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The Daughter Of The Regiment
by
“Five children gone in fourteen months. ‘Twas harrd, wasn’t ut?
“So we wint up to our new station in that blazin’ heat–may the curse av Saint Lawrence conshume the man who gave the ordher! Will I iver forget that move? They gave us two wake thrains to the rigimint; an’ we was eight hundher’ and sivinty strong. There was A, B, C, an’ D Companies in the secon’ thrain, wid twelve women, no orficers’ ladies, an’ thirteen childher. We was to go six hundher’ miles, an’ railways was new in thim days. Whin we had been a night in the belly av the thrain–the men ragin’ in their shirts an’ dhrinkin’ anything they cud find, an’ eatin’ bad fruit-stuff whin they cud, for we cudn’t stop ’em–I was a Corp’ril thin–the cholera bruk out wid the dawnin’ av the day.
“Pray to the Saints, you may niver see cholera in a throop-thrain! ‘Tis like the judgmint av God hittin’ down from the nakid sky! We run into a rest-camp–as ut might have been Ludianny, but not by any means so comfortable. The Orficer Commandin’ sent a telegrapt up the line, three hundher’ mile up, askin’ for help. Faith, we wanted ut, for ivry sowl av the followers ran for the dear life as soon as the thrain stopped; an’ by the time that telegrapt was writ, there wasn’t a naygur in the station exceptin’ the telegrapt-clerk–an’ he only bekaze he was held down to his chair by the scruff av his sneakin’ black neck. Thin the day began wid the noise in the carr’ges, an’ the rattle av the men on the platform fallin’ over, arms an’ all, as they stud for to answer the Comp’ny muster-roll before goin’ over to the camp. ‘Tisn’t for me to say what like the cholera was like. Maybe the Doctor cud ha’ tould, av he hadn’t dropped on to the platform from the door av a carriage where we was takin’ out the dead. He died wid the rest. Some bhoys had died in the night. We tuk out siven, and twenty more was sickenin’ as we tuk thim. The women was huddled up anyways, screamin’ wid fear.
“Sez the Commandin’ Orficer whose name I misremember, ‘Take the women over to that tope av trees yonder. Get thim out av the camp. ‘Tis no place for thim.’
“Ould Pummeloe was sittin’ on her beddin’-rowl, thryin’ to kape little Jhansi quiet. ‘Go off to that tope!’ sez the Orficer. ‘Go out av the men’s way!’
“‘Be damned av I do!’ sez Ould Pummeloe, an’ little Jhansi, squattin’ by her mother’s side, squeaks out, ‘Be damned av I do,’ tu. Thin Ould Pummeloe turns to the women an’ she sez, ‘Are ye goin’ to let the bhoys die while you’re picnickin’, ye sluts?’ sez she. ‘Tis wather they want. Come on an’ help.’
“Wid that, she turns up her sleeves an’ steps out for a well behind the rest-camp–little Jhansi trottin’ behind wid a lotah an’ string, an’ the other women followin’ like lambs, wid horse-buckets and cookin’ pots. Whin all the things was full, Ould Pummeloe marches back into camp–’twas like a battlefield wid all the glory missin’–at the hid av the rigimint av women.
“‘McKenna, me man!’ she sez, wid a voice on her like grand-roun’s challenge, ‘tell the bhoys to be quiet. Ould Pummeloe’s comin’ to look afther thim–wid free dhrinks.’
“Thin we cheered, an’ the cheerin’ in the lines was louder than the noise av the poor divils wid the sickness on thim. But not much.
“You see, we was a new an’ raw rigimint in those days, an’ we cud make neither head nor tail av the sickness; an’ so we was useless. The men was goin’ roun’ an’ about like dumb sheep, waitin’ for the nex’ man to fall over, an’ sayin’ undher their spache, ‘Fwhat is ut? In the name av God, fwhat is ut?’ ‘Twas horrible. But through ut all, up an’ down, an’ down an’ up, wint Ould Pummeloe an’ little Jhansi–all we cud see av the baby, undher a dead man’s helmut wid the chin-strap swingin’ about her little stummick–up an’ down wid the wather an’ fwhat brandy there was.