The Project Gutenberg eBook ofWrit in Barracks

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofWrit in BarracksThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Writ in BarracksCreator: Edgar WallaceRelease date: August 8, 2015 [eBook #49658]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRIT IN BARRACKS ***WRIT IN BARRACKSBYEDGAR WALLACEMETHUEN AND CO.36 ESSEX STREET: STRANDLONDON1900Colonial LibraryDEDICATIONTO THE RANK AND FILE OFTHE ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPSAMONGST WHOM I SPENT SIX HAPPY YEARSOF MY LIFE, THIS COLLECTION OF VERSESMOSTLY WRITTEN IN BARRACKSIS ADMIRINGLYDEDICATEDRONDEBOSCHApril4, 1900'Ginger James' appeared originally in the 'Daily Chronicle,' 'Make your own Arrangements' in the 'Pall Mall Gazette,' as also did 'T. A. in Love.' 'Legacies' is reproduced by the kind permission of the 'Daily News,' and 'Arthur' and 'Her Majesty has been Pleased—' of the 'Evening News.' Most of the others are new to the English reader.CONTENTSWARARMY DOCTORNICHOLSON'S NEKMY PAL, THE BOERSONG OF THE FIRST TRAIN THROUGHTHE NAVAL BRIGADETHE ARMOURED TRAINMAKE YOUR OWN ARRANGEMENTSGINGER JAMES'HER MAJESTY HAS BEEN PLEASED—'ARTHURLEGACIEST. A. IN LOVETOMMY ADVISESTHE NUMBER ONEBRITANNIA TO HER FIRST-BORNTOMMY TO HIS LAUREATETHE MISSION THAT FAILEDTHE PRAYERCEASE FIRETOMMY'S AUTOGRAPHAT THE BRINK!THE KING OF OOJEE-MOOJEETHE SONG OF THE TOWNBY SIMON'S BAYTHE SQUIRETHE SEA-NATIONNATURE FAILSTHE COLONEL'S GARDENTHE PEOPLE TO CECIL JOHN RHODES, JULY 18, 1899WHEN LONDON CALLS!CAIROWARDSODE TO THE OPENING OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN EXHIBITION, 1898WARIA tent that is pitched at the base:A wagon that comes from the night:A stretcher—and on it a Case:A surgeon, who's holding a light.The Infantry's bearing the brunt—O hark to the wind-carried cheer!A mutter of guns at the front:A whimper of sobs at the rear.And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold the light.You can lay him down on the table: so.Easily—gently! Thanks—you may go.'And it's War! but the part that is not for show.IIA tent, with a table athwart,A table that's laid out for one;A waterproof cover—and noughtBut the limp, mangled work of a gun.A bottle that's stuck by the pole,A guttering dip in its neck;The flickering light of a soulOn the wondering eyes of The Wreck,And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold his hand.I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'And it'sWar! and a very unhealthy trade.IIIThe clink of a stopper and glass:A sigh as the chloroform drips:A trickle of—what? on the grass,And bluer and bluer the lips.The lashes have hidden the stare....A rent, and the clothes fall away....A touch, and the wound is laid bare....A cut, and the face has turned grey....And it'sWar! 'Orderly, take It out.It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,There might have been—sooner—a chance for his life.But it'sWar! And—Orderly, clean this knife!'ARMY DOCTORArmy Doctor! Army Doctor!'Ere's some 'cruities for inspection,—Some in rags, an' some in cuffs.Some in shirts, an' some without 'em,Wot a blessed strange collection!Served before? You needn't doubt 'em,Bloomin' muffs!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Take your sword, an' drop your lancet,Teach your nurses 'ow to fight!'Ow to march the dead march—solemn!'Ow to route march—an' to dance it!Teach 'em 'ow to march in column,By the right!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Gold an' velvet! 'broidered lacin's,'Oldin' 'igh your bloomin' 'ead!'Seen you peel that coat so winnin','Seen you stain them pretty facin's,'Seen your 'ighly glossy linen,Splattered red!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!'Sun is 'ot—an' we are learnin'Lessons in the cholera school,We're fear-sick, an' mad as 'atters,Throat a-parchin', 'ead a-burnin',Seems to me,you'retakin' mattersRather cool!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Spurs and swagger! Cuff an' collar!Up to ev'ry bloomin' trick!'Seen you—as I've seen none other—Go to—whereIdursn't foller!'Seen you act the man and brotherTo the sick!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Things by Engineers forgotten,You'ave got to recollect.Tho' you're such a gilded dandy,When the meat is goin' rotten,Chances are,you'resomewhere 'andyTo inspect!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Where the firin' never ceases,Where the 'uddled soldier lies,Where the Mauser bullets shave 'im,Gawd! they're chippin' 'im to pieces!Git 'im out of fire an' save 'im....Well done, Guys!NICHOLSON'S NEKThey gave their best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;They threw their best on a hundred fields,To put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.They have proved their worth,To the ends of the earth.They have striven and won,—and failed!They have shown their might,On the Dargai Height,When themollah'sbullets hailed.They have laid their dead,In the river bed,On the site of their last brave stand.They have buried at night,By a lantern light,In a grave that they scooped in the sand.And far and wide,They have done and died,By donga, and veldt, and kloof.And the lonely grave,Of the honoured brave,Is a proof—if we need a proof,They won—and died,And we glorifiedThe men of the barrack schools.They died—and failed,And in wrath we railedAt the fault of the bungling fools!And perhaps it is goodThat we change our mood,And perchance it is well to blame,And to seek elsewhere,For some men to bear,The weight of our foolish shame.But the fight hard fought,Must it go for noughtBecause of its hapless turn?Must we then withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn?When hot and tired,With the last round fired,And never a ray of hope—What then the shame?They were just the sameWho charged Talana's slope!You may give and take,As the shrapnels rake,When your batt'ry has replied;But you cannot liveWhen there's too much give,From the guns on the open side.Good men are they,Who gain the day,—And victory is sweet,—And just as braveWho do not raveAt every small defeat.For the fight hard foughtMust not go for nought,Because of its hapless turn;Nor we withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn.We gave our best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;We threw our best on a hundred fieldsTo put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.MY PAL, THE BOERWe met without appointment on an 'ill,I comed upon the beggar without warnin';Layin' down be'ind a boulder,With 'is rifle to 'is shoulder,He sent along wot's Dutch for a 'Good-mornin'.''E missed me with a fair amount of skill,An' 'fore 'e'd time to mount, an' get from danger,I was takin' of my rest,By a sittin' on 'is chest,An' a sayin' to the welcome little stranger:—'My pal, the Boer!You're a prisoner of war'('E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle);'You can't escape me, can yer?In the name of Rule Britannia,I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'You wouldn't call 'is manners over bright,An' you wouldn't term 'is disposition sunny,An' 'e 'ad a silly notionThat the cause of the commotionWas Chamberlain a-fightin' for 'is money;An' 'e fancied that the British flag was white—'Twas a silly fancy—still we must excuse it,When the Lancers came along'E felt a triflebong!'E soon found out the proper way to use it!My pal, the Boer,Ain't used to proper war,But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy,The 'igh an' mighty scorner,When we get 'im in a corner,'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!SONG OF THE FIRST TRAIN THROUGHLine Clear to Witteputs! I wind around the guarded hill,And thunder o'er the lean long bridge that spans the sombre stream;No uptorn rail to devastate, no culvert gap to fill,And where the outpost feared to ride, I gather up my steam.(I passed a little mound of earth that bore the cross's sign,—A Colonel, and a dozen men, who fell to clear the line.)Line Clear to Belmont: and I feel the ballast shaking down:My flanges bite the new-laid rail and prove the new-thrust pin.On either side the purple ridge, the veldt land sickly brown,The 'distant off' says 'Welcome,' and the 'Home' says 'Come ye in.'(Two thousand guardsmen rushed the Kop—a score are buried here,And here are laid some Fusiliers—they fell to give Line Clear.)Line Clear to Graspan: so I run adown the gentle grade,Nor notice in my joyful haste the kopje stubble grown,And wildly bouldered foot to crest where fell a half brigade,What time the bristling mountain-side with segment shell was sown.(The mess-deck and the ward-room thinned to give the line pratiqueLine Clear from Graspan—so, half-mast the Ensign at the Peak.)Line Clear: along the new-spliced wires that droop from pole to pole,By Enslin, where the helio glared fitfully and fleet,The word is passed across the plain to where the rivers roll,—To where, tree-fringed in eddying swirls, the Modder meets the Riet.(In heat and thirst and weariness a hundred dying lay,A hundred bloody forms grew stiff to give me Right Away.)Line Clear: I face the grim gaunt range that stretches east and west('Twas by its base, near Magers farm, that Wauchope's men went down):I skirt the ridge that hid the guns, and gleefully I breastThe easy rise that brings in view the long-beleaguered town.