that the accused had struck him in the face with his fist.
“What have you got to say, Private O’Flannigan?”
“Shure, ’twas one of the boys from Waterford, sorr, I met in the town yonder, and we put away a bit of the shtuff. I would not be denying I was late, but I was not drunk at all. And as for the sergeant, sure ’twas messing me about he was and plaguing me, and I did but push him in the face. Would I be hitting him, and he a little one?”
The colonel glanced at the conduct-sheet in his hand; then he looked up at O’Flannigan.
“Private O’Flannigan, this is your fifth drunk. In addition to that you have struck a non-commissioned officer in the execution of his duty, one of the most serious crimes a soldier can commit. I’m sick of you. You do nothing but give trouble. The next drunk you have I shall endeavour to get you discharged as incorrigible and worthless. As it is, I shall send you up for court-martial. Perhaps they will save me the trouble. March out.”
“Prisoner and escort—right turn—quick
