And so the British soldier had shown that he was the same as the men who had hurled back the flower of Napoleon’s army in the Peninsula. He had vindicated his existence; he stood forth in the simple grandeur of his nature; he had shown his countrymen--nay, all the world--that he was the same calm and superb fighter as of yore, and his countrymen had taken him to their hearts and determined to show him they loved him. So it happened that when the Lancers entered the streets the warm-hearted, impulsive Irish people gave full vent to their feelings. They shouted, they cheered, they forced themselves in amongst the horses, in several instances actually dismounting the Lancers. They shook hands with them, the women even kissing them, they pressed presents upon them, offered them food, drink, tobacco, and so on; and at last all progress was stopped till a large body of police arrived and literally forced a way for the embarrassed soldiers. ‘Good heavens, Will!’ said Jack to his friend when at last they were safely in the railway-station, ‘what an experience! The people seem to have gone mad. I’d almost as soon go through another Balaclava as that.’ ‘I don’t know that I would not rather,’ said Will. ‘I’ve had three buttons torn off my tunic, been nearly cut in half by people hanging on to my sword, and been kissed by a terrible old woman who I should think has lived all her life on whisky, onions, and tobacco!’ When they arrived at Cahir, where they were to be stationed, the town had determined to give the Lancers a right royal welcome. The officers were invited to a banquet and ball by the mayor, the non-coms, and men were fêted and feasted; the townspeople pressed forward to make the acquaintance of the men, and asked them here and there till every one was tired. They soon got to know which of the men had ridden in the famous charge, and every one who wore the clasp with Balaclava on it was certain of a warm and hearty welcome. Things presently began to settle down into the usual home routine, many men went away on furlough, and Jack himself was hoping to get away. He was sent off one day to Queenstown to meet some details from the depôt, returning next day. When on the next morning he passed through the gate he almost burst out laughing as the sentry smartly ‘carried’ his lance and brought his left hand across his body till it touched the lance in salute. ‘Is he mad or has he got a touch of the sun?’ thought Jack. Marching his men to the orderly-room, Jack was crossing the square when he met Sergeant-major Barrymore. Instead of the usual cheery, ‘Good-morning, Jack,’ the regimental passed his whip under his left arm, faced Jack, and saluted him as he would the colonel. ‘I say, Bob, what the dickens is up?’ said Jack. ‘Are you all mad? What does it mean?’ ‘It means, _sir_,’ said Barrymore with a smile, ‘that you were gazetted some days ago to a cornetcy by purchase, and were in orders last night as posted to B Troop.’