(Line Clear: o'er blood, and sweat, and pain, and sorrow'sroad I ran,And every sleeper was a wound, and every rail a man.)THE NAVAL BRIGADEWhen you're pickin' your men for a fight,When choosin' the corps that'll serve,It's only quite proper an' rightTo fix upon muscle an' nerve,An' so, to your heavy Dragoons—Your Granny-dear Guards an' their band—To your Sappers with bridgin' pontoons,You can buckle the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandDoesn't want any band;He's grit, an he's sandIs the Lower Deck Hand.)His march is a go-as-you-please;He most keeps step with hisself!For his boots ain't conducive to ease,Bein' mostly kept packed on a shelf!Tho' he isn't so span or so spic—Tho' his marchin' ain't what you'd call grand—He gets to the front just as quickDoes the elegant Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandWasn't reared in the Strand;But he's good to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)You may swear by the jolly marines,'Per marey, per tarey' they fight—Not speakin' for them in their 'teens—I don't mind admittin' your right.But all that the Joey has got,As I'd have all the world understand,He's learnt—well, he's learnt quite a lotFrom his tooter—the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandIs a mine that's unpanned;An' he's yours to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)He doesn't shape well at Reviews,I've known him to spit in the ranks;But we've never been asked to excuseA fault, when he's guarding the flanks.An' when there's a break in the squareOr a place where the Line cannot stand,I'll tell you the chap to put there—'Jack Mullow'—the Lower Deck Hand.(The Lower Deck HandWill die as he 'll stand;He's tempered an land,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)When you're hemmed in a tight little hole,By a greatly outnumbering foe,It's a matter of stokin' an' coalHow far we're away from the foe.When the Infantry's needin' some aid,When the 'tillery gets under-man'd,—Make way for the Naval Brigade!—His Highness the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandWith his guns he can land,An he'll kick up some sand,Will the Lower Deck Hand.)THE ARMOURED TRAINThere's risk on the ballasted roadway,There's death on the girdered bridge,Red ruin from sleeper to sleeper,And wreck on the bouldered ridge.No signal to herald my coming,No whistle to waken the plain;Stand clear—I am out for patrolling!Make way for the Armoured Train!I run not to time, nor to table,I'm neither an 'Up' nor a 'Down,'But 'Full speed ahead' is my order,When skirting the enemy's town.My mails have a backing of cordite,My luggage is powder and shell,With smoke-stack a-blazing I thunder,A traveller's sample of Hell!They have laid me a mine by a culvert,They have loosened a bolt by a curve,But thrice-tested steel is my muscle,And thrice-tested brass is my nerve.A curse for their bungling folly,A laugh for the death-trap that fails,A hang for the enemy's miner,So long as I keep to the rails.A cheer—and I pull from the townshipTo spy out the enemy's line;A plunge—and I rush into darknessAs reckless of wreckage as mine.And what if a rail has been lifted?And what if a river's unspanned?I fail, but I know in the failingI strove at the Empire's command.They were men who at Badajos conquered,They were men who for Wellington struck,And a Man is the Man at the Throttle,And a Man is the Man on the Truck.Undismayed I may go to destruction.For I know at the end I may feelI die with the men on the footplate,I pass with my brothers in steel.MAKE YOUR OWN ARRANGEMENTSWhen the depôt soldier's dinin' on three-quarters of a pound,If there's too much bone to please 'im, or the meat is extry tough,'E 'as got a chance of grousin' when 'is orficer goes round,'E can draw upon the mess-book, if 's rations ain't enough.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you're cut orf from the column, an' supplies are runnin' low,It ain't no 'too much fat, sir!'But it's bread—an' glad of that, sir!O it'sbakeyour own arrangements—out of flour—as you go!When the depôt soldier's on parade 'e sparkles an' 'e shines.When the depôt soldier's drillin' 'e must make each motion 'tell.'When the depôt soldier's marchin' 'e must march on drill-book lines.'E 'as got a drill-instructor, an' 'e does it very well.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the camp is rushed at midnight, an' you're fallin' in—to die!O there ain't no drill-rules set there,But it's take your gun—an' get there!When you make your own arrangements, you must grab your belt an' fly.The depôt soldier's grounded in a systematic drill;'E also knows wot's 'rendezvous' an' what is 'bivouac.''E knows the use of rifle-pits, the proper way to kill—'E understands the principles an' the'ries of attack.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you're dodgin' tons of boulder, climbin' mount'ins under fire,An' the drill-book won't assist youTill the fallin' rocks 'ave missed you!So you make your own arrangements—an' you climb a little 'igher!When the depôt soldier's wantin' with 'is orficer to speak,'E must 'alt two paces from 'im, an' salute before the start.An' 'e mustn't try to argue, an' 'e mustn't give no cheek;An' if 'is Captain slangs 'im—'e must take it in good part.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you see 'im lying wounded, all the circumstances change.An' you don't 'eed no instructions;An' you don't need introductions;But you make your own arrangements—an' you get 'im out of range.When the depôt soldier sickens, when the depôt soldier dies,'E is buried by 'is comrades in the regulation style.'E is covered by an ensign of the regulation size,An' 'e gets a firin' party made of thirteen rank an' file.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the Colonel reads the service by a guard-room lantern light.When in silent rows you've laid 'emIn a trench your bay'nets made 'em,O, it's make your own arrangements when you bury in the night!GINGER JAMESA spell I 'ad to waitOutside the barrick gate,For Ginger James was passin' out as I was passin' in;'E was only a recruit,But I give 'im the salute,For I'll never git another chance of givin' it agin!'E'd little brains, I'll swear,Beneath 'is ginger 'air,'Is personal attractions, well, they wasn't very large;'E was fust in ev'ry mill,An' a foul-mouthed brute, but stillWe'll forgive 'im all 'is drawbacks—'e 'as taken 'is discharge.'E once got fourteen days,For drunken, idle ways,An' the Colonel said the nasty things that colonels sometimes say;'E called him to 'is faceThe regiment's disgrace—But the Colonel took 'is 'at off when 'e passed 'im by to-day.For days 'e used to dwellInside a guard-room cell,Where they put the darbies on 'im for a 'owlin' savage brute;But as by the guard 'e wentThey gave 'im the present,The little bugler sounded off the 'General Salute.'The band turned out to playPoor Ginger James away;'Is Captain an' 'is Company came down to see 'im off;An' thirteen file an' rank,With three rounds each of blank;An' 'e rode down on a carriage, like a bloomin' city toff!'E doesn't want no pass,'E's journeying first-class;'Is trav'lling rug's a Union Jack, which isn't bad at all;The tune the drummers playIt ain't so very gay,But a rather slow selection, from a piece that's known as 'Saul.''HER MAJESTY HAS BEEN PLEASED—'Wot a crowd of people!Wot a sea of faces!'Ow the ladies' parasols are glist'nin' in the sun!Troops in 'open order,'Captains in their places.Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done!Wot a lot of civvies!Mus' be 'arf the city!Like a mob on Boxing-night outside Drury Lane!Ain't it perfect weather?More's the blessed pity!Wish instead of sunshine it was pourin' 'ard o' rain!Comes of bein' famous—Mentioned in despatches!Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear!Empty stomach fighting—Getting sleep by snatches!—'Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out 'ere!'Ow the people eye me,Like a choice chrysanth'um!'Ow this collar's chokin' me!—Lord! I'm feelin' sick!Troops are at the 'shoulder'—'Pre-sent'—there's the anthem!'Ow I 'ope 'er Majesty will get it over quick!Wonder if I'm dusty?'Elmet feels lopsided!Chuck a chest for 'Eaven's sake!Lord, I'm feelin' queer!Twenty times they've brushed me,Twice 'ave I been tidied,Yet I'm feelin' mucky still. Private Jawkins? 'ERE!Face the lan-dow panels,Dumbly; likewise blindly,Seein' in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black:'Ear 'er sof'ly talkin'.Thanks, mum, thank you kindly!Saw the Major fallin', and I 'ad to take 'im back!Thank you, mum—your 'Ighness—Majesty, I mean, mum!'M sure I'm much obliged to you for this 'ere pretty Cross!Bless you, you're a lady!Mean you are the Queen, mum!On'y picked the Major up an' shoved 'im on an 'orse!'Saw our Sub go under,'Alf 'is men around 'imCut to bits—an' 'im so young,—yes mum, very sad.Yes mum, 'e was buriedIn the place we found 'im.Thank you, mum,—your Majesty (God, I'm feelin' bad!)

