Part 7 (2/2)

Boom! roared the gun--the s.h.i.+p swung free, With her good prow turned to the Carib Sea.

”Pity it was, for the little cuss, We couldn't take 'Apples' along with us,”

The trooper said, as he walked the deck, And Tampa became a vanis.h.i.+ng speck.

What's that? A stir and a creak down there In the piled-up freight--then a tuft of hair,

Crinkled and woolly and unshorn-- And out popped ”Apples” ”ez sh.o.r.e's yer born!”

Of course he wasn't provided for In the colonel's roll or the rules of war;

But somehow or other the troop was glad To welcome the little darky lad.

You know how our brave men, white and black, Landed and followed the Spaniard's track;

And the Tenth was there in the very front, Seeking and finding the battle's brunt.

Onward they moved through the living h.e.l.l Where the enemy's bullets like raindrops fell,

Down through the brush, and onward still Till they came to the foot of San Juan hill--

Then up they went, with never a fear, And the heights were won with a mad, wild cheer!

And where was ”the mascot Finkey” then?

In the surging ranks of the fighting men!

Wherever a trooper was seen to fall, In the open field or the chaparral;

Wherever was found a wounded man; ”Apples” was there with his water and can.

About him the shrapnel burst in vain-- He was up and on with his work again.

The sharpshooters rattled a sharp tattoo, The singing mausers around him flew.

But ”Apples” was busy--too busy to care For the instant death and the danger there.

Many a parched throat burning hot, Many a victim of Spanish shot,

Was blessed that day; ere the fight was won Under the tropical, deadly sun,

By the cool drops poured from the water-can Of the dusky lad who was all a man.

In the forward trenches, at close of day, Burning with fever, ”Finkey” lay.

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