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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required At dawn the bugle's piercin' call roused troopers for another wretched day, Of curryin' horses, shovelin' manure, drillin', guard duty and gatherin' hay! Another day of bellerin' sergeants and pompous officers that they must obey! This and more for a mere thirteen bucks a month - a private's meager pay. Stumblin' around in dim light they made their bunks and tidied up the bay. Breakfast was the usual stale bread and rancid bacon, much to their dismay! After muster roll they fed and saddled their horses for arduous hours of drill. Fatigue duty was meted out - some hapless lads to fell trees for the mill. Others detailed to police the grounds, some to tote water from Laramie Crick. There was always holes to dig and squads were handed shovels and a pick. At the bugler's call 'To horse!' troopers were sent on perilous missions. Through hail, rain, mud, dust and snow they endured appalin' conditions! They took a bath once a week on Saturday night scrubbin' in a barrel. Recruitin' sergeants failed to mention that a trooper's life would be so sterile! On paydays they'd visit 'soiled doves' at the 'hog ranch' just down the road, Or get soused with booze at the sutler's store, then face the penal code! At days end they mustered for parade as the bugler sounded 'Retreat', And for supper they 'enjoyed' more stale bread and rancid bacon to eat. At last, well-earned rest as 'Taps' resounded as in their bunks they lay. This and more for a mere thirteen bucks a month - a private's meager pay!
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