gobs o Hoola stuff, Tobasco Coochie Coo, An I ll go polish an oil up Your motor-bike for you." Now "Smiles" had missed tobacco And had evidence to show That Smith was quite light-fingered, Now for a quid pro quo. So this is what the mail bag took Next morning back to Brest From a near-Academician At Private Smith s request : " Je suis surpris de recevoir Une chaud poste cart de vous. Vous-avez beaucoup de la nerve ! Ne plus, Fifi, ne plus ! "Vous etes extremement me chante, Je vous passez ze mitt; Sacrebleu ! sans introduction Vouz-avez moi ecrit ! [83] " Ou avez-vous fait mon Connaisance, Fifi dear? Je ne puis pas remember Any Fifis! C est a rire! " Vous-avez cinquinte ans n est pas? Oui Fifi, je le sais ; J aime toujours la dix-sept ans, Adieu done ! C est assez ! "N essayez pas de vamp me, Je n ai pas any wad; Vous avez faim seulment pour coin, Vous me rendez malade!" Fifi s answer was one word And hence, exceeding terse But "Smiles" explained to Private Smith It meant she loved his verse And also that she loved him: Now he could carry on, He had her shy avowal In the magic word "Cochon!" But later Private Smith said "Corp, I know what that word means, You re a helluva French scholar! You sure have spilled the beans ! [84] "To scare the chickens seems to be A motorcyclist s joke But, I ll call it square, old kill-joy If you ve got somethin to smoke!" [85] ARE WE DOWNHEARTED? "WHERE do we go from here, boys? Was the song we sang over in France When we d mopped them up with the bayonet And keen for a further advance. "Where do we go from here, boys Now we re back home from overseas? Do we brigade with the submerged tenth When we re out at elbows and knees? " Where do we go from here, boys And where does the trail now lead ? Back to the echoing slough of despond, We ve got all the hands we need ! " Where do we go from here, boys Now that housework is getting pass And the new girl-man is elbowing us Into the cold consomme"? [86] " Where do we go from here, boys? We might get a maid s job, we might, Dusting and sweeping and purling betimes And putting the cat out at night. "I m damned if I know where to go, boys, To bring home some kale for my shack; It looks like a bench in the park, boys For thousands of us who came back. " I knew dead sure where I d go, boys, Straight West in a spatter of blood, If the shell that dropped in my dugout Hadn t turned out to be a dud " But if this is what I came home for, The bread-line up there on Broadway, I m sorry that dud wasn t functioning When it paid me a visit that day." 87 THE GAP IN THE LINE WE saw her there in the cheering throng, A frail little Mother, careworn and gray, When our young veterans marched along Under the Victory Arch that day. Ashes of hope in her burnt-out eyes, Lips supplicating in fervent prayer, Invoking someone in spectral guise To march with the living heroes there. Look ! little Mother, the wraith-like come ! Who beckons there from the Spirit row On noiseless feet to the beat of the drum ? Your little nursling of long ago ! Shoulder to shoulder with ghostly tread, Vapor-like passing of phantom ships, Hark! "Mother mine, we are the dead!" A smile for her on his pallid lips. Sayest thou He would not beatify This swooning Mother, inanimate clod? Sceptics, know ye the wherefore and why Of the inscrutable acts of God ? [88] University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hiigard Avenue, Los Angeles^ CA90024- Retum this material to the library from which It was borrowed. 0E 2 WKS FROM DAl ^.wcl Form L9- THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES PS 3637 S672m UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 001 247 609 9