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Writ in BarracksCreator: Edgar WallaceRelease date: August 8, 2015 [eBook #49658]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines

Title: Writ in Barracks

Creator: Edgar Wallace

Release date: August 8, 2015 [eBook #49658]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRIT IN BARRACKS ***

WRIT IN BARRACKSBYEDGAR WALLACEMETHUEN AND CO.36 ESSEX STREET: STRANDLONDON1900Colonial Library

WRIT IN BARRACKS

EDGAR WALLACE

METHUEN AND CO.36 ESSEX STREET: STRANDLONDON1900

Colonial Library

DEDICATIONTO THE RANK AND FILE OFTHE ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPSAMONGST WHOM I SPENT SIX HAPPY YEARSOF MY LIFE, THIS COLLECTION OF VERSESMOSTLY WRITTEN IN BARRACKSIS ADMIRINGLYDEDICATEDRONDEBOSCHApril4, 1900

DEDICATION

TO THE RANK AND FILE OFTHE ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPSAMONGST WHOM I SPENT SIX HAPPY YEARSOF MY LIFE, THIS COLLECTION OF VERSESMOSTLY WRITTEN IN BARRACKSIS ADMIRINGLYDEDICATED

RONDEBOSCHApril4, 1900

'Ginger James' appeared originally in the 'Daily Chronicle,' 'Make your own Arrangements' in the 'Pall Mall Gazette,' as also did 'T. A. in Love.' 'Legacies' is reproduced by the kind permission of the 'Daily News,' and 'Arthur' and 'Her Majesty has been Pleased—' of the 'Evening News.' Most of the others are new to the English reader.

CONTENTS

WARARMY DOCTORNICHOLSON'S NEKMY PAL, THE BOERSONG OF THE FIRST TRAIN THROUGHTHE NAVAL BRIGADETHE ARMOURED TRAINMAKE YOUR OWN ARRANGEMENTSGINGER JAMES'HER MAJESTY HAS BEEN PLEASED—'ARTHURLEGACIEST. A. IN LOVETOMMY ADVISESTHE NUMBER ONEBRITANNIA TO HER FIRST-BORNTOMMY TO HIS LAUREATETHE MISSION THAT FAILEDTHE PRAYERCEASE FIRETOMMY'S AUTOGRAPHAT THE BRINK!THE KING OF OOJEE-MOOJEETHE SONG OF THE TOWNBY SIMON'S BAYTHE SQUIRETHE SEA-NATIONNATURE FAILSTHE COLONEL'S GARDENTHE PEOPLE TO CECIL JOHN RHODES, JULY 18, 1899WHEN LONDON CALLS!CAIROWARDSODE TO THE OPENING OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN EXHIBITION, 1898

WAR

IA tent that is pitched at the base:A wagon that comes from the night:A stretcher—and on it a Case:A surgeon, who's holding a light.The Infantry's bearing the brunt—O hark to the wind-carried cheer!A mutter of guns at the front:A whimper of sobs at the rear.And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold the light.You can lay him down on the table: so.Easily—gently! Thanks—you may go.'And it's War! but the part that is not for show.IIA tent, with a table athwart,A table that's laid out for one;A waterproof cover—and noughtBut the limp, mangled work of a gun.A bottle that's stuck by the pole,A guttering dip in its neck;The flickering light of a soulOn the wondering eyes of The Wreck,And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold his hand.I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'And it'sWar! and a very unhealthy trade.IIIThe clink of a stopper and glass:A sigh as the chloroform drips:A trickle of—what? on the grass,And bluer and bluer the lips.The lashes have hidden the stare....A rent, and the clothes fall away....A touch, and the wound is laid bare....A cut, and the face has turned grey....And it'sWar! 'Orderly, take It out.It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,There might have been—sooner—a chance for his life.But it'sWar! And—Orderly, clean this knife!'

A tent that is pitched at the base:A wagon that comes from the night:A stretcher—and on it a Case:A surgeon, who's holding a light.The Infantry's bearing the brunt—O hark to the wind-carried cheer!A mutter of guns at the front:A whimper of sobs at the rear.And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold the light.You can lay him down on the table: so.Easily—gently! Thanks—you may go.'And it's War! but the part that is not for show.

A tent that is pitched at the base:

A wagon that comes from the night:

A stretcher—and on it a Case:

A surgeon, who's holding a light.

The Infantry's bearing the brunt—

O hark to the wind-carried cheer!

A mutter of guns at the front:

A whimper of sobs at the rear.

And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold the light.

You can lay him down on the table: so.

Easily—gently! Thanks—you may go.'

And it's War! but the part that is not for show.

A tent, with a table athwart,A table that's laid out for one;A waterproof cover—and noughtBut the limp, mangled work of a gun.A bottle that's stuck by the pole,A guttering dip in its neck;The flickering light of a soulOn the wondering eyes of The Wreck,And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold his hand.I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'And it'sWar! and a very unhealthy trade.

A tent, with a table athwart,

A table that's laid out for one;

A waterproof cover—and nought

But the limp, mangled work of a gun.

A bottle that's stuck by the pole,

A guttering dip in its neck;

The flickering light of a soul

On the wondering eyes of The Wreck,

And it'sWar! 'Orderly, hold his hand.

I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.

A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'

And it'sWar! and a very unhealthy trade.

III

The clink of a stopper and glass:A sigh as the chloroform drips:A trickle of—what? on the grass,And bluer and bluer the lips.The lashes have hidden the stare....A rent, and the clothes fall away....A touch, and the wound is laid bare....A cut, and the face has turned grey....And it'sWar! 'Orderly, take It out.It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,There might have been—sooner—a chance for his life.But it'sWar! And—Orderly, clean this knife!'

The clink of a stopper and glass:

A sigh as the chloroform drips:

A trickle of—what? on the grass,

And bluer and bluer the lips.

The lashes have hidden the stare....

A rent, and the clothes fall away....

A touch, and the wound is laid bare....

A cut, and the face has turned grey....

And it'sWar! 'Orderly, take It out.

It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,

There might have been—sooner—a chance for his life.

But it'sWar! And—Orderly, clean this knife!'

ARMY DOCTOR

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!'Ere's some 'cruities for inspection,—Some in rags, an' some in cuffs.Some in shirts, an' some without 'em,Wot a blessed strange collection!Served before? You needn't doubt 'em,Bloomin' muffs!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Take your sword, an' drop your lancet,Teach your nurses 'ow to fight!'Ow to march the dead march—solemn!'Ow to route march—an' to dance it!Teach 'em 'ow to march in column,By the right!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Gold an' velvet! 'broidered lacin's,'Oldin' 'igh your bloomin' 'ead!'Seen you peel that coat so winnin','Seen you stain them pretty facin's,'Seen your 'ighly glossy linen,Splattered red!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!'Sun is 'ot—an' we are learnin'Lessons in the cholera school,We're fear-sick, an' mad as 'atters,Throat a-parchin', 'ead a-burnin',Seems to me,you'retakin' mattersRather cool!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Spurs and swagger! Cuff an' collar!Up to ev'ry bloomin' trick!'Seen you—as I've seen none other—Go to—whereIdursn't foller!'Seen you act the man and brotherTo the sick!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Things by Engineers forgotten,You'ave got to recollect.Tho' you're such a gilded dandy,When the meat is goin' rotten,Chances are,you'resomewhere 'andyTo inspect!Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Where the firin' never ceases,Where the 'uddled soldier lies,Where the Mauser bullets shave 'im,Gawd! they're chippin' 'im to pieces!Git 'im out of fire an' save 'im....Well done, Guys!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

'Ere's some 'cruities for inspection,—

Some in rags, an' some in cuffs.

Some in shirts, an' some without 'em,

Wot a blessed strange collection!

