Chapter 14 of 14
Parade-Song of the Camp Animals
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ELEPHANTS OF THE GUN-TEAM
We lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules,The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees;We bowed our necks to service; they ne'er were loosed again,--Make way there, way for the ten-foot teamsOf the Forty-Pounder train!
GUN-BULLOCKS
Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;Then we come into action and tug the guns again,--Make way there, way for the twenty yokeOf the Forty-Pounder train!
CAVALRY HORSES
By the brand on my withers, the finest of tunesIs played by the Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons,And it's sweeter than "Stables" or "Water" to me,The Cavalry Canter of "Bonnie Dundee"!
Then feed us and break us and handle and groom,And give us good riders and plenty of room,And launch us in column of squadrons and seeThe way of the war-horse to "Bonnie Dundee"!
SCREW-GUN MULES
As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,The path was lost in rolling stones, but we wentforward still;For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn upeverywhere,And it's our delight on a mountain height, witha leg or two to spare!
Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets uspick our road;Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot packa load:For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turnup everywhere,And it's our delight on a mountain height witha leg or two to spare!
COMMISSARIAT CAMELS
We haven't a camelty tune of our ownTo help us trollop along,But every neck is a hairy trombone(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hairy trombone!)And this is our marching song:Can't! Don't! Sha'n't! Won't!Pass it along the line!Somebody's pack has slid from his back,Wish it were only mine!Somebody's load has tipped off in the road--Cheer for a halt and a row!Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!Somebody's catching it now!
ALL THE BEASTS TOGETHER
Children of the Camp are we,Serving each in his degree;Children of the yoke and goad,Pack and harness, pad and load.See our line across the plain,Like a heel-rope bent again.Reaching, writhing, rolling far,Sweeping all away to war!While the men that walk beside,Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,Cannot tell why we or theyMarch and suffer day by day.Children of the Camp are we,Serving each in his degree;Children of the yoke and goad,Pack and harness, pad and load.
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