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“Now an’ thin Ould Pummeloe, the tears runnin’ down her fat, red face, sez, ‘Me bhoys, me poor, dead, darlin’ bhoys!’ But, for the most, she was thryin’ to put heart into the men an’ kape thim stiddy; and little Jhansi was tellin’ thim all they wud be ‘betther in the mornin’.’ ‘Twas a thrick she’d picked up from hearin’ Ould Pummeloe whin Muttra was burnin’ out wid fever. In the mornin’! ‘Twas the iverlastin’ mornin’ at St. Pether’s Gate was the mornin’ for seven-an’-twenty good men; and twenty more was sick to the death in that bitter, burnin’ sun. But the women worked like angils as I’ve said, an’ the men like divils, till two doctors come down from above, and we was rescued.

“But, just before that, Ould Pummeloe, on her knees over a bhoy in my squad–right-cot man to me he was in the barrick–tellin’ him the worrud av the Church that niver failed a man yet, sez, ‘Hould me up, bhoys! I’m feelin’ bloody sick!’ ‘Twas the sun, not the cholera, did ut. She mis-remembered she was only wearin’ her ould black bonnet, an’ she died wid ‘McKenna, me man,’ houldin’ her up, an’ the bhoys howled whin they buried her.

“That night, a big wind blew, an’ blew, an’ blew, an’ blew the tents flat. But it blew the cholera away an’ niver another case there was all the while we was waitin’–ten days in quarintin’. Av you will belave me, the thrack av the sickness in the camp was for all the wurruld the thrack av a man walkin’ four times in a figur-av-eight through the tents. They say ’tis the Wandherin’ Jew takes the cholera wid him. I believe ut.

“An’ that,” said Mulvaney, illogically, “is the cause why little Jhansi McKenna is fwhat she is. She was brought up by the Quartermaster Sergeant’s wife whin McKenna died, but she b’longs to B Comp’ny; and this tale I’m tellin’ you-wid a proper appreciashin av Jhansi McKenna–I’ve belted into ivry recruity av the Comp’ny as he was drafted. ‘Faith, ’twas me belted Corp’ril Slane into askin’ the girl!”

“Not really?”

“Man, I did! She’s no beauty to look at, but she’s Ould Pummeloe’s daughter, an’ ’tis my juty to provide for her. Just before Slane got his promotion I sez to him, ‘Slane,’ sez I, ‘to-morrow ’twill be insubordinashin av me to chastise you; but, by the sowl av Ould Pummeloe, who is now in glory, av you don’t give me your wurrud to ask Jhansi McKenna at wanst, I’ll peel the flesh off yer bones wid a brass huk to-night, ‘Tis a dishgrace to B Comp’ny she’s been single so long!’ sez I. Was I goin’ to let a three-year-ould preshume to discoorse wid me–my will bein’ set? No! Slane wint an’ asked her. He’s a good bhoy is Slane. Wan av these days he’ll get into the Com’ssariat an’ dhrive a buggy wid his–savin’s. So I provided for Ould Pummeloe’s daughter; an’ now you go along an’ dance agin wid her.”

And I did.

I felt a respect for Miss Jhansi McKenna; and I went to her wedding later on.

Perhaps I will tell you about that one of these days.