Served before? You needn't doubt 'em,

Bloomin' muffs!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Take your sword, an' drop your lancet,Teach your nurses 'ow to fight!'Ow to march the dead march—solemn!'Ow to route march—an' to dance it!Teach 'em 'ow to march in column,By the right!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

Take your sword, an' drop your lancet,

Teach your nurses 'ow to fight!

'Ow to march the dead march—solemn!

'Ow to route march—an' to dance it!

Teach 'em 'ow to march in column,

By the right!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Gold an' velvet! 'broidered lacin's,'Oldin' 'igh your bloomin' 'ead!'Seen you peel that coat so winnin','Seen you stain them pretty facin's,'Seen your 'ighly glossy linen,Splattered red!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

Gold an' velvet! 'broidered lacin's,

'Oldin' 'igh your bloomin' 'ead!

'Seen you peel that coat so winnin',

'Seen you stain them pretty facin's,

'Seen your 'ighly glossy linen,

Splattered red!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!'Sun is 'ot—an' we are learnin'Lessons in the cholera school,We're fear-sick, an' mad as 'atters,Throat a-parchin', 'ead a-burnin',Seems to me,you'retakin' mattersRather cool!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

'Sun is 'ot—an' we are learnin'

Lessons in the cholera school,

We're fear-sick, an' mad as 'atters,

Throat a-parchin', 'ead a-burnin',

Seems to me,you'retakin' matters

Rather cool!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Spurs and swagger! Cuff an' collar!Up to ev'ry bloomin' trick!'Seen you—as I've seen none other—Go to—whereIdursn't foller!'Seen you act the man and brotherTo the sick!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

Spurs and swagger! Cuff an' collar!

Up to ev'ry bloomin' trick!

'Seen you—as I've seen none other—

Go to—whereIdursn't foller!

'Seen you act the man and brother

To the sick!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Things by Engineers forgotten,You'ave got to recollect.Tho' you're such a gilded dandy,When the meat is goin' rotten,Chances are,you'resomewhere 'andyTo inspect!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

Things by Engineers forgotten,

You'ave got to recollect.

Tho' you're such a gilded dandy,

When the meat is goin' rotten,

Chances are,you'resomewhere 'andy

To inspect!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!Where the firin' never ceases,Where the 'uddled soldier lies,Where the Mauser bullets shave 'im,Gawd! they're chippin' 'im to pieces!Git 'im out of fire an' save 'im....Well done, Guys!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

Where the firin' never ceases,

Where the 'uddled soldier lies,

Where the Mauser bullets shave 'im,

Gawd! they're chippin' 'im to pieces!

Git 'im out of fire an' save 'im....

Well done, Guys!

NICHOLSON'S NEK

They gave their best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;They threw their best on a hundred fields,To put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.They have proved their worth,To the ends of the earth.They have striven and won,—and failed!They have shown their might,On the Dargai Height,When themollah'sbullets hailed.They have laid their dead,In the river bed,On the site of their last brave stand.They have buried at night,By a lantern light,In a grave that they scooped in the sand.And far and wide,They have done and died,By donga, and veldt, and kloof.And the lonely grave,Of the honoured brave,Is a proof—if we need a proof,They won—and died,And we glorifiedThe men of the barrack schools.They died—and failed,And in wrath we railedAt the fault of the bungling fools!And perhaps it is goodThat we change our mood,And perchance it is well to blame,And to seek elsewhere,For some men to bear,The weight of our foolish shame.But the fight hard fought,Must it go for noughtBecause of its hapless turn?Must we then withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn?When hot and tired,With the last round fired,And never a ray of hope—What then the shame?They were just the sameWho charged Talana's slope!You may give and take,As the shrapnels rake,When your batt'ry has replied;But you cannot liveWhen there's too much give,From the guns on the open side.Good men are they,Who gain the day,—And victory is sweet,—And just as braveWho do not raveAt every small defeat.For the fight hard foughtMust not go for nought,Because of its hapless turn;Nor we withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn.We gave our best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;We threw our best on a hundred fieldsTo put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.

They gave their best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;They threw their best on a hundred fields,To put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.

They gave their best at Waterloo,

For the honour of England's name;

They threw their best on a hundred fields,

To put our foes to shame.

'Tis good that England's soldier men

To-day can do the same.

They have proved their worth,To the ends of the earth.They have striven and won,—and failed!They have shown their might,On the Dargai Height,When themollah'sbullets hailed.

They have proved their worth,

To the ends of the earth.

They have striven and won,—and failed!

They have shown their might,

On the Dargai Height,

When themollah'sbullets hailed.

They have laid their dead,In the river bed,On the site of their last brave stand.They have buried at night,By a lantern light,In a grave that they scooped in the sand.

They have laid their dead,

In the river bed,

On the site of their last brave stand.

They have buried at night,

By a lantern light,

In a grave that they scooped in the sand.

And far and wide,They have done and died,By donga, and veldt, and kloof.And the lonely grave,Of the honoured brave,Is a proof—if we need a proof,They won—and died,And we glorifiedThe men of the barrack schools.They died—and failed,And in wrath we railedAt the fault of the bungling fools!

And far and wide,

They have done and died,

By donga, and veldt, and kloof.

And the lonely grave,

Of the honoured brave,

Is a proof—if we need a proof,

They won—and died,

And we glorified

The men of the barrack schools.

They died—and failed,

And in wrath we railed

At the fault of the bungling fools!

And perhaps it is goodThat we change our mood,And perchance it is well to blame,And to seek elsewhere,For some men to bear,The weight of our foolish shame.But the fight hard fought,Must it go for noughtBecause of its hapless turn?Must we then withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn?

And perhaps it is good

That we change our mood,

And perchance it is well to blame,

And to seek elsewhere,

For some men to bear,

The weight of our foolish shame.

But the fight hard fought,

Must it go for nought

Because of its hapless turn?

Must we then withhold,

For the life hard sold,

The Honour it died to earn?

When hot and tired,With the last round fired,And never a ray of hope—What then the shame?They were just the sameWho charged Talana's slope!You may give and take,As the shrapnels rake,When your batt'ry has replied;But you cannot liveWhen there's too much give,From the guns on the open side.

When hot and tired,

With the last round fired,

And never a ray of hope—

What then the shame?

They were just the same

Who charged Talana's slope!

You may give and take,

As the shrapnels rake,

When your batt'ry has replied;

But you cannot live

When there's too much give,

From the guns on the open side.

Good men are they,Who gain the day,—And victory is sweet,—And just as braveWho do not raveAt every small defeat.For the fight hard foughtMust not go for nought,Because of its hapless turn;Nor we withhold,For the life hard sold,The Honour it died to earn.

Good men are they,

Who gain the day,—

And victory is sweet,—

And just as brave

Who do not rave

At every small defeat.

For the fight hard fought

Must not go for nought,

Because of its hapless turn;

Nor we withhold,

For the life hard sold,

The Honour it died to earn.

We gave our best at Waterloo,For the honour of England's name;We threw our best on a hundred fieldsTo put our foes to shame.'Tis good that England's soldier menTo-day can do the same.

We gave our best at Waterloo,

For the honour of England's name;

We threw our best on a hundred fields

To put our foes to shame.

'Tis good that England's soldier men

To-day can do the same.

MY PAL, THE BOER

We met without appointment on an 'ill,I comed upon the beggar without warnin';Layin' down be'ind a boulder,With 'is rifle to 'is shoulder,He sent along wot's Dutch for a 'Good-mornin'.''E missed me with a fair amount of skill,An' 'fore 'e'd time to mount, an' get from danger,I was takin' of my rest,By a sittin' on 'is chest,An' a sayin' to the welcome little stranger:—'My pal, the Boer!You're a prisoner of war'('E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle);'You can't escape me, can yer?In the name of Rule Britannia,I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'You wouldn't call 'is manners over bright,An' you wouldn't term 'is disposition sunny,An' 'e 'ad a silly notionThat the cause of the commotionWas Chamberlain a-fightin' for 'is money;An' 'e fancied that the British flag was white—'Twas a silly fancy—still we must excuse it,When the Lancers came along'E felt a triflebong!'E soon found out the proper way to use it!My pal, the Boer,Ain't used to proper war,But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy,The 'igh an' mighty scorner,When we get 'im in a corner,'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!

We met without appointment on an 'ill,

I comed upon the beggar without warnin';

Layin' down be'ind a boulder,With 'is rifle to 'is shoulder,

Layin' down be'ind a boulder,

With 'is rifle to 'is shoulder,

He sent along wot's Dutch for a 'Good-mornin'.'

