With the Colors
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Everard Jack Appleton >> With the Colors
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WITH THE COLORS
Songs of the American Service
by
EVERARD JACK APPLETON
Author of "The Quiet Courage"
Cincinnati
Stewart & Kidd Company
1917
Copyright, 1917 by
Stewart & Kidd Company
All Rights Reserved
Copyright in England
TO THE
BEST FLAG OF ALL:
The Stars and Stripes.
CONTENTS
I--WITH THE COLORS
The Colors 9
Loyalty 10
The Old National Guard 11
The Alien 13
The 'Skeeter Fleet 17
Little Mother 18
Soldiers of the Soil 20
The Lady's Man 22
Cookie Jim 23
The Sandwich Girl 25
Bugler Bill 28
Heinie the Hostler 29
Our Job 31
Her Johnny 33
The First Fleet 34
Briggs of Base No. 8 36
The Penguin Driver 39
Waitin' 40
We're All Right Here 42
Reprisal 44
The Soul of Sergeant Todd 45
The Busy Lady 47
Overdoing It 49
The Givers 50
Hullo, Soldier, How's the Boy? 52
Beans 54
Behind the Lines 56
The Disappointed 58
Good-bye, Boys! 60
That's All 61
An American Creed 63
II--IN OTHER KEYS
Youth o' the Year 67
Unfinished 69
Paid in Advance 70
We Rode at Night 71
Now--and Then 73
Understood 74
The Christmas Spirit 75
The Reason 76
The Modern Way 77
Because----! 79
That Smile 80
The Gift of Gifts 81
The Neighbors 82
Uncle Bill's Idea 83
'Lizabeth Ann's Picture 85
The Small Boy Explains 87
The Bold Lover 88
Imagination 89
Willing to Trade 91
The Lonely Child 93
Th' Little Feller's Gone 95
The Fisherman's Son 97
The Dog Confesses 99
Br'er Rabbit in de Bresh Pile 101
When 104
WITH THE COLORS
THE COLORS
It isn't just colors and bunting--
The red and the blue and the white.
It's something heaps better and finer,--
It's the _soul_ of my country _in sight!_
There's a lot of ceremony 'bout the Flag,
Though many half-baked patriots believe
Salutin' it and hangin' it correct
"Is only loyalty upon the sleeve."
But we who work beneath the Flag to-day,
Who'll honor it--and die for it, perhaps--
Get a slightly different view of the old red, white and blue
Than is visioned by th' criticisin' chaps.
It isn't just for decoratin' things,
It isn't just an emblem, clean and bright,
No matter what its "hoist" or what its "fly,"
To us it means our country--wrong or right!
The sobby stuff that some good people spout
Won't help a man to understand this view,
But: Wherever that Flag goes, the man who follows, _knows_
That a better, cleaner citizen _goes too!_
It's not just a banner to look at,--
For which we're expected to fight;
It's something that represents _freedom;_
It's the _soul_ of my country--in sight!
LOYALTY
This is no time to quibble or to fool;
To argue over who was wrong, who right;
To measure fealty with a worn foot-rule;
To ask: "Shall we keep still or shall we fight?"
The Clock of Fate has struck; the hour is here;
War is upon us now--not far away;
One question only rises, clarion clear:
"How may I serve my country, day by day?"
Not all of us may join the khakied throng
Of those who answer and go forth to stem
The tide of war. But we can all be strong
And steady in our loyalty to them!
Not with unfettered thought, or tongue let loose
In bitterness and hate--a childish game!
But with a faith, untroubled by abuse,
That honors those who put the rest to shame!
There is no middle ground on which to stand;
We've done with useless pro-and-con debates;
The one-time friend, so welcome in this land,
Has turned upon us at our very gates.
There is no way, with honor, to stand back--
Real patriotism isn't cool--then hot;
You cannot trim the flag to fit your lack;
You are American--or else you're not!
THE OLD NATIONAL GUARD
You pull a lot of funny stuff about us, when there's peace,
The jokes you spring are sometimes rough, and make a guy see red;
But when there's trouble in the air you "vaudevillians" cease,
And them that laughed the loudest laugh, salute the flag instead!
Oh, it's kid the boys along
When there's nothing going wrong;
But when your country's facin' war,
You sing a different song!
The khaki that they doll us in ain't seen war service--no!
The most of it has been worn thin a-loafin' 'round the mess;
Folks think it's great to josh us when things are goin' slow,
But when the country's all het up--we ain't so worse, I guess!
