Poets have to be born; but soldiers, in addition to qualities inbred, have to be made; and while the process of making was invariably laborious and often discouraging, it usually repaid patient effort. The raw recruit of yesterday became the pride of the line today!
They call me the "Raw Recruit,"
The joke of the awkward squad,
The rook of the rookies to boot,
And a bumpkin, a dolt and a clod;
But this much I'll plead in defense
I seem popular with these chaps,
For they keep me a'moving thither and hence
From Reveille to Taps.
Though no doubt I have had them for years,
For the first time I'm sure I have feet!
When the Corporal said "Halt" it appears
That my feet thought he ordered "Retreat"!
And my eyes o'er who's blue ladies 'd rave,
And called them bright stars of the night,
Now simply refuse to behave
And mix up "Eyes Left" with "Eyes Right."
I'll admit that I'm no hand to brag;
But the fact is I've won a First Prize!
'Twas not that I have any drag,
Nor excel in the officers' eyes.
It was close, but I won, never fear;
My home training helped me, I guess;
I beat every man about here;
At being the first in, at "Mess"!
My Corporal admits I'm not bad
Through the night, when I'm buried in sleep!
It's waking that I drive him mad,
And cause very demons to weep.
But Rome was not built in a day!
And once I get used to my suit,
I'll just force all these pikers to say
"He once was a raw recruit!"
CHAPTER II
CAMP MILLS—ST. STEPHEN'S, NEW YORK—ENTER ARMY
Given sufficient time and mellowing, the butterfly eventually merges from the chrysalis; and it was with rapturous delight early June saw us exchange Camp Dodge for Camp Mills, Long Island! We were now on the shores of the Atlantic, and would soon tread the deck of our ship of dreams—a transport bound for Over There!