'E missed me with a fair amount of skill,

An' 'fore 'e'd time to mount, an' get from danger,

I was takin' of my rest,By a sittin' on 'is chest,

I was takin' of my rest,

By a sittin' on 'is chest,

An' a sayin' to the welcome little stranger:—

'My pal, the Boer!You're a prisoner of war'('E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle);'You can't escape me, can yer?In the name of Rule Britannia,I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'

'My pal, the Boer!

You're a prisoner of war'

('E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle);

'You can't escape me, can yer?In the name of Rule Britannia,

'You can't escape me, can yer?

In the name of Rule Britannia,

I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'

You wouldn't call 'is manners over bright,An' you wouldn't term 'is disposition sunny,An' 'e 'ad a silly notionThat the cause of the commotionWas Chamberlain a-fightin' for 'is money;An' 'e fancied that the British flag was white—'Twas a silly fancy—still we must excuse it,When the Lancers came along'E felt a triflebong!'E soon found out the proper way to use it!

You wouldn't call 'is manners over bright,

An' you wouldn't term 'is disposition sunny,

An' 'e 'ad a silly notionThat the cause of the commotion

An' 'e 'ad a silly notion

That the cause of the commotion

Was Chamberlain a-fightin' for 'is money;

An' 'e fancied that the British flag was white—

'Twas a silly fancy—still we must excuse it,

When the Lancers came along'E felt a triflebong!

When the Lancers came along

'E felt a triflebong!

'E soon found out the proper way to use it!

My pal, the Boer,Ain't used to proper war,But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy,The 'igh an' mighty scorner,When we get 'im in a corner,'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!

My pal, the Boer,

Ain't used to proper war,

But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy,

The 'igh an' mighty scorner,When we get 'im in a corner,

The 'igh an' mighty scorner,

When we get 'im in a corner,

'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!

SONG OF THE FIRST TRAIN THROUGH

Line Clear to Witteputs! I wind around the guarded hill,And thunder o'er the lean long bridge that spans the sombre stream;No uptorn rail to devastate, no culvert gap to fill,And where the outpost feared to ride, I gather up my steam.(I passed a little mound of earth that bore the cross's sign,—A Colonel, and a dozen men, who fell to clear the line.)Line Clear to Belmont: and I feel the ballast shaking down:My flanges bite the new-laid rail and prove the new-thrust pin.On either side the purple ridge, the veldt land sickly brown,The 'distant off' says 'Welcome,' and the 'Home' says 'Come ye in.'(Two thousand guardsmen rushed the Kop—a score are buried here,And here are laid some Fusiliers—they fell to give Line Clear.)Line Clear to Graspan: so I run adown the gentle grade,Nor notice in my joyful haste the kopje stubble grown,And wildly bouldered foot to crest where fell a half brigade,What time the bristling mountain-side with segment shell was sown.(The mess-deck and the ward-room thinned to give the line pratiqueLine Clear from Graspan—so, half-mast the Ensign at the Peak.)Line Clear: along the new-spliced wires that droop from pole to pole,By Enslin, where the helio glared fitfully and fleet,The word is passed across the plain to where the rivers roll,—To where, tree-fringed in eddying swirls, the Modder meets the Riet.(In heat and thirst and weariness a hundred dying lay,A hundred bloody forms grew stiff to give me Right Away.)Line Clear: I face the grim gaunt range that stretches east and west('Twas by its base, near Magers farm, that Wauchope's men went down):I skirt the ridge that hid the guns, and gleefully I breastThe easy rise that brings in view the long-beleaguered town.(Line Clear: o'er blood, and sweat, and pain, and sorrow'sroad I ran,And every sleeper was a wound, and every rail a man.)

Line Clear to Witteputs! I wind around the guarded hill,

And thunder o'er the lean long bridge that spans the sombre stream;

No uptorn rail to devastate, no culvert gap to fill,

And where the outpost feared to ride, I gather up my steam.

(I passed a little mound of earth that bore the cross's sign,—A Colonel, and a dozen men, who fell to clear the line.)

(I passed a little mound of earth that bore the cross's sign,—

A Colonel, and a dozen men, who fell to clear the line.)

Line Clear to Belmont: and I feel the ballast shaking down:My flanges bite the new-laid rail and prove the new-thrust pin.On either side the purple ridge, the veldt land sickly brown,The 'distant off' says 'Welcome,' and the 'Home' says 'Come ye in.'

Line Clear to Belmont: and I feel the ballast shaking down:

My flanges bite the new-laid rail and prove the new-thrust pin.

On either side the purple ridge, the veldt land sickly brown,

The 'distant off' says 'Welcome,' and the 'Home' says 'Come ye in.'

(Two thousand guardsmen rushed the Kop—a score are buried here,And here are laid some Fusiliers—they fell to give Line Clear.)

(Two thousand guardsmen rushed the Kop—a score are buried here,

And here are laid some Fusiliers—they fell to give Line Clear.)

Line Clear to Graspan: so I run adown the gentle grade,Nor notice in my joyful haste the kopje stubble grown,And wildly bouldered foot to crest where fell a half brigade,What time the bristling mountain-side with segment shell was sown.

Line Clear to Graspan: so I run adown the gentle grade,

Nor notice in my joyful haste the kopje stubble grown,

And wildly bouldered foot to crest where fell a half brigade,

What time the bristling mountain-side with segment shell was sown.

(The mess-deck and the ward-room thinned to give the line pratiqueLine Clear from Graspan—so, half-mast the Ensign at the Peak.)

(The mess-deck and the ward-room thinned to give the line pratique

Line Clear from Graspan—so, half-mast the Ensign at the Peak.)

Line Clear: along the new-spliced wires that droop from pole to pole,By Enslin, where the helio glared fitfully and fleet,The word is passed across the plain to where the rivers roll,—To where, tree-fringed in eddying swirls, the Modder meets the Riet.

Line Clear: along the new-spliced wires that droop from pole to pole,

By Enslin, where the helio glared fitfully and fleet,

The word is passed across the plain to where the rivers roll,—

To where, tree-fringed in eddying swirls, the Modder meets the Riet.

(In heat and thirst and weariness a hundred dying lay,A hundred bloody forms grew stiff to give me Right Away.)

(In heat and thirst and weariness a hundred dying lay,

A hundred bloody forms grew stiff to give me Right Away.)

Line Clear: I face the grim gaunt range that stretches east and west('Twas by its base, near Magers farm, that Wauchope's men went down):I skirt the ridge that hid the guns, and gleefully I breastThe easy rise that brings in view the long-beleaguered town.

Line Clear: I face the grim gaunt range that stretches east and west

('Twas by its base, near Magers farm, that Wauchope's men went down):

I skirt the ridge that hid the guns, and gleefully I breast

The easy rise that brings in view the long-beleaguered town.

(Line Clear: o'er blood, and sweat, and pain, and sorrow'sroad I ran,And every sleeper was a wound, and every rail a man.)

(Line Clear: o'er blood, and sweat, and pain, and sorrow's

road I ran,

And every sleeper was a wound, and every rail a man.)

THE NAVAL BRIGADE

When you're pickin' your men for a fight,When choosin' the corps that'll serve,It's only quite proper an' rightTo fix upon muscle an' nerve,An' so, to your heavy Dragoons—Your Granny-dear Guards an' their band—To your Sappers with bridgin' pontoons,You can buckle the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandDoesn't want any band;He's grit, an he's sandIs the Lower Deck Hand.)His march is a go-as-you-please;He most keeps step with hisself!For his boots ain't conducive to ease,Bein' mostly kept packed on a shelf!Tho' he isn't so span or so spic—Tho' his marchin' ain't what you'd call grand—He gets to the front just as quickDoes the elegant Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandWasn't reared in the Strand;But he's good to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)You may swear by the jolly marines,'Per marey, per tarey' they fight—Not speakin' for them in their 'teens—I don't mind admittin' your right.But all that the Joey has got,As I'd have all the world understand,He's learnt—well, he's learnt quite a lotFrom his tooter—the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandIs a mine that's unpanned;An' he's yours to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)He doesn't shape well at Reviews,I've known him to spit in the ranks;But we've never been asked to excuseA fault, when he's guarding the flanks.An' when there's a break in the squareOr a place where the Line cannot stand,I'll tell you the chap to put there—'Jack Mullow'—the Lower Deck Hand.(The Lower Deck HandWill die as he 'll stand;He's tempered an land,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)When you're hemmed in a tight little hole,By a greatly outnumbering foe,It's a matter of stokin' an' coalHow far we're away from the foe.When the Infantry's needin' some aid,When the 'tillery gets under-man'd,—Make way for the Naval Brigade!—His Highness the Lower Deck Hand!(The Lower Deck HandWith his guns he can land,An he'll kick up some sand,Will the Lower Deck Hand.)

