The Orderly Sergeant.

Its early in the mornings that he wakes us up from sleep,
By banging on our "bivvys", or a-tickling of our feet;
And when we're up he's growling throughout the blessed day,
With his "Fall in here for orders," or "Where's your horses hay?"
It's a-cursing and a-fretting he keeps us ail the while,
He's straffed by all the troopers down to the last damned file.
At all parades the "winds up," and in the lines as well,
Till we all get the hump of it, and it's the truth to tell,
We strafe the Orderly Sergeant, and wish he were in Hell!

If we see him for a minute, that's a kind of going spare,
All the men for duty vanish, fatigues are in the air,
And when we are finished and "fed up to the wide,"
It's "Turn out there for water, take two horses, lead and ride."
At last we think we're finished, and a letter try to write,
We hear that cursed voice of his, "Now then, put out that light,
And by the way, old chap, you're for guard to-morrow night."
As I rolls up in my blanket, and downs my weary head,
I curse the Orderly Sergeant, and wish that he were dead.

Palestine. "Horace Kiwi" (n. z. e. f.)