By Trench and Trail in Song and Story Part 8

"Dat's why you are cry, an' you' heart feel it sore, An' you ask me to roam from ma home evermore.

Jus' you geeve up one t'ing, an' de birds it will sing, An' de sons.h.i.+ne will cling w'ere it's shadow before!

"O dat man is de bes' who will cling to his nes'

W'ere he's born an' he's raise an' he's work an' he's res'; If he don' mak' success rat at home, I confess, Den it's slim hope for him in de Sout' or de Wes'.

"An' dear Joe, don' you know we have got no hexcuse For de way we offen', an' descen' to abuse?

Me you cannot deceive, for I know you are grieve Jus' as much as Marie for de dear ones we lose.

"An' de pain is mos' kill, an' it's nevair kip still, Since dey bury ma Mary an' boy on de hill; W'en you ask it I fin' dat I can't leave behin'

Lonely grave of ma darlings, Marie and boy Bill.

"An' I'm feel it is true, half of me's bury too, Since was lay in de clay leettle body from view!

So you do w'at you lak, I will try for to mak'

Jus' de bes' of de bargain, I promise to you.

"But I tole to you, Joe, if you t'ink I mus' go, It is only half womans be wit' you I know; For de res' of me stay w'ere de leettle ones lay-- In de summer an' flower, in winter an' snow!"

THE END OF THE TRAIL

I was summoned in the gloaming to the bedside of a friend Who was pa.s.sing through the shadows ever lurking at the end: To the bedside of a comrade I had known long, long ago Back in dear old Compton County, where the sugar maples grow.

Just a simple son of Lewis, careless, fearless, poor and proud, As becomes a Highland Scotsman of the royal clan MacLeod.

He could sing the songs of loveland, as I've seldom heard them sung-- Richest treasures of the Highlands flowed in music from his tongue.

What a privilege and pleasure to have heard him in his prime, Ere his mellow notes were burdened by the cruel strains of time.

When the gentle nurse had brought me to the couch of poor old John E'en a novice would not question that his race was nearly run.

He was lonely in the city, longing for the spruce and pine, And his eyes grew bright with pleasure as he placed his hand in mine, Saying: "Don't forget me, Angus, but come out to see me here, For the nights are long and lonely, and the days devoid of cheer.

Yes, I know my days are numbered, all the signs to me are plain: I shall never guide the movements of the skid road boys again.

There's a secret I would tell you that I've never told before, It was locked up in my bosom fifty years ago or more: It's of Mary, gentle Mary, whom I loved in years agone-- Loved her then and will forever, and my Mary loved her John!

But there came another wooer, who was rich as I was poor, And her parents looked with favor on this keeper of a store.

I was wounded, yes, and angry, that their greed should thus deny Me the place they held for riches, so I bade them all good bye, And I left my Mary weeping, though she begged of me to stay-- Left her weeping--to my sorrow--and I westward took my way.

Then I drifted hither, thither, like the flotsam of the sea: Every year a little farther from my home in Tallabharee, Till at last I came to anchor on the sh.o.r.es of Puget Sound, Where so many of my comrades in misfortune may be found."

Here his speech grew slow and halting, as he said, amid his groans, He had feared for what might happen to his "poor old aching bones."

"Do not let them sink my body where the derelicts are thrown, For although I'm poor in pocket, pride was bred within my bone.

When my limbs refuse their burden and I cannot further go, And the trail is dark and tangled where the fir and cedars grow; When the cord of life is severed and in death I'm lying low, And there's nothing left but tallabh of the John you used to know: Lay me down amid the shadows of the forest that I love, With the grey green moss around me and the skies of G.o.d above; Where no noises will disturb me save the whisper of the woods And the night-birds' dismal hooting in the primal solitudes, Where the crooning voice of nature chants the glory of the West, Let the groves of G.o.d hold vigil o'er my everlasting rest.

Over there beyond the shadows I will find my Mary dear, And we'll cruise the trails together that we missed so sadly here."

