-M
10
THE CADUCEUS
COLORED SOLDIERS MAKE MEL
ODY RING.
In the bursting sunlight of early
morning wends the long line of colored
soldiers over the hills on their daily
hike through the country. Some of
the men are dressed in the blue faud
gold garb of thfe full dress uniform of
the army of five years ago.
There is snap in their step as we
watch them file over the brow of 'he
hill near the base hospital. Then they
fall into the easy route step and from
their ranks there comes what appears
to be a low moaning, which gradualiv
grows iato the volume of song. When
the words become distinct we recog
nize an aid plantation song—
“It’s me, O Lawd, standin’ in the need
o’ prayer;
“It’s me, O La,wd, standin’ in th’ need
o’ prayer.”
Then a high-pitched, quavering voice
—the leader—rose above the noise of
tramping—
“Not my mother, not my sister”--
And at once followed the full chor
us, bringing the harmony of a per-
fervld primitive prayer:
‘It’s me, O Lawd, standin’ in th’ need
o’ prayer;
“It’s me, O Lawd, standin’ in th’ need
o’ prayer.”
: Again the high-pitched voice t ihe
leader:
“Not the elder, not the chaplain,”
- And the rolling volume of the full
chorus of marchers:
‘tit’s me, 0 Lawd, standin’ in :h’ need
c prayer.”
There is a swing to the marching
chorus which can net be described
without the notes. It bears all the
heart earnestness of a beloved folk
song. It is the same melody that we
heard at the base hospital during the
spring months when the trenches were
being dug for the hospital draining
system. ■
TELLS GOOD STORY.
In connection with the well known
“It’s me, O Lawd” song, a war corres
pondent tells a good story.Th e colored
soldiers themselves are reported to es
pecially enjoy this story, which is of
ten rehearsed by their own comrades
in France, and while some of them
may be a bit skeptical as to the verac
ity of it, they lie t>ack and shake
with laughter whenever it is sprung.
A platoon of Georgia boys, so the
story runs, were digging a trench not
many miles behind No Man’s Land one
afternoon. The sun was shining down
pretty warm and they threw off their
helmets. The dirt was flying over
their heads and the low humming
voices blended beautifully:
“It’s me, O Lawd, standin’ in th'
neSd o’ prayer.”
Fritz, with a load of aerial bombs,
nosed his Gotha in the direction of this
platoon and was over them before they
noticed him. He let drop a couple of
bombs that fell uncomfortably near
the trench. Then he swooped down
and unlimbered his machine-gun with
that put-put-put accompaniment that
induces one to hunt for the dug out.
Just one man in the platoon lost his
bearings for the moment. He was a
■Georgian about 6 reet 2 inches tall,
lean and lanky, but very 'powerful.
He leaped out of the trench, so the
boys say, and legged it over the hill
side in mighty jumps. He didn’t wait
to recover his helmet, but held the
shovel over his head as he departed,
and, with nearly every jump, they
heard him shout:
“O Ijawd, keep ’em high;
“OLawd , keep ’em high!”
And back in the trench the platoon
was hurling dirt over their heads as
dirt never before was scooped up in
shovels, and accompanied by the hum
ming voices, now a little louder and
with a sort of accelerated and staccato
punctuation:
“It’s me. O Lawd; standin’ in th'
need o’ prayer.”
ANOTHER POPULAR SONG.
Another marching song used by the
Camp Greene colored troops to ease
up the muscles in their legs is the
well known “O, Moanaw” chant, which
deals with the mourner.
It requires a leader with a strong
and high pitched voice and such ling
ers are not missing from the ranks of
Camp Greene vocalists.
The leader opens the song by a
shout—“O Moanaw” mourner) and the
great plea comes from the whole com
pany: “Doan stay away.” The lead
er again repeats that strident cry:
“O, blackslider,” and the chorus rolls
over the hills: “Doan stay away.” The
leader usually repeats the same salu
tation several times. His appeal is
to the “moanaw,” the “blackslidaw,”
the “deacon,” and the “elder,” and
the wonderfully blending voices, like
the diapason from the pipes of a great
organ, rolls forth again and again:
“Doan stay away,”
“Lil Liza Jane” is another power
ful harmony they use a good deal. .It
requires an accomplished leader to
make the salutation of the first line
with the chorus landing on the “Lil
Liza Jane,” which is repeated over
and over, and the more times it is
repeated the more eloquent becomes
the spirit of the men.
The leader shrieks it thus:
“Ise got a gal and you got none.”
The chorus roars:
“Lil Liza Jane.”
There is a grand ensemble chorus
that runs as follows:
“O, Liza!'
“O, Liza!
“Lil Liza Jane.”
'BUDDY.”
He may not be versed in letters.
Never spent much time in study.
But to win the fight for freedom
.You may put your trust in “Buddy.”
Here It Is Complete.
The song runs along complete, thus:
“I’se got a gal and you got none—
“Lil Liza Jane.
“House anil lot in Baltimore—
“Lil Liza Jane.
“Lots o’ chillun round mah door—
‘Lil Liza Jane.
‘Th’ bumblebee out for sip—
'Lil Liza Jane.
■‘Takes tlf sweetnin from yo lips—
“Lil Liza Jane.
•‘Come mah love an’ live with me—
“Lil Liza Jane.
“And I’ll take good care o’ thee—
“Lil Liza Jane.
They have another in which they
are going straight to Berlin and they
sure do make somen oise. There are
only two lines to it, the first line be
ing repeated six times and then they
all bear down hard on the last one:
“We’re marching on,
To ,Ger-man-ny!”
Then six times, “It’s Kaiser Bill,”
with the last line so: “We’re goin’ to
kill.”
From “Kaiser Bill” they sort of
modulate over on to an old melody of
the Southland:
“Mother, rock me in the cradle,
Rofti me in the cradle of the deep.”
(By Terrance McManus.)
When you meet a boy in khaki.
Blue-eyed, strong and ruddy.
And you don’t know what his name is,
Just holler, “Hello, Buddy.”
Never mind about convention.
Don’t mind if his shoes are muddy,
For a heart of gold, untarnished.
Beats within the breaist of “Buddy.”
On the shell-swept field of battle.
Mid the carnage, firece and bloody.
Never will he fail or falter.
That is not the creed of “Buddy.”