Then it's, "Look! The Guard is here;
Fine set of men, muh dear."...
(We'd like it better if you spread
Your jollies through th' year!)
We're only folks--th' reg'lar kind--that answered to th' call;
We may be dumb and also blind--but still we'll see it through!
Just wearin' khaki doesn't change our insides--not a'tall!
We're human (Does that seem so strange?) waitin' to fight--for you!
We mayn't be worth a cuss
In this ugly foreign muss,
But when the nation needs some help,
Why--pass the job to us!
THE ALIEN
(Of course, this didn't happen,
But if it had--
Would you have been shocked?)
She was a pretty little thing,
Round-headed, bronze-haired and trim
As a yacht.
And when she married a handsome, polished Prussian
(Before the war was ours)
Her friends all said
She'd made no mistake.
He had much money, and he wasn't arrogant--
To her.
Their baby came--
Big and blue-eyed,
Solemn and serious,
With his father's arrogance in the small.
She knew how wonderful a child he was
And said so.
The husband knew it, too--
Because the child looked like him,
And they were happy
Until the Nation roused itself,
Stretched and yawned
And got into the hellish game of kill.
Then the man,
Who had been almost human,
Dropped his mask,
And uncovered his ragged soul.
Having no sense of right or wrong--
No spiritual standards for measurements;
Feeding upon that same egotism
That swept his country
Into the depths of hate--
He sneered and laughed
At her pale patriotism
And the country that inspired it.
There was no open break between them,
For a child's small hands
Clung to both and kept them close.
Shutting her eyes to all else
Save that she was his wife,
She played her part well.
His work--his bluff at work, instead--
Was something big and important
(Always he looked the importance)
That had to do with ships--
Ships that idled at their docks to-day
Because they were interned.
And there was always money--
More money than she had ever known,--
Which he lavished--on himself
And his desires.
Not that he gave her nothing,
For he did....
They lived in a big hotel,
And the child had everything it should have
And much it should not.
She, too, was cared for well,
After his wants were satisfied.
Then--
The silent blow fell.
Secret service men called upon him,
And next day he was taken away
To a detention camp
For alien enemies.
Interned like the anchor-chafing ships
That once had flown his flag!
The woman, up in arms, dinned at officials
Until (so easy-going and so slow to learn)
They told her what he had done.
That night she stared long at their child, asleep,
And at its father's picture,
On her dresser....
Did the wife-courage that transcends
All other kinds of bravery
Keep her awake for hours,
Planning, scheming, thinking?
* * * * *
A week later she and the child--
A blue-eyed, self-assertive mite--
Were at the camp,
She carrying it (the nurse was left behind)
And the passports that allowed her to see him
One hour, with a guard five yards away.
Some of his polite impudence was gone,
Yet he threw back his head and shoulders
And shrugged as his wife and boy came in.
"Always late," said he, after a perfunctory kiss,
"You--and your country!"
She stared long at him, holding the child close,
Her own round, bronze head bowed.
Then, with a swift glance at the guard
Thoughtfully chewing a straw and looking
At the city of shacks,
She spoke.
"Did you know, Karl," she whispered,
"That my brother was on that transport--
My only brother--a soldier--my only blood?
If it had gone down--that transport--been sunk--"
"Well?" said he. That was all.
"My brother--my only--Karl!"
"Well?" said he again. "What of it?"
Then--her little head lifted, her eyes gone mad--
"This!" she said. "Rather than give
Life to another human scorpion like you--
Man in form only!--Lower than the floor of hell itself;
Rather than have my blood mingle with
The foul poison that is yours,
To make a child of ours--
This: I give him back to you--
And recall my love--all of my love!"
Again he shrugged his shoulders,
Yawned--and saw, too late.
Swift as the eagle that drives a lamb to death
She whipped a hat-pin from her dainty hat,
Drove it with steady aim
Into the baby's heart
And handed back to the gulping man
All that was left of what had once meant joy--
A dead baby with red bubbles on its lips!
THE 'SKEETER FLEET
Mighty little doin'--yet a lot to do--
While the navy's standin' guard, we are lookin' out;
Patrol boats in shoals, good old craft and new
Hustle here and skitter there--what's it all about?
Speed boats and slow boats
Loaf around or run,
But ev'ry unit of this fleet
Mounts a wicked gun!
