BACK there in Washington, people may stare,

Easy-chair officers sputter and swear,

Bureaucrats legislate—what do we care?

Down in the ranks we don't follow the styles;

Here's health to the General, Nelson A. Miles!

I've been readin' in the papers and I'm feelin' pretty mad

At the shabby sort of treatment that a game old soldier's had.

And the soldier I'm referrin' to, who's so surprisin' game,

Is Miles, Lieutenant General—I guess you've heard the name?

Now, the pointers that a twelve-year duty sergeant hasn't got

On the secrets of the Service, are a quite extensive lot;

But he may make observations, while a-wearin' out his shoes,

Not just in strict accordance with the War Department's views.

I've seen some bits of service of a somewhat stirrin' brand

When the West was callin' lusty for a civilizin' hand,

And, myself, I've had some practice in that missionary work

With the men who did the business, from the buttes to Albuquerq'.

They've sent some stunnin' strategists, so history records,

To show the noble red man how the Nation loves its wards,

And some was politicians, and some was soft of heart,

And some was full of ginger, but couldn't make a start.

But the man who knew his business as the king-bird knows the hawk;

Who started with the rifle and finished with the talk;

Who wouldn't stop for bluffin' when he once got started right,

Was him I'm tellin' you about—you bet he came to fight!

I know he's no West Pointer—I've a notion, what is more,

That it isn't only Pointers who may-know the game of war,

And if he's a little partial to the medals on his chest

He's got a darned good right to be; he earned 'em in the West.

For I've follered him in winter through those blamed Montana snows

When the hills was stiff as granite and the very air was froze,

And seen him ridin' out in front to lead the double-quick

When the lines went into action on the banks of Rosebud Creek.

I've lurched across the Painted Plains, my temples like to burst,

And seen men suckin' out their veins to quench their burnin' thirst,

With the sky a blazin' furnace and the earth a bakin' sea,

And he was there beside us—and was just as dry as we.

Oh, hang these army politics, when jealousy and spite

Can rob a veteran of his praise, his dearest, hard-earned right!

There's just one kind of officer enlisted men can like—

The kind who keeps his bearings when the shots begin to strike.

And that's the kind that Miles has been; he never ducked or flinched;

He was always in the mix-up when the lines of battle clinched;

He's whipped out Rebs and redskins and he's made some Dagos dance,

And he's good for lots more fightin' if he ever gets the chance.

And here's the moral to this talk—I'll ask no price, but thanks:

Miles may not have a stand-in, but he's solid with the ranks!

Back there in Washington, people may stare,

Easy-chair officers sputter and swear,

Bureaucrats legislate—what do we care?

Down in the ranks we don't follow the styles;

Here's a health to the General, Nelson A. Miles!

Original