astonishment when I found--with a rope cutting his naturally wide
mouth almost into his ears--with a dreadful sabre-cut across his
forehead--with his legs tied over his head, and his arms tied
between his legs--my unhappy, my attached friend--Mortimer
Macgillicuddy!

He had been in this position for about three hours--it was the very
position in which I had caused Bobbachy Bahawder to be placed--an
attitude uncomfortable, it is true, but one which renders escape
impossible, unless treason aid the prisoner.

I restored the lieutenant to his natural erect position; I poured
half-a-bottle of whisky down the immensely enlarged orifice of his
mouth; and when he had been released, he informed me of the
circumstances that had taken place.

Fool that I was! idiot!--upon my return to the fort, to have been
anxious about my personal appearance, and to have spent a couple of
hours in removing the artificial blackening from my beard and
complexion, instead of going to examine my prisoner--when his
escape would have been prevented. O foppery, foppery!--it was that
cursed love of personal appearance which had led me to forget my
duty to my general, my country, my monarch, and my own honour!

Thus it was that the escape took place:- My own fellow of the
Irregulars, whom I had summoned to dress me, performed the
operation to my satisfaction, invested me with the elegant uniform
of my corps, and removed the Pitan's disguise, which I had taken
from the back of the prostrate Bobbachy Bahawder. What did the
rogue do next?--Why, he carried back the dress to the Bobbachy--he