Jain 'Ardin' was a Sarjint's wife,
A Sarjint's wife wus she,
She married of 'im in Orldershort
An' comed across the sea.
(_Chorus_)
'Ave you never 'eard tell o' Jain 'Ardin'?
Jain 'Ardin'?
Jain 'Ardin'?
'Ave you never 'eard tell o' Jain 'Ardin'?
The pride o' the Companee?
_Old Barrack Room Ballad._
"A gentleman who doesn't know the Circasian Circle ought not to stand up
for it--puttin' everybody out." That was what Miss McKenna said, and the
Sergeant who was my _vis-à-vis_ looked the same thing. I was afraid of
Miss McKenna. She was six feet high, all yellow freckles and red hair, and
was simply clad in white satin shoes, a pink muslin dress, an apple-green
stuff sash, and black silk gloves, with yellow roses in her hair.
Wherefore I fled from Miss McKenna and sought my friend Private Mulvaney,
who was at the cant--refreshment-table.
"So you've been dancin' with little Jhansi McKenna, sorr--she that's goin'
to marry Corp'ril Slane? Whin you next conversh wid your lorruds an' your
ladies, tell thim you've danced wid little Jhansi. 'Tis a thing to be
proud av."
But I wasn't proud. I was humble. I saw a story in Private Mulvaney's eye;
and besides, if he stayed too long at the bar, he would, I knew, qualify
for more pack-drill. Now to meet an esteemed friend doing pack-drill
outside the guardroom is embarrassing, especially if you happen to be
walking with his Commanding Officer.
"Come on to the parade-ground, Mulvaney, it's cooler there, and tell me
about Miss McKenna. What is she, and who is she, and why is she called
'Jhansi'?"
"D'ye mane to say you've niver heard av Ould Pummeloe's daughter? An' you
thinkin' you know things! I'm wid ye in a minut whin me poipe's lit."
We came out under the stars. Mulvaney sat down on one of the artillery
bridges, and began in the usual way: his pipe between his teeth, his big
hands clasped and dropped between his knees, and his cap well on the back
of his head--
"Whin Mrs. Mulvaney, that is, was Miss Shadd that was, you were a dale
younger than you are now, an' the Army was dif'rint in sev'ril e-senshuls.
Bhoys have no call for to marry nowadays, an' that's why the Army has so
few rale good, honust, swearin', strapagin', tinder-hearted, heavy-futted
wives as ut used to have whin I was a Corp'ril. I was rejuced
aftherward--but no matther--I was a Corp'ril wanst. In thim times, a man
lived _an'_ died wid his regiment; an' by natur', he married whin he was a
_man_. Whin I was Corp'ril--Mother av Hivin, how the rigimint has died an'
been borrun since that day!--my Color-Sar'jint was Ould McKenna--an' a
married man tu. An' his woife--his first woife, for he married three times
did McKenna--was Bridget McKenna, from Portarlington, like mesilf. I've
misremembered fwhat her first name was; but in B Comp'ny we called her
'Ould Pummeloe,' by reason av her figure, which was entirely
cir-cum-fe-renshill. Like the big dhrum! Now that woman--God rock her sowl
to rest in glory!--was for everlastin' havin' childher; an' McKenna, whin
the fifth or sixth come squallin' on to the musther-roll, swore he wud
number thim off in future. But Ould Pummeloe she prayed av him to christen
them after the names av the stations they was borrun in. So there was
Colaba McKenna, an' Muttra McKenna, an' a whole Presidincy av other
McKennas, an' little Jhansi, dancin' over yonder. Whin the childher wasn't
bornin', they was dying; for, av our childher die like sheep in these
days, they died like flies thin, I lost me own little Shadd--but no
matther. 'Tis long ago, and Mrs. Mulvaney niver had another.
"I'm digresshin. Wan divil's hot summer, there come an order from some mad
ijjit, whose name I misremember, for the rigimint to go up-country. Maybe
they wanted to know how the new rail carried throops. They knew! On me
sowl, they knew before they was done! Old Pummeloe had just buried Muttra
McKenna; an', the season bein' onwholesim, only little Jhansi McKenna, who
was four year ould thin, was left on hand.
"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.
"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.