When again I looked upon him death had wrapped him in its chill, Songs were silenced now forever and the lilting lips were still.

HOMESICK.

I am tire now of roam', Rosemarie, An' long to be at home 'mong de tree, W'ere de Robin redbreas' sing In de branches every spring, An' de bes' of everyt'ing, You wit' me!

For de independen' man, Rosemarie, Farmin' is de bettair plan, seem to me; W'ere no boss is stan' an' swear Till you feel lak pull you' hair-- O! ba gosh I want ma fare rat away!

Yes, if man has got one soul, Rosemarie, Don' it mak' him hot lak ol' Mont Pelee!

To be order' ro'nd his work Lak some lezzy dog-gone Turk-- By a boss call Barney Burke, O sacre!

O, I long to see my farm, Rosemarie; W'ere ol' Nature full of charm wait for me-- W'ere de angel painter deck Ev'ry sod an' stone an' stick: Ro'nd ma home in ol' Kebec, Rosemarie!

Yes, I dream abo't it all, Rosemarie, Ev'ry tam to sleep I fall, night or day: I can see dat bock-wheat fiel'

Dat is soon be turn to meal, An' I hear de fat pig squeal, "hot gravie"!

O, ma heart is on de jomp, Rosemarie, For be back among de stomp, You an' me: Ma potato in de lot, An' ma onion growin' hot, An' de sweet pea in de pot, hully gee!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sergeant-Major Larry.]

SERGEANT MAJOR LARRY OF THE GALLANT 58TH

In '96 the author served his Queen for two weeks on the plains of Rockland, near Richmond, Que., as orderly under the gallant Capt. Peter Gillies, now of Bury, P. Q. One of the subordinate officers becoming the b.u.t.t of his comrades owing to unpopular tactics the following "Come-allye" resulted. The author may add that this "drill" ended his military career--he hasn't been orderly since.

O come all ye loyal volunteers, You're ordered for review: Keep your eyes on Sergeant Larry Of the famous "No. 2".

He's the model of a soldier, And 'tis worth your while to watch How he handles the maneuvers In his drill among the Scotch.

Sure his "honors" sought him early, He was here but half a week, When the call came: "Forward, Larry, You're promoted for your cheek: Take your stripes and stand for orders And reveal to No. 2 What a mixture of conceit and gall, With bra.s.s and cheek, can do."

And the "orders" are "Fall in, my men, Look sharp, and don't be late!

Signed, Sergeant Major Larry, Of the gallant 58."

Come, my boys, you need not grumble, You have but to grin and yield, For brave Kitchener's "not in it"

When bold Larry's on the field.

When we started down from Scotstown We were just as big as him, But his honors won so quickly Made the rest of us look slim.

O, he swelled in regimentals Till he quite outgrew his tent, But he'll get the one he asked for When old Hogan pays his rent.

O we are loyal volunteers, Our red coats prove us so, We are ready, aye, and willing now To meet our country's foe.

Who would not be proud of Canada And for her sake to bleed?

For success would crown our efforts If bold Larry took the lead.

Yes, the sword that dangles by his side's A borrowed one, I know But it matters not to Larry, As it helps to make a show!

See him strut around the camp ground, Like a peac.o.c.k in the gra.s.s!

And the "staff" will send him higher When it needs a boom in bra.s.s.

Such was Larry bold--in peace time-- He was brave as Lochinvar, But he quickly changed his music As the bugle called for war; When the Highlanders grew wrathy, With their hair straight up on end, Sergeant Larry dropped at Bury, As he wished to see a friend!

We were left without a leader And the riot louder swelled, Divers Scotsmen drew their bayonets And for blood they madly yelled.

Ev'ry car was full of soldiers, Noisy as salvation drum, On the day we left Camp Rockland And the troops came shouting home.

After Larry comes the "Colonel,"

And a valiant man is he, Tho' he never led his forces From "Atlanta to the sea"; Yet, if e'er the country needs him, Every clansman will awake, From old Hampton down to Weedon And from Lingwick to the Lake.