He was removed, and nursed and
petted into convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom
of capturing Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized
their Major, and his reappearance on parade brought about a scene
nowhere provided for in the Army Regulations.
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.
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