Pleasure craft a-plenty, all dolled up in gray
Grim and ugly war-paint dress, we're a gloomy lot,
Slidin' in and out, never in the way.
Gosh! It's wearin' on the nerves, waitin' round--for what?
Some boats are bum boats,
Layin' for the Hun--
But ev'ry boat that flies our Flag
Mounts a wicked gun!
Stickin' for the Big Show! Will it ever start?
When it does, Good night, Irene! We won't make a squeak.
"Boy Scouts of the Sea," watch us do our part
If a raider or a sub. gives us just a peek!
Tin boats and wood boats--
Ev'ry single one
Longs to get in action with
Its wicked little gun!
LITTLE MOTHER
_Little mother, little mother, with the shadows in your eyes
And the icy hand of Fear about your heart,
You cannot help your boy prepare to make his sacrifice
Unless you make yours bravely, at the start!_
He is training, as a million others train;
He is giving what the others give--their best;
Make him feel your faith in him, though your troubled eyes grow dim;
Let him know that you can stand the acid test!
Because he's joined the colors--he's not dead!
Because he's found his duty--he's not lost!
Through your mother-love, my dear, keep him steady, keep him near
To the soul he loves--your soul--whate'er the cost!
You're not alone in heartaches or in doubts;
All mothers feel this burden newly coined;
Then call your trembling pride to your colors--to your side--
"Be a sport!" and make him glad that he has joined!
_Little mother, little mother, with the shadows in your eyes
And the icy hand of Fear about your heart,
There is this that you can do: "Play the game"; there honor lies.
Now your boy and country need you--do your part!_
SOLDIERS OF THE SOIL
It's a high-falutin' title they have handed us;
It's very complimentary an' grand;
But a year or so ago they called us "hicks," you know--
An' joshed the farmer and his hired hand!
Now it's, "Save the country, Farmer!
Be a soldier of the soil!
Show your patriotism, pardner,
By your never-ending toil."
So we're croppin' more than ever,
An' we're speedin' up the farm;
Oh, it's great to be a soldier--
A sweatin', sun-burnt soldier,--
A soldier in the furrows--
Away from "war's alarm!"
While fightin' blight and blister,
We hardly get a chance
To read about our "comrades"
A-doin' things in France.
To raise the grub to feed 'em
Is some job, believe me--plus!
And I ain't so sure a soldier--
A shootin', scrappin' soldier,
That's livin' close to dyin'--
Ain't got the best of us!
But we'll harrer and we'll harvest,
An' we'll meet this new demand
Like the farmers always meet it--
The farmers--and the land.
An' we hope, when it is over
An' this war has gone to seed,
You will know us soldiers better--
Th' sweatin', reapin' soldiers,
Th' soldiers that have hustled
To raise th' grub you need!
It's a mighty fancy title you have given us,
A name that sounds too fine to really stick;
But maybe you'll forget (when you figure out your debt)
To call th' man who works a farm a "hick."
THE LADIES' MAN
Billy is a ladies' man; Billy dances fine
(Always was a bear-cat at the game);
Billy pulls the social stuff all along the line--
But he knows this business, just the same.
He can march; he can drill
As hard as any rook;
And he knows his manual
Without his little book.
Maybe he was soft at first--ev'rybody's that;
Golfing was his hardest labor then;
Now he's in the Service (where you don't grow fat),
Digging, drilling, like us other men.
He can eat, he can sleep
Like any healthy brute--
And the Captain says that Billy-boy
Is learning how to shoot!
When he joined the Training Camp, Billy says, "No doubt,
I will draw some clerical position;"
But he's shown he can _command_; so--the news is out--
He will get a regular commission!
He can talk; he can dance
(He is still the ladies' pet)
But the way he barks his orders out
Gets _action_, you c'n bet!
COOKIE JIM
The capting says, says he to us:
"Your duty is to do your best;
We can't ALL lead in this here muss,
So mind your job! That is the test
O' soldierin',
O' soldierin'--
To mind your job, while soldierin'!"
When Jimmy joined the colors first, he knowed that soon he'd be
A non-com. officer,--oh, sure, he had that idee firm;
But Jimmy got another think, fer quite eventually
They had him workin' like a Turk, th' pore, astonished worm.
The rest of us, we gotta eat, and Jimmy--he can cook!
(He makes a stew that tastes as good as mother used to make.)
An' when he starts to flappin' cakes, why, every hungry rook
Is droolin' at the mouth for them, a-waitin' fer his take.
