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Show B HOME FROM THE PHILIPPINES. H By W. A. Croffut. B The New York World of September 14 report- B ed the army transport Kilpatrick arrived from the B PhlliPPmes' 340 officers and men of the United B States Fifth Infantry and twenty-six women on B her deck and 302 soldiers dead under the hatches. B The voyage was a very merry one, for all had B agreed to dismiss sorrow the day they sailed for R home. They stocked up with liquors at Singapore B and Indulged In a "Dutch dinner," which would B not bear repetition. There were two bands. They B had suppers, dances and balls, punctuated with B varied revelry, and the last Thursday night got K Up a masquerade "which surpassed the fondest B expectations of its promoters." B She dipped her flag to the farewell gun H In the shade of the mango trees B And turned her prow to the setting sun H On the swell of the eastern seas, K In the light of the afterglow E Three hundred stalking the deck above B' And three hundred dead below. H "Now let's be merry!" the captain said, H "We laugh at the skipper's curse B The living must live though the dead be dead, B So here's to the floating hearse! B And here's to the dying that huddle in crowds B Where pestilent breezes blovr, H And here's to the ghosts that grin in the shrouds, B And here's to the boys below! Hj "Of course we are sorry for those beneath H No mourners sadder than we B But say what right has the tyrant Death H To stifle the shouts of glee? H Then bring forth beer and the Pommery sec B And the tipple of ancient Crow, B And drink to the fellows awake on deck B And the fellows asleep below T" K They hear the brazen band rejoice Hj As the veterans homeward come B And piccolo's pipe and cornet's voice B And flute and fiddle and drum B They sing of treachery, torture, love, Hj And plunder and raid and woe, H; And a wild shriek comes from the spars above K And a wail from the hold below. "Now form quadrille!" is the merry call; They sway as the prompter bids; ' "Now swing your partners balance all!" Just over the coffin lids. The shrouded listen beneath their feet And whisper "A masquer's snow!" And groans from above the dancers greet And a laugh from the dead below. Mirror. |