When you're pickin' your men for a fight,

When choosin' the corps that'll serve,

It's only quite proper an' right

To fix upon muscle an' nerve,

An' so, to your heavy Dragoons—

Your Granny-dear Guards an' their band—

To your Sappers with bridgin' pontoons,

You can buckle the Lower Deck Hand!

(The Lower Deck HandDoesn't want any band;He's grit, an he's sandIs the Lower Deck Hand.)

(The Lower Deck Hand

Doesn't want any band;

He's grit, an he's sand

Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

His march is a go-as-you-please;He most keeps step with hisself!For his boots ain't conducive to ease,Bein' mostly kept packed on a shelf!Tho' he isn't so span or so spic—Tho' his marchin' ain't what you'd call grand—He gets to the front just as quickDoes the elegant Lower Deck Hand!

His march is a go-as-you-please;

He most keeps step with hisself!

For his boots ain't conducive to ease,

Bein' mostly kept packed on a shelf!

Tho' he isn't so span or so spic—

Tho' his marchin' ain't what you'd call grand—

He gets to the front just as quick

Does the elegant Lower Deck Hand!

(The Lower Deck HandWasn't reared in the Strand;But he's good to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

(The Lower Deck Hand

Wasn't reared in the Strand;

But he's good to command,

Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

You may swear by the jolly marines,'Per marey, per tarey' they fight—Not speakin' for them in their 'teens—I don't mind admittin' your right.But all that the Joey has got,As I'd have all the world understand,He's learnt—well, he's learnt quite a lotFrom his tooter—the Lower Deck Hand!

You may swear by the jolly marines,

'Per marey, per tarey' they fight—

Not speakin' for them in their 'teens—

I don't mind admittin' your right.

But all that the Joey has got,

As I'd have all the world understand,

He's learnt—well, he's learnt quite a lot

From his tooter—the Lower Deck Hand!

(The Lower Deck HandIs a mine that's unpanned;An' he's yours to command,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

(The Lower Deck Hand

Is a mine that's unpanned;

An' he's yours to command,

Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

He doesn't shape well at Reviews,I've known him to spit in the ranks;But we've never been asked to excuseA fault, when he's guarding the flanks.An' when there's a break in the squareOr a place where the Line cannot stand,I'll tell you the chap to put there—'Jack Mullow'—the Lower Deck Hand.

He doesn't shape well at Reviews,

I've known him to spit in the ranks;

But we've never been asked to excuse

A fault, when he's guarding the flanks.

An' when there's a break in the square

Or a place where the Line cannot stand,

I'll tell you the chap to put there—

'Jack Mullow'—the Lower Deck Hand.

(The Lower Deck HandWill die as he 'll stand;He's tempered an land,Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

(The Lower Deck Hand

Will die as he 'll stand;

He's tempered an land,

Is the Lower Deck Hand.)

When you're hemmed in a tight little hole,By a greatly outnumbering foe,It's a matter of stokin' an' coalHow far we're away from the foe.When the Infantry's needin' some aid,When the 'tillery gets under-man'd,—Make way for the Naval Brigade!—His Highness the Lower Deck Hand!

When you're hemmed in a tight little hole,

By a greatly outnumbering foe,

It's a matter of stokin' an' coal

How far we're away from the foe.

When the Infantry's needin' some aid,

When the 'tillery gets under-man'd,—

Make way for the Naval Brigade!—

His Highness the Lower Deck Hand!

(The Lower Deck HandWith his guns he can land,An he'll kick up some sand,Will the Lower Deck Hand.)

(The Lower Deck Hand

With his guns he can land,

An he'll kick up some sand,

Will the Lower Deck Hand.)

THE ARMOURED TRAIN

There's risk on the ballasted roadway,There's death on the girdered bridge,Red ruin from sleeper to sleeper,And wreck on the bouldered ridge.No signal to herald my coming,No whistle to waken the plain;Stand clear—I am out for patrolling!Make way for the Armoured Train!I run not to time, nor to table,I'm neither an 'Up' nor a 'Down,'But 'Full speed ahead' is my order,When skirting the enemy's town.My mails have a backing of cordite,My luggage is powder and shell,With smoke-stack a-blazing I thunder,A traveller's sample of Hell!They have laid me a mine by a culvert,They have loosened a bolt by a curve,But thrice-tested steel is my muscle,And thrice-tested brass is my nerve.A curse for their bungling folly,A laugh for the death-trap that fails,A hang for the enemy's miner,So long as I keep to the rails.A cheer—and I pull from the townshipTo spy out the enemy's line;A plunge—and I rush into darknessAs reckless of wreckage as mine.And what if a rail has been lifted?And what if a river's unspanned?I fail, but I know in the failingI strove at the Empire's command.They were men who at Badajos conquered,They were men who for Wellington struck,And a Man is the Man at the Throttle,And a Man is the Man on the Truck.Undismayed I may go to destruction.For I know at the end I may feelI die with the men on the footplate,I pass with my brothers in steel.

There's risk on the ballasted roadway,

There's death on the girdered bridge,

Red ruin from sleeper to sleeper,

And wreck on the bouldered ridge.

No signal to herald my coming,

No whistle to waken the plain;

Stand clear—I am out for patrolling!

Make way for the Armoured Train!

I run not to time, nor to table,I'm neither an 'Up' nor a 'Down,'But 'Full speed ahead' is my order,When skirting the enemy's town.My mails have a backing of cordite,My luggage is powder and shell,With smoke-stack a-blazing I thunder,A traveller's sample of Hell!

I run not to time, nor to table,

I'm neither an 'Up' nor a 'Down,'

But 'Full speed ahead' is my order,

When skirting the enemy's town.

My mails have a backing of cordite,

My luggage is powder and shell,

With smoke-stack a-blazing I thunder,

A traveller's sample of Hell!

They have laid me a mine by a culvert,They have loosened a bolt by a curve,But thrice-tested steel is my muscle,And thrice-tested brass is my nerve.A curse for their bungling folly,A laugh for the death-trap that fails,A hang for the enemy's miner,So long as I keep to the rails.

They have laid me a mine by a culvert,

They have loosened a bolt by a curve,

But thrice-tested steel is my muscle,

And thrice-tested brass is my nerve.

A curse for their bungling folly,

A laugh for the death-trap that fails,

A hang for the enemy's miner,

So long as I keep to the rails.

A cheer—and I pull from the townshipTo spy out the enemy's line;A plunge—and I rush into darknessAs reckless of wreckage as mine.And what if a rail has been lifted?And what if a river's unspanned?I fail, but I know in the failingI strove at the Empire's command.

A cheer—and I pull from the township

To spy out the enemy's line;

A plunge—and I rush into darkness

As reckless of wreckage as mine.

And what if a rail has been lifted?

And what if a river's unspanned?

I fail, but I know in the failing

I strove at the Empire's command.

They were men who at Badajos conquered,They were men who for Wellington struck,And a Man is the Man at the Throttle,And a Man is the Man on the Truck.Undismayed I may go to destruction.For I know at the end I may feelI die with the men on the footplate,I pass with my brothers in steel.

They were men who at Badajos conquered,

They were men who for Wellington struck,

And a Man is the Man at the Throttle,

And a Man is the Man on the Truck.

Undismayed I may go to destruction.

For I know at the end I may feel

I die with the men on the footplate,

I pass with my brothers in steel.