He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up with no recruits;
He rides a horse when we parade (which ain't so often now);
But where he shines is when we eat; the grub that Jimmy shoots
At hungry troopers every day is certainly "some chow."
He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's job to cook;
Don't hafter drill, don't hafter tote a lot of arms with him;
Jest messes up th' stuff we eat, and we don't hafter look--
It's _always_ clean! So here's a good luck and health to Cookie Jim!
The capting says, says he: "You rooks
Have gotta lot to learn, I'll say,
'Cept Jimmy; he's the best o' cooks
Troop Z has had fer many a day
While soldierin',
While soldierin'--
He does his work, while soldierin'!"
THE SANDWICH GIRL
This is the story as told to me;
It may be a fairy-tale new,
But I know the man, and I know that he lies
Very infrequently, too!
When the boys in khaki first were called to serve,
Guarding railroad bridges and the like,
Bob was just a private in the old N. G.,
Fond of all the work--except the hike.
When they sent his comp'ny down the road a bit,
"Gee!" he said, "I'd like to commandeer
Some one's car and drive it--marching gets my goat!"
(Bob was quite a gas-car engineer.)
Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a bridge.
Now and then a loaded train goes by;
But at night--just nothing; everything was dead;
Empty world beneath an empty sky.
Then the chauffeur lady got into the game,
Drove her car each midnight to our tents,
Bringing us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie;
All the others thought that was immense.
But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say,
Like the rest, that she had saved their lives;
He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed man
Papering--the one that had the hives!
Bob would eat the lunches--eat and come again,
Silent, but as hungry as a pup;
Finish with a piece o' pie, swallow it--and go;
Never had to make him hurry up!
Then one night we heard him talking to the girl,
Like he was complaining to her: "Say!
Can't you change the stuffing? I am sick of ham!
Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!"
Did we all jump on him? You can bet we did:
"Who gave you the right to kick, you steer,
Over what she brings us? She's a first-rate pal;
Talk some more and get her on her ear!"
Bob was somewhat flustered; thought we hadn't heard.
Then he said, "Well, ain't you tired o' ham?"
"What of that?" says Wilcox. "Think of how she works!
Spends her cash ...!" (All Bob said then was, "Damn!")
Grabbing up his Springfield, "Listen, you!" he snaps.
"That's my motor and my gasoline.
Sure she's spending money--but it comes from me;
She's my sister, and her name's Irene!"
Then, as he marched himself into the night,
We looked at each other a spell.
"We've ditched our good luck--he won't _let_ her come back,"
Says Wilcox. "Now isn't _that_ hell!"
BUGLER BILL
Bugler Bill--mild-mannered, shy--
Is straight.... But I wonder if Bill _would_ lie?
Bugler Bill is a pensive lad,
Whether he's workin' or not;
Serious-faced an' pitiful sad--
(Think he was goin' t' be shot!)
Whenever he bugles, some of us cry--
Reveille, taps, or mess--
With musical sob-stuff Bill gets by,
Plaintive and full of distress!
Bugler Bill is never real gay,
But built on a sour-face plan;
Bill wouldn't laugh, whatever you'd say;
Looks like a love-poisoned man.
"Grin, ye hyenas," he'll say as he smokes;
"_I_ ain't a frivolous guy--"
"Thinkin' of all of the pain you caused folks
While learnin' to play?" asks I.
Bugler Bill, he sighs as he turns,
Shakin' his head at me.
"A long while ago th' bugle I learns--
So don't you git funny," says he.
"My audience laughed till it cried salty tears,
An' everyone called me a joy.
I was a clown in a circus for years--
_That's_ why I'm solemn, my boy!"
Bugler Bill come "out of the Draft"--
D'you s'pose at _that_ joke he actually laughed?
HEINIE THE HOSTLER
_He's not very handsome or clever,
He's slow in his wits--and he's fat,
And yet he's a soldier of Uncle Sam's--
Now, whaddy you know about that?_
We always called him Dummy,
And thought he wouldn't fight;
We sneered at him and jeered at him--
He was--and is--a sight!
His feet are big, his head is small,
His German blood is slow,
But at the call for volunteers,
Why, didn't Heinie go?
He's workin' as a hostler
(He used to be a clerk)
He don't enjoy his job, that boy,
But Heinie is no shirk.
"This is _my_ country just as much
As it is yours," says he;
"I'm gonna do what I _can_ do
To _keep_ it mine!... You'll see!
