Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane’s
share. The Gunners would have made him drunk
thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the
Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his
coolness, and the local paper called him a hero.
These things did not puff him up. When the Major
offered him money and thanks, the virtuous Corporal
took the one and put aside the other. But he had
a request to make and prefaced it with many a ‘Beg
y’ pardon, Sir.’ Could the Major see
his way to letting the Slane-M’Kenna wedding
be adorned by the presence of four Battery horses
to pull a hired barouche? The Major could, and
so could the Battery. Excessively so. It
was a gorgeous wedding.
* * * *
*
‘Wot did I do it for?’ said Corporal Slane.
’For the ‘orses o’ course.
Jhansi ain’t a beauty to look at, but I wasn’t
goin’ to ’ave a hired turn-out. Jerry
Blazes? If I ’adn’t ‘a’
wanted something, Sim might ha’ blowed Jerry
Blazes’ blooming ’ead into Hirish stew
for aught I’d ‘a’ cared.’
And they hanged Private Simmons—hanged
him as high as Haman in hollow square of the regiment;
and the Colonel said it was Drink; and the Chaplain
was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons fancied it was
both, but he didn’t know, and only hoped his
fate would be a warning to his companions; and half
a dozen ‘intelligent publicists’ wrote
six beautiful leading articles on ‘The Prevalence
of Crime in the Army.’
But not a soul thought of comparing the ‘bloody-minded
Simmons’ to the squawking, gaping schoolgirl
with which this story opens.
To the wake av Tim O’Hara
Came company,
All St. Patrick’s Alley
Was there to see.
Robert
Buchanan.
As the Three Musketeers share their silver, tobacco,
and liquor together, as they protect each other in
barracks or camp, and as they rejoice together over
the joy of one, so do they divide their sorrows.
When Ortheris’s irrepressible tongue has brought
him into cells for a season, or Learoyd has run amok
through his kit and accoutrements, or Mulvaney has
indulged in strong waters, and under their influence
reproved his Commanding Officer, you can see the trouble
in the faces of the untouched two. And the rest
of the regiment know that comment or jest is unsafe.
Generally the three avoid Orderly Room and the Corner
Shop that follows, leaving both to the young bloods
who have not sown their wild oats; but there are occasions—
For instance, Ortheris was sitting on the drawbridge
of the main gate of Fort Amara, with his hands in
his pockets and his pipe, bowl down, in his mouth.
Learoyd was lying at full length on the turf of the
glacis, kicking his heels in the air, and I came round
the corner and asked for Mulvaney.
Ortheris spat into the ditch and shook his head.
‘No good seein’ ’im now,’
said Ortheris; ‘’e’s a bloomin’
camel. Listen.’
