On Patrol Part 4

Though it's very cheery reading, And we hear it ev'ry week; Yet the Hun is still unheeding, And is just as far to seek.

And it seems so unavailing They should write and tell us so-- If the Hun is shortly sailing, Couldn't _some one_ let him know?

We are ready, and we're waiting, And we know they're going to fight; And we're just as good at hating As the Brainy Ones that write.

But they talk of Information They have gathered unbeknown-- That "the mighty German Nation Is a ma.s.s of skin and bone."

And they take their affidavy That a fight is due at sea: _Dammit--tell the German Navy_, What's the use of telling me?

WE

WE.

All our fighting brothers are away across the foam, Hats off to the Englishman!

Here's a chance for Englishmen living safe at home, Make a lot of money while you can!

We are fighting for the Right and the Honour of the Race With the Bulldog Grip they know; Who's the silly novice there putting on the pace?

You'll be taken for a Yank--Go slow!

All the Nations know us as the finest of the Earth; Three cheers for the lads in blue!

An' we're drawing extra wages that are more than we are worth-- But a half-day's work will do.

The shades of England's fighting men are watching us with pride As we live for England's fame; To save us for posterity was why they went and died-- Oh! The War is a real fine game!

Let the War go rolling on alone for awhile, Let the line stand fast in the West; Let 'em learn to use the bayonet in the grand old style, While the Bulldog Boys have a rest.

What's the good of hurrying? British pluck'll win; We can stand to the strain all right.

What about another rise? Send the notice in-- Just to show how the Bulldogs fight.

Chorus! all together--We're the finest race of all, So beware of the English Blade; Now the fighting men are gone--why, however many fall, All the more for the lads that stayed.

THE SAILOR'S VIEW

THE SAILOR'S VIEW.

(1916).

Too proud to fight? I'm not so sure--our skipper now and then Has lectured to us on patrol on foreign s.h.i.+ps and men, And other nation's submarines, when cruising round the Bight; And 'seems to me--when they begin--the Yankee chaps can fight.

Why, if I was in the army (which I ain't--and no regrets) And had my pick of Generals--from London's latest pets, To Hannibal and Wellington--to follow whom I chose, I wouldn't think about it long--I'd give the job to those Who fought across a continent for three long years and more (I bet the neutral papers didn't say in 'sixty-four Of Jackson, Sherman, Lee and Grant--"The Yanks can only shout"-- That lot was somewhere near the front when pluck was handed out); But what the Skipper said was this; "There's only been but one Successful submarine attack before this war begun, And it wasn't on a liner on the easy German plan, But on a well-found man-of-war, and Dixon was the man Who showed us how to do the trick, a tip for me and you, And I'd like to keep the standard up of Dixon and his crew, For they hadn't got a submarine that cost a hundred thou', But a leaky little biscuit-box, and stuck upon her bow A spar torpedo like a mine, and they and Dixon knew That if they sank the enemy they'd sink the _David_ too.

She'd drowned a crew or two before--they dredged her up again, And manned and pushed her off to sea.--My oath, it's pretty plain They had some guts to give away, that tried another trip In a craft they knew was rather more a coffin than a s.h.i.+p; And they carried out a good attack, and did it very well.

As a model for the future, why, it beats the books to h.e.l.l, A tradition for the U.S.A., and, yes--for England too; For they were men with English names, and kin to me and you, And I'd like to claim an ancestor with Dixon when he died At the bottom of the river at the _Housatonic's_ side."

STONEWALL JACKSON

STONEWALL JACKSON.

Over the low Virginian farms the smoke of the ev'ning rose and flowed, The scent of cedar hung in the air--the scent of burning sap, And up the valley the murmur died, the sound of feet on a dusty road-- A clatter and ring of horse and guns that led to Ashby's Gap.

And the Blue Ridge called to the Shenandoah stream, As the Ma.s.sanutton hills grew black-- "Look your last, Shenandoah--where the bayonets gleam, On your man who is never coming back.

"Ah! Mana.s.sas, look again on the glimmer of the steel That you lit with the red fires' glow, When the Grey men roared at an all-night meal, Look again as the Grey men go.

"He is looking back at us with a hand across his eyes, Look your last, Shenandoah, as he rides To a death beyond the Gap where the dust-clouds rise, O'er the road that the greenwood hides.

"He will send a message back as the dark clouds lower, And you'll hear it in the sighing of the breeze, _Let us pa.s.s across the river (can you hear me, Shenandoah?) To a rest in the shadow of the trees_."

WET s.h.i.+PS

WET s.h.i.+PS.

"... And will remain on your Patrol till the 8th December...."--(_Extract from Orders._)

The North-East Wind came armed and shod from the ice-locked Baltic sh.o.r.e, The seas rose up in the track he made, and the rollers raced before; He sprang on the Wilhelmshaven s.h.i.+ps that reeled across the tide.

"Do you cross the sea to-night with me?" the cold North-Easter cried-- Along the lines of anch.o.r.ed craft the Admiral's answer flashed, And loud the proud North-Easter laughed as the second anchors splashed.

"By G.o.d! you're right--you German men, with a three-day gale to blow, It is better to wait by your harbour gate than follow where I go!"

Over the Bight to the open sea the great wind sang as he sheered: "I rule--I rule the Northern waste--I speak, and the seas are cleared; You nations all whose harbours ring the edge of my Northern sea, At peace or war, when you hear my voice you shall know no Lord but me."

Then into the wind in a cloud of foam and sheets of rattling spray, Head to the bleak and breaking seas in dingy black and grey, Taking it every lurch and roll in tons of icy green Came out to her two-year-old patrol--an English submarine.

The voice of the wind rose up and howled through squalls of driving white: "You'll know my power, you English craft, before you make the Bight; I rule--I rule this Northern Sea, that I raise and break to foam.

Whom do you call your Overlord that dares me in my home?"

Over the crest of a lifting sea in bursting sh.e.l.ls of spray, She showed the flash of her rounded side as over to port she lay, Clanging her answer up the blast that made her wireless sing: "_I serve the Lord of the Seven Seas. Ha! Splendour of G.o.d-- the King!!_"

Twenty feet of her bow came out, dripping and smooth it sprang, Over the valley of green below as her stamping engines rang; Then down she fell till the waters rose to meet her straining rails-- "I serve my King, who sends me here to meet your winter gales."

(Rank upon rank the seas swept on and broke to let her through, While high above her reeling bridge their shattered remnants flew); "_If you blow the stars from the sky to-night, your boast in your teeth I'll fling, I am your master--Overlord, and--Dog of the English King!_"