ABSTRACT
I know not what has become of the poor women; as yet none of them are on shore. I shall never forget seeing them gather round a sergeant, who had come in from the Light Division; the anxious faces, as they asked if anything had been seen of their husbands—“Is Tim Burke, well, sergeant!” "I hope Miller is not shot, my poor man, you know, sergeant?”—“Was Pat O’Flaherty all right?”— “Is Captain Fyer’s servant well; you know him, sergeant of the rifles; he has red hair, and is pitted with the small-pox?” These and a thousand questions were put in one minute, and all were rejoiced to hear that no one had been killed or wounded. The morality of many of our soldiers [sic] wives may not be what we could wish it, but still there is much hearty feeling, which, if properly directed, might be turned to good account.— Morning Post Correspondent.