MAKE YOUR OWN ARRANGEMENTS

When the depôt soldier's dinin' on three-quarters of a pound,If there's too much bone to please 'im, or the meat is extry tough,'E 'as got a chance of grousin' when 'is orficer goes round,'E can draw upon the mess-book, if 's rations ain't enough.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you're cut orf from the column, an' supplies are runnin' low,It ain't no 'too much fat, sir!'But it's bread—an' glad of that, sir!O it'sbakeyour own arrangements—out of flour—as you go!When the depôt soldier's on parade 'e sparkles an' 'e shines.When the depôt soldier's drillin' 'e must make each motion 'tell.'When the depôt soldier's marchin' 'e must march on drill-book lines.'E 'as got a drill-instructor, an' 'e does it very well.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the camp is rushed at midnight, an' you're fallin' in—to die!O there ain't no drill-rules set there,But it's take your gun—an' get there!When you make your own arrangements, you must grab your belt an' fly.The depôt soldier's grounded in a systematic drill;'E also knows wot's 'rendezvous' an' what is 'bivouac.''E knows the use of rifle-pits, the proper way to kill—'E understands the principles an' the'ries of attack.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you're dodgin' tons of boulder, climbin' mount'ins under fire,An' the drill-book won't assist youTill the fallin' rocks 'ave missed you!So you make your own arrangements—an' you climb a little 'igher!When the depôt soldier's wantin' with 'is orficer to speak,'E must 'alt two paces from 'im, an' salute before the start.An' 'e mustn't try to argue, an' 'e mustn't give no cheek;An' if 'is Captain slangs 'im—'e must take it in good part.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you see 'im lying wounded, all the circumstances change.An' you don't 'eed no instructions;An' you don't need introductions;But you make your own arrangements—an' you get 'im out of range.When the depôt soldier sickens, when the depôt soldier dies,'E is buried by 'is comrades in the regulation style.'E is covered by an ensign of the regulation size,An' 'e gets a firin' party made of thirteen rank an' file.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the Colonel reads the service by a guard-room lantern light.When in silent rows you've laid 'emIn a trench your bay'nets made 'em,O, it's make your own arrangements when you bury in the night!

When the depôt soldier's dinin' on three-quarters of a pound,

If there's too much bone to please 'im, or the meat is extry tough,

'E 'as got a chance of grousin' when 'is orficer goes round,

'E can draw upon the mess-book, if 's rations ain't enough.

But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!

When you're cut orf from the column, an' supplies are runnin' low,

It ain't no 'too much fat, sir!'

But it's bread—an' glad of that, sir!

O it'sbakeyour own arrangements—out of flour—as you go!

When the depôt soldier's on parade 'e sparkles an' 'e shines.When the depôt soldier's drillin' 'e must make each motion 'tell.'When the depôt soldier's marchin' 'e must march on drill-book lines.'E 'as got a drill-instructor, an' 'e does it very well.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the camp is rushed at midnight, an' you're fallin' in—to die!O there ain't no drill-rules set there,But it's take your gun—an' get there!When you make your own arrangements, you must grab your belt an' fly.

When the depôt soldier's on parade 'e sparkles an' 'e shines.

When the depôt soldier's drillin' 'e must make each motion 'tell.'

When the depôt soldier's marchin' 'e must march on drill-book lines.

'E 'as got a drill-instructor, an' 'e does it very well.

But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!

When the camp is rushed at midnight, an' you're fallin' in—to die!

O there ain't no drill-rules set there,

But it's take your gun—an' get there!

When you make your own arrangements, you must grab your belt an' fly.

The depôt soldier's grounded in a systematic drill;'E also knows wot's 'rendezvous' an' what is 'bivouac.''E knows the use of rifle-pits, the proper way to kill—'E understands the principles an' the'ries of attack.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you're dodgin' tons of boulder, climbin' mount'ins under fire,An' the drill-book won't assist youTill the fallin' rocks 'ave missed you!So you make your own arrangements—an' you climb a little 'igher!

The depôt soldier's grounded in a systematic drill;

'E also knows wot's 'rendezvous' an' what is 'bivouac.'

'E knows the use of rifle-pits, the proper way to kill—

'E understands the principles an' the'ries of attack.

But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!

When you're dodgin' tons of boulder, climbin' mount'ins under fire,

An' the drill-book won't assist you

Till the fallin' rocks 'ave missed you!

So you make your own arrangements—an' you climb a little 'igher!

When the depôt soldier's wantin' with 'is orficer to speak,'E must 'alt two paces from 'im, an' salute before the start.An' 'e mustn't try to argue, an' 'e mustn't give no cheek;An' if 'is Captain slangs 'im—'e must take it in good part.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When you see 'im lying wounded, all the circumstances change.An' you don't 'eed no instructions;An' you don't need introductions;But you make your own arrangements—an' you get 'im out of range.

When the depôt soldier's wantin' with 'is orficer to speak,

'E must 'alt two paces from 'im, an' salute before the start.

An' 'e mustn't try to argue, an' 'e mustn't give no cheek;

An' if 'is Captain slangs 'im—'e must take it in good part.

But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!

When you see 'im lying wounded, all the circumstances change.

An' you don't 'eed no instructions;

An' you don't need introductions;

But you make your own arrangements—an' you get 'im out of range.

When the depôt soldier sickens, when the depôt soldier dies,'E is buried by 'is comrades in the regulation style.'E is covered by an ensign of the regulation size,An' 'e gets a firin' party made of thirteen rank an' file.But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!When the Colonel reads the service by a guard-room lantern light.When in silent rows you've laid 'emIn a trench your bay'nets made 'em,O, it's make your own arrangements when you bury in the night!

When the depôt soldier sickens, when the depôt soldier dies,

'E is buried by 'is comrades in the regulation style.

'E is covered by an ensign of the regulation size,

An' 'e gets a firin' party made of thirteen rank an' file.

But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!

When the Colonel reads the service by a guard-room lantern light.

When in silent rows you've laid 'em

In a trench your bay'nets made 'em,

O, it's make your own arrangements when you bury in the night!

GINGER JAMES

A spell I 'ad to waitOutside the barrick gate,For Ginger James was passin' out as I was passin' in;'E was only a recruit,But I give 'im the salute,For I'll never git another chance of givin' it agin!'E'd little brains, I'll swear,Beneath 'is ginger 'air,'Is personal attractions, well, they wasn't very large;'E was fust in ev'ry mill,An' a foul-mouthed brute, but stillWe'll forgive 'im all 'is drawbacks—'e 'as taken 'is discharge.'E once got fourteen days,For drunken, idle ways,An' the Colonel said the nasty things that colonels sometimes say;'E called him to 'is faceThe regiment's disgrace—But the Colonel took 'is 'at off when 'e passed 'im by to-day.For days 'e used to dwellInside a guard-room cell,Where they put the darbies on 'im for a 'owlin' savage brute;But as by the guard 'e wentThey gave 'im the present,The little bugler sounded off the 'General Salute.'The band turned out to playPoor Ginger James away;'Is Captain an' 'is Company came down to see 'im off;An' thirteen file an' rank,With three rounds each of blank;An' 'e rode down on a carriage, like a bloomin' city toff!'E doesn't want no pass,'E's journeying first-class;'Is trav'lling rug's a Union Jack, which isn't bad at all;The tune the drummers playIt ain't so very gay,But a rather slow selection, from a piece that's known as 'Saul.'

A spell I 'ad to waitOutside the barrick gate,For Ginger James was passin' out as I was passin' in;'E was only a recruit,But I give 'im the salute,For I'll never git another chance of givin' it agin!

A spell I 'ad to waitOutside the barrick gate,

A spell I 'ad to wait

Outside the barrick gate,

For Ginger James was passin' out as I was passin' in;

'E was only a recruit,But I give 'im the salute,

'E was only a recruit,

But I give 'im the salute,

For I'll never git another chance of givin' it agin!

'E'd little brains, I'll swear,Beneath 'is ginger 'air,'Is personal attractions, well, they wasn't very large;'E was fust in ev'ry mill,An' a foul-mouthed brute, but stillWe'll forgive 'im all 'is drawbacks—'e 'as taken 'is discharge.

'E'd little brains, I'll swear,Beneath 'is ginger 'air,

'E'd little brains, I'll swear,

Beneath 'is ginger 'air,

'Is personal attractions, well, they wasn't very large;

'E was fust in ev'ry mill,An' a foul-mouthed brute, but still

'E was fust in ev'ry mill,

An' a foul-mouthed brute, but still

We'll forgive 'im all 'is drawbacks—'e 'as taken 'is discharge.

'E once got fourteen days,For drunken, idle ways,An' the Colonel said the nasty things that colonels sometimes say;'E called him to 'is faceThe regiment's disgrace—But the Colonel took 'is 'at off when 'e passed 'im by to-day.

