{ title: 'The Rio Grande rattler. ([McAllen], Hidalgo County, Tex.) 1916-1917, January 19, 1918, Page 7, Image 7', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-01-19/ed-1/seq-7/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-01-19/ed-1/seq-7.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-01-19/ed-1/seq-7/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn87030234/1918-01-19/ed-1/seq-7/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: New York State Military History Museum
THE WADSWORTH GAS ATTACK a n d RIO GRANDE RATTLER 5 A SOLDIER’S LETTER TO HIS SWEETHEART. Mon P e tit E n fant: T h a t’s slang. U n translatable. They call it idiotic French. It m eans “Oh you kid” in Am erican. I haven’t done m u ch F rench of late. Everybody round here’s bein’ speshulists. Not the kind your m o ther goes to. A speshulist is a fello w h a t only does one thing. I been doin’ everything a n ’ I’m gettin ’ sick of it. I says to the first sargent the other day w a s n t he goin to m a k e m e a speshulist sein as I had as m any b r a i n s . as any of them th a t were. W h ich isnt sayin much as you know as well as me. He said all right he have me study the preparation of food. Said he •wanted me to go into it p retty deep. I been into it up to my elbows in the kitchen alm o s t every day since. I asked some fel- los and they said they never heard of the job. I think th e r e ’s som ething queer, Mable. N ever tru s t sargents, least of all first sargents. A lot of the fellos have gone aw ay to learn to be officers. T h a t kind of struck my fancy, it bein’ about the only thing I hadn’t done. I w e n t to the captain and fold him I thought I’d go, too. He said I could go too, but he added som ething. He said a company was built up some like a m an. T h e re was the brain, th a t was the officers, then some had to be the m uscle and some had to be the bone. He said I seem e d to be pretty well fitted to my p a r t so he wouldn’t change me. Queer duck, th e captain, Mable. I’ve w rote a pome. I sent it to the Divi- sh u n paper. They wouldn’t print it ’cause they said it was so real th a t it m ight de press the men. I read it to the fellos in th e tent, and it seem ed to depress them aw ful. I’m w ritin’ it to you. It’s about war, as you’ll probably notice yourself as you read it over: I. H e re the thunder of the guns Sm a shin down the Germ an H u n s; A n ’ the sticky pools of gory blood, Soakin’ up the oozie sod; The rushin’, roarin’, shreekin’ boom Of bullets crashin’ thru the gloom. II. L isten to those great bums bust On the quiverin’, H u n n ish crust! Listen to the shreikin’, m o anin’, Sw e a rin’, yellin’, gruntin’, groanin’ T h a t comes to us across the trenches All mixed up w ith gruesom e stenches. III. Biff. And from their hellish lair, The shreeks of G erm ans ren t the air. Bloody limbs lie on the ground, Bits of H u n s go flying round. Bang! And through the cannon’s roar Is plainly heard the splashin’ gore. IV. But this cannot go on for long, ’Cause Uncle Sam is cornin’ strong. An’ w h en we charge th e G erm an line, W e il chuck the dam n thing in the Rine, And blood and slaughter, rape and gore In Bel La F rance will rain no more. A in’t th a t terrible, Mable? I read it to one fello and he said th a t it m a d e him absolutely sick. H e said he didn’t see how I could w rite it w ithout gettin’ sick m y self. Betw een you and me, I did get sick a couple of tim e s w h en I was m a k in’ it up. It gives you a good idea of w h a t I’m goin’ to do. Of course, th e r e ’s a lot in it th a t’s confidential, but I don’t care if you read it to some of your friends ju s t to get ’em seein’ w h a t w a r really is. I suppose you’ll say some of the things ain’t nice. If you’d studied literatoor you’d know th a t when you’re w ritin’ big stuff you have to put in anything th a t comes into your head or lose the punch. The ends the best part. It’s the kind of thing th a t gets people ex cited. The Rine is a Germ an river w h e re they m a k e wine near Berlin, Mable. I stayed in from drill one day to w rite that. I didn’t say nothing to no one, though, ’cause none of these sargents has any im agination. They think th e r e ’s noth in’ in the world but drill. Always trying to get fellos to go out and drill w ith ’em. The w o rst of it is th a t they alw ays get them . You keep m entioning a fello nam ed Brog- gins in your letters, Mable. Now, I ain’t got a spark of jealousy in my make-up. Big. T h a t’s me all over. But I tell you frankly th a t if I ever catch one of those ailin enemys w inding your victrola I’ll kick him out of the house. T h a t’s only fair, Mable. It isn’t th a t I care a snap. T h e re’s plenty of girls w a itin’ for me. It’s ju s t the principal of the thing. Don’t think for a m inute th a t I care. I just m ention it ’cause I hadn’t nothin’ else to say. Yours till you here otherw ise, BILL. P e r E. S. Straight-jackets will be in vogue after the N u t num b e r of the Gas A ttack. NURSERY RHIM E S OF A SOLDIER. H ickory, Dickory, Dock, A soldier lives by the clock. Up a t six-thirty, To bed a t ten; It’s the arm y ’s way . Of m a k ing men. Hickory, Dickory, Dock. Hey, there, Sergeant, Have you any wood? Yes, sir! Yes, sir, And be this understood: T h e re’s some for the Mess Shack, And for the kitchen fire, too, B u t w h e re in thunder do you get off, To think th e r e ’s som e for you? Oh, I didn’t like the Infantry, Said L ittle W illie S p reggins; Oh, I didn’t like the Infantree, W h e re they w e a r the canvas leggins. So I tran s ferred to the A rtilleree, To set m y mind a t ease. F o r I thought th a t in the A rtilleree I’d be given leather puttees. But now the Infantry and A rtilleree A re ju s t the sam e to me, For in the Infantry or A rtilleree, I’ll w e a r the canvas puttee. “LITTLE GUY.! A fter M u ster—“Say, Cook Gorman, did you get m u stered yet?” “Sure, I ordered the dam n stuff but it didn’t come yet.” THAT MAKES IT UNANIMOUS. T h e re goes the call for reveille,— I love to hear it sum m o n me; I love to get up in the m orning, too, I do, I do— like Hell I Do! A. F. S. Raw N a tional Army R e c ruit (Italian pa rentage)—(“H a lt! W ho dere?” Soldier (after ta p s ) : “Friend.’’ Same R e c ru it: “No friend. Too late.” “Have you seen th a t last issue of under w ear th a t the Supply Sergeant is handing out?” “Yes. I told him I didn’t w a n t any and he made me take it.” “I’ll get even w ith him. I won’t wear them .” “So’ll I.”
