Author: Rudyard Kipling
We've got the cholerer in camp, it's worse than forty fights; We're dyin' in the wilderness the same as Isrulites. It's before us, an' be'ind us, an' we cannot get away, An' the doctor's just reported we've ten more to-day! Oh, strike your camp an' go, the Bugle's callin', The Rains are fallin', The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below. The Band's a-doin' all she knows to cheer us; The Chaplain's gone and prayed to Gawd to 'ear us, To 'ear us, O Lord, for it's a-killin' of us so! Since August, when it started, it's been stickin' to our tail, Though they've 'ad us out by marches an' they've 'ad us back by rail; But it runs as fast as troop trains, and we cannot get away; An' the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day. There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink; It's much too wet for shootin'; we can only march and think; An' at evenin', down the nullahs, we can 'ear the jackals say, "Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!" 'Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin' things, Lieutenants takin' companies an' captains takin' wings, An' Lances actin' Sergeants, eight file to obey, For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day! Our Colonel's white an' twitterly, 'e gets no sleep nor food, But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good. 'E sends us 'eaps o' comforts, all bought from 'is pay, But there aren't much comfort 'andy on ten deaths a day. Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule 'e rides, An' the stuff 'e says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides! With 'is black coat-tails a-bobbin' to Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay! 'E's the proper kind o' padre for ten deaths a day. An' Father Victor 'elps 'im with our Roman Catholicks, He knows an 'eap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin' tricks; An' the two they works together when it comes to play or pray; So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day. We've got the cholerer in camp, we've got it 'ot an' sweet. It ain't no Christmas dinner, but it's 'elped an' we must eat. We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't pay, An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day! Then strike your camp an' go, the Rains are fallin', The Bugle's callin'! The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below! An' them that do not like it they can lump it, An' them that cannot stand it they can jump it; We've got to die somewhere, some way, some'ow, We might as well begin to do it now! Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow, Knock out the pegs an' 'old the corners, so! Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an' stow! Oh, strike, oh, strike your camp an' go! (Gawd 'elp us!)
Type of Poem: Ballad
Date Written:
Date Published:
Language: English
Keywords: Public Domain
Source: Public Domain Collection
Publisher:
Rights/Permissions: Public Domain
Comments/Notes: The poem presents a vivid and visceral portrayal of a military camp grappling with an outbreak of cholera. Its major themes revolve around mortality, resilience, and the harsh realities of war. The tone is a complex blend of grim resignation, dark humor, and a poignant sense of camaraderie.
The structure of the poem is consistent, employing regular rhyme and rhythm to depict the relentless, inevitable progression of the disease. The use of dialect injects a raw authenticity into the voice of the poem, grounding it in a specific cultural and socio-economic context.
One of the standout literary devices employed here is the use of repetition, most notably in the chilling refrain of "ten more to-day," which serves as a stark reminder of the relentless toll the disease is taking on the camp's population. The poem also makes effective use of irony, particularly in the juxtaposition of the roles of the chaplain and Father Victor, whose playful songs and tricks are set against the grim backdrop of the camp's circumstances. This serves to highlight the human spirit and its capacity for humor and camaraderie in the face of grim realities.
Finally, the poem's closing lines lend a sense of urgency and inevitability to the narrative, reinforcing the idea that death is an unavoidable part of their reality. The final plea, "Gawd 'elp us!", underscores the desperation and helplessness experienced by the soldiers, bringing the poem to a poignant and resonant conclusion.
A ballad is a form of verse, often a narrative set to music, that has been a cornerstone of storytelling across various cultures. Traditionally passed down orally, ballads are known for their rhythmic structure and often tell tales of love, adventure, and heroism.
Ballads are characterized by their strong rhythm and repetition, making them both memorable and engaging. Here are some defining features:
From medieval minstrels to contemporary songwriters, ballads have continued to evolve, remaining a beloved form of expression that captures the human experience in a way that is both poetic and accessible.