'E once got fourteen days,For drunken, idle ways,

'E once got fourteen days,

For drunken, idle ways,

An' the Colonel said the nasty things that colonels sometimes say;

'E called him to 'is faceThe regiment's disgrace—

'E called him to 'is face

The regiment's disgrace—

But the Colonel took 'is 'at off when 'e passed 'im by to-day.

For days 'e used to dwellInside a guard-room cell,Where they put the darbies on 'im for a 'owlin' savage brute;But as by the guard 'e wentThey gave 'im the present,The little bugler sounded off the 'General Salute.'

For days 'e used to dwellInside a guard-room cell,

For days 'e used to dwell

Inside a guard-room cell,

Where they put the darbies on 'im for a 'owlin' savage brute;

But as by the guard 'e wentThey gave 'im the present,

But as by the guard 'e went

They gave 'im the present,

The little bugler sounded off the 'General Salute.'

The band turned out to playPoor Ginger James away;'Is Captain an' 'is Company came down to see 'im off;An' thirteen file an' rank,With three rounds each of blank;An' 'e rode down on a carriage, like a bloomin' city toff!

The band turned out to playPoor Ginger James away;

The band turned out to play

Poor Ginger James away;

'Is Captain an' 'is Company came down to see 'im off;

An' thirteen file an' rank,With three rounds each of blank;

An' thirteen file an' rank,

With three rounds each of blank;

An' 'e rode down on a carriage, like a bloomin' city toff!

'E doesn't want no pass,'E's journeying first-class;'Is trav'lling rug's a Union Jack, which isn't bad at all;The tune the drummers playIt ain't so very gay,But a rather slow selection, from a piece that's known as 'Saul.'

'E doesn't want no pass,'E's journeying first-class;

'E doesn't want no pass,

'E's journeying first-class;

'Is trav'lling rug's a Union Jack, which isn't bad at all;

The tune the drummers playIt ain't so very gay,

The tune the drummers play

It ain't so very gay,

But a rather slow selection, from a piece that's known as 'Saul.'

'HER MAJESTY HAS BEEN PLEASED—'

Wot a crowd of people!Wot a sea of faces!'Ow the ladies' parasols are glist'nin' in the sun!Troops in 'open order,'Captains in their places.Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done!Wot a lot of civvies!Mus' be 'arf the city!Like a mob on Boxing-night outside Drury Lane!Ain't it perfect weather?More's the blessed pity!Wish instead of sunshine it was pourin' 'ard o' rain!Comes of bein' famous—Mentioned in despatches!Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear!Empty stomach fighting—Getting sleep by snatches!—'Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out 'ere!'Ow the people eye me,Like a choice chrysanth'um!'Ow this collar's chokin' me!—Lord! I'm feelin' sick!Troops are at the 'shoulder'—'Pre-sent'—there's the anthem!'Ow I 'ope 'er Majesty will get it over quick!Wonder if I'm dusty?'Elmet feels lopsided!Chuck a chest for 'Eaven's sake!Lord, I'm feelin' queer!Twenty times they've brushed me,Twice 'ave I been tidied,Yet I'm feelin' mucky still. Private Jawkins? 'ERE!Face the lan-dow panels,Dumbly; likewise blindly,Seein' in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black:'Ear 'er sof'ly talkin'.Thanks, mum, thank you kindly!Saw the Major fallin', and I 'ad to take 'im back!Thank you, mum—your 'Ighness—Majesty, I mean, mum!'M sure I'm much obliged to you for this 'ere pretty Cross!Bless you, you're a lady!Mean you are the Queen, mum!On'y picked the Major up an' shoved 'im on an 'orse!'Saw our Sub go under,'Alf 'is men around 'imCut to bits—an' 'im so young,—yes mum, very sad.Yes mum, 'e was buriedIn the place we found 'im.Thank you, mum,—your Majesty (God, I'm feelin' bad!)

Wot a crowd of people!Wot a sea of faces!'Ow the ladies' parasols are glist'nin' in the sun!Troops in 'open order,'Captains in their places.Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done!

Wot a crowd of people!Wot a sea of faces!

Wot a crowd of people!

Wot a sea of faces!

'Ow the ladies' parasols are glist'nin' in the sun!

Troops in 'open order,'Captains in their places.

Troops in 'open order,'

Captains in their places.

Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done!

Wot a lot of civvies!Mus' be 'arf the city!Like a mob on Boxing-night outside Drury Lane!Ain't it perfect weather?More's the blessed pity!Wish instead of sunshine it was pourin' 'ard o' rain!

Wot a lot of civvies!Mus' be 'arf the city!

Wot a lot of civvies!

Mus' be 'arf the city!

Like a mob on Boxing-night outside Drury Lane!

Ain't it perfect weather?More's the blessed pity!

Ain't it perfect weather?

More's the blessed pity!

Wish instead of sunshine it was pourin' 'ard o' rain!

Comes of bein' famous—Mentioned in despatches!Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear!Empty stomach fighting—Getting sleep by snatches!—'Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out 'ere!

Comes of bein' famous—Mentioned in despatches!

Comes of bein' famous—

Mentioned in despatches!

Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear!

Empty stomach fighting—Getting sleep by snatches!—

Empty stomach fighting—

Getting sleep by snatches!—

'Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out 'ere!

'Ow the people eye me,Like a choice chrysanth'um!'Ow this collar's chokin' me!—Lord! I'm feelin' sick!Troops are at the 'shoulder'—'Pre-sent'—there's the anthem!'Ow I 'ope 'er Majesty will get it over quick!

'Ow the people eye me,Like a choice chrysanth'um!

'Ow the people eye me,

Like a choice chrysanth'um!

'Ow this collar's chokin' me!—Lord! I'm feelin' sick!

Troops are at the 'shoulder'—'Pre-sent'—there's the anthem!

Troops are at the 'shoulder'—

'Pre-sent'—there's the anthem!

'Ow I 'ope 'er Majesty will get it over quick!

Wonder if I'm dusty?'Elmet feels lopsided!Chuck a chest for 'Eaven's sake!Lord, I'm feelin' queer!Twenty times they've brushed me,Twice 'ave I been tidied,Yet I'm feelin' mucky still. Private Jawkins? 'ERE!

Wonder if I'm dusty?'Elmet feels lopsided!

Wonder if I'm dusty?

'Elmet feels lopsided!

Chuck a chest for 'Eaven's sake!Lord, I'm feelin' queer!

Twenty times they've brushed me,Twice 'ave I been tidied,

Twenty times they've brushed me,

Twice 'ave I been tidied,

Yet I'm feelin' mucky still. Private Jawkins? 'ERE!

Face the lan-dow panels,Dumbly; likewise blindly,Seein' in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black:'Ear 'er sof'ly talkin'.Thanks, mum, thank you kindly!Saw the Major fallin', and I 'ad to take 'im back!

Face the lan-dow panels,Dumbly; likewise blindly,

Face the lan-dow panels,

Dumbly; likewise blindly,

Seein' in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black:

'Ear 'er sof'ly talkin'.Thanks, mum, thank you kindly!

'Ear 'er sof'ly talkin'.

Thanks, mum, thank you kindly!

Saw the Major fallin', and I 'ad to take 'im back!

Thank you, mum—your 'Ighness—Majesty, I mean, mum!'M sure I'm much obliged to you for this 'ere pretty Cross!Bless you, you're a lady!Mean you are the Queen, mum!On'y picked the Major up an' shoved 'im on an 'orse!

Thank you, mum—your 'Ighness—Majesty, I mean, mum!

Thank you, mum—your 'Ighness—

Majesty, I mean, mum!

'M sure I'm much obliged to you for this 'ere pretty Cross!

Bless you, you're a lady!Mean you are the Queen, mum!

Bless you, you're a lady!

Mean you are the Queen, mum!

On'y picked the Major up an' shoved 'im on an 'orse!

'Saw our Sub go under,'Alf 'is men around 'imCut to bits—an' 'im so young,—yes mum, very sad.Yes mum, 'e was buriedIn the place we found 'im.Thank you, mum,—your Majesty (God, I'm feelin' bad!)

'Saw our Sub go under,'Alf 'is men around 'im

'Saw our Sub go under,

'Alf 'is men around 'im

Cut to bits—an' 'im so young,—yes mum, very sad.

Yes mum, 'e was buriedIn the place we found 'im.

Yes mum, 'e was buried

In the place we found 'im.

Thank you, mum,—your Majesty (God, I'm feelin' bad!)

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