"My father, he come over here
To get away from things;
He couldn't abide on th' other side--
Aristocrats and kings.
The Stars and Stripes mean liberty,
I've always understood;
So gimme the right to work--or fight--
I betcha I'll make good.
"As a chambermaid to horses
In a battery that's new,
The work is rough and mean enough
And wouldn't appeal to you;
But I've got my place and I'll stick to it--
Can any man do more?
I've never had a chance, like dad,
To prove myself before."
_Perhaps he won't get a commission;
Perhaps he is dull, and all that;
But somehow I feel that he's better than me--
Now whaddy you know about that?_
OUR JOB
You mustn't _hate_ the enemy--that wastes a lot of "pep"--
The Colonel passed the word around the training camp to-day.
The Captain says with modern war we gotta all catch step;
"Cut out the rough-necked rage and talk, and don't you think or say:
"'Pirates, rapists, murderers; poisoners and lying thieves;
Super-vandals, run amuck--black devils quoting sermons;
This world was mostly Heaven-made, our Chaplain, he believes;
But Hell itself conceived and spawned the Military Germans!
"The enemy is good at killing kids, and old folks, too;
Torpedoing hospital ships and blowin' up our plants;
But cogitatin' on their line of wicked things won't do;
We'll never hate 'em off the map--just give the guns a chance!"
So we don't go in for loathin', and with anger we don't burn;
We're drillin', and we're diggin', and we're workin' all the while;
To put 'er in the target is the trick we hafter learn--
And ev'ry man's a better shot when he can shoot--and smile!
The folks at home will spend their time a-broodin' over all
The nasty devils do and on the details they can dwell;
It's up to us to learn this game, and then--when comes the call--
Pump lead into the enemy--and send him _back_ to hell.
HER JOHNNY
Since Johnny has joined the Marine corps,
Of course he will do what he's told,
And Johnny will be at home on the sea
The day he is eighteen years old.
Just what they expect of my baby
Ain't clear to his maw; my, oh, my!
But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue--and ain't carin'--
He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry?
It ain't been so long, I remember,
That Johnny, my baby, was sick
Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret
Till we'd land--which was usually quick.
But now, with his gun and his kit-bag,
He's answered the call, bless his heart!
And he'll square out his jaw and think of his maw
And go in to win from the start!
My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure
(I know he'll be sea-sick, pore kid!)
But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid;
I gotta sign up"--and he did.
So now I sit here, sorter dreamin'
Of the days he was mine. They are done--
I'm proud; but I wish--I could fix up a dish
Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son!
THE FIRST FLEET
We slid into the harbor here,
A line of battle-cruisers gray,
With hungry guns as silent as
The bands aboard that did not play.
The fog was soft, the fog was damp,
The hush was thick and wide as space,
But ev'ry man was standing at
Attention in his given place.
We'd made the port, with time to spare--
And Uncle Sam's first Fleet was there!
Then came those other navy men--
Our allies in this troubled cause--
Weary of holding back the Hun,
Clipping, too slow, his cruel claws.
Our Admiral, a few-words man,
Greeted the visitors.... "We're here,"
He said, and that was all. They smiled--
And said they hoped the weather'd clear.
But still those men with tired eyes
Felt mighty grateful, I surmise!
Around our Fleet--not very large--
We took them, thoughtful faces set;
And then back to the fog-soaked town
They went--uncomfortably wet;
But in those eyes a happier light,
That told him what they'd like to say--
That they were glad he had come back,
As he had hoped to do some day.
Another fleet, with fresher men,
Gave them a chance to breathe again!
Before they left to go ashore
(A crowd had gathered on the quay),
"When can you start to work?" they asked.
"How many hours will it be
Before you're ready?" With a smile
Our fighting Admiral replied
(And there was joy in what he said,
Mingled with pardonable pride):
"Soon as the enemy we meet!...
We're ready now--men, guns, and Fleet."
So that is how we started in
To do our share--the Navy's "bit";
They were surprised, but Admiral Sims
Had surely made a three-base hit
With what he said.... And now it's up
To us to do our hearty best
To make the seas the old-time seas;
Till that is done there'll be no rest.
It is a job to stop the Hun,
But--it's a job that must be done!
BRIGGS OF BASE No. 8
It may be that you know him. A slim and likely kid;
Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and glance.
He never took a prize at school (his talents always hid),
And yet he's got a medal from the Government of France!