Life — June 20, 1901 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

*LIFE- The Transport Gen’ral Ferguson. HE Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she left the Golden Gate, With a thousand rookies sweatin’ in her hold ; An’ the sergeants drove an’ drilled ‘em, an’ the sun it nearly killed ‘em— Till they learned The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she lay at Honolu’, An’ the rookies went ashore an' roughed the town ; So the sergeants they corralled ‘em, an’ with butt an’ barrel quelled ‘em— An’ they limped aboard an’ set to fryin’ brown. » do whatever they were told. The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she steamed An’ the rookies sweated mornin’, noon an’ night, Till the lookout sighted land an’ they cheered each grain 0” sand— For their blood was boilin’ over for a fight. ard the south, ‘The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she tied up at the dock, ch rookie lugged his gun an’ kit ashore ; it come an’ took ‘em where the tropic sun could ‘em— An’ the sergeants they could talk to them of war. The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she had her bottom scraped, For the first part of her labor it was done ; An’ the rookies chased the Tagals an’ the Tagals they An’ the rookies set an’ sweated in the sun, The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she loafed around awhile, An’ the rookies they were soldier boys by now ; For it don't take long to teach ’em—where the Tagal lead can reach 'em— scaped— All about the which, an’ why, an’ when, an’ how. ‘The Transport Gen'ral With a thousand heavy ¢ ‘They were blue An’ the guson, she headed home again, fins in her hold ; yldered up an’ stencilled, they were numbered an’ pencilled — okies lay inside ’em stiff an’ cold. The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she reached the Golden Gate, An’ the derrick dumped her cargo on the shore ; Ina pyramid they piled it—an’ her manifest they filed it In a pigeon-hole with halfa hundred more. “sie BROVOMT MER SEWING ITO TUE SITTINL-RooM.” THE NATURALIST WHO HAD IDEAS. o “unnn’s MY MEAT, AND NOTHING BUT A CORK WELMET AND AN UMBRELLA TO PROTECT MIMSELP WITH.” The Transport Gen’ral Ferguson, she travels up an’ down, A-haulin’ rookies to an’ from the war ; Outward-bound they sweat in khaki, homeward-bound they come in lead— An’ they wonder what they've got to do it for. The Transport Gen'ral Ferguson, she's owned by Uncle Sam, An’ maybe Uncle n could tell em why ; But he don't—an’ so she takes ‘em out to fight an’ sweat an’ swear An’ brings ’em home for plantin’ when they die. comicbooks.com