Shortly after the great victory of the Dead Marshes, the British Army, under the command of Sir BONAMY BATTLEHORN, took possession of Balmuggur, the capital of the country, known far and wide as the Diamond City of the Ranee. There was a faint show of resistance, but after I had defeated in single combat six picked mollