John Brown, African, of the Foreign Legion

Now whaffoh, Miss Maggie, you laffin, Kase why, of dat powaful chahm? A white-graveyard-rabbit’s left hind foot Will suttenly keep you from hahm.

Mah friend, Mistah Phelim, can prove it— Ah followed him straight up the hill— He saw how the shells couldn’t hit me— Some magic! in such a big mill!

“But John, you forget the ‘Jack Johnson’ That wounded you there in the back; Perhaps there’s a plenty of magic, A rabbit’s left hind foot may lack.”

The soldiers call large shells “Jack Johnsons.”

Why lawzey, Miss Maggie, me wounded? And me in mah bed, paralyzed!— Ah thought all mah troubles was ovah And wobbled around and capsized.

But only for this little hind foot— It saved me and Phelim O’Toole— That big shell had hustled our shadows To sizzle where wintah’s not cool.

“I wish you would tell me about it;” Chimed in little Maggie McGee, “Strange is it a man of your colour From Boston, and over the sea;

“For why should you leave that great country, Where even the naygurs get rich, A-picking gold off of the mountains, Or cotton and prayties and sich.

“For why did you come to this bad war, Where Kaisers are swimming in blood, And leave your great mansions of marble, To wallow in trenches of mud.”

Why lawzey, Miss Maggie, quoth John Brown, Ah guess Ah most always might have Qu-ossity mo’ than right judgment;— It was not because Ah was brave;

But some of mah friends had war-fevah, And made up a “legion” to fight For France, and they needed a cook, so Ah joined them account of their plight.

And so Ah have followed this ahmy, And fed them and fought for them too, And Ah would be dead like the othahs Except fo’ mah little hoo-doo.

’Twas Sattaday mawnin’, we stahted To chahge like the Germans,—you know, Bunched up in a reg’lah fo’mation— And that worried all of us—so,

Ah said kind of loud, with intention The captain would heah what Ah said, “Why doan’ that man tell us to spread out Befo’ we gets laid out fo’ dead?”

He didn’t pay no least attention— Whaffoh should he listen to me?— We went that-a-way till the captain Got ready a-plenty, says he,

“Spread out and to kuvvah, heads down boys”— He had a good reason by that— Our heads a-most natchally sag down— Ah dodge like a rabbit or cat.

And a-shootin’ away from the hill-top An ahsenal, robbed of its guns, Keeps pumpin’ all kinds of fired bullets, Invented by bahberous Huns.

We stops, and we rush, and again rush, We gets to the top of the hill; The Germans get skeered and bend backwahd; Ah ’spicion they sho’ got their fill.

But chasing them we got surrounded, Machine guns in front and around. And shells in the middle a-bustin’— Ah thought Ah was heavenly bound.

They tole us to lay on our stummicks, To dodge their machinery pills;— You simply cain’t duck them love-tokens, No mo’ than your grocery bills.

And while Ah was huggin’ the ground close, Jack Johnson slid ovah mah back; “O Lawdy,” Ah says to mahself, sir, “Ah’m smashed lak a railroad track.

“Ah guess Ah’m a-earnin’ mah wages, About a whole penny a day, But somehow the future looks gloomy And dahk if Ah keeps dis-a-way.”

“How many days lasted that battle?” Astonished, said Maggie McGee;— “Why just a small po’tion of one day, And that was enough to hold me.”

“And who went with you besides Phelim?” Said Maggie, perhaps with some pride: He answered, “They kept me too busy, But Phelim was close at mah side.”

While Maggie was dreaming of glory, Another nurse came with his food; “Oh lawzey, jes’ whiff at the bacon, Ah tell you it sho’ly am good.

“If Joffrey would listen to mah plan, This wah would not last half a day; Ah’d set out a million of rashahs, All crispy and hot dis-a-way;

“And scattah them out on the trenches— As soon as the Huns got a smell They’d jump from their holes and surrendah— Too glad to escape from their——well,

“That minds me again of mah good luck, Account of mah rabbit-foot chahm; Fo’ why does Ah know it’s the rabbit?— Why heah Ah is cuddled from hahm.”

“But where then is Phelim,” said Maggie, “Ah, tell me for better or worse— ’Tis me that came over from Ireland, In case he might need for a nurse.”

“And do you know Phelim, Miss Maggie? They found him nigh dead on that hill, And toted him, captive to Belgium— Perhaps he is up there still.”

“My Phelim among those blood-robbers? Oh, tell me how may I go there! Thank God for this badge of the Red Cross, A passport that’s good everywhere.”