Part 14

We haven’t a camelty tune of our own To help us trollop along, But every neck is a hair trombone (_Rtt-ta-ta-ta!_ is a hair trombone!) And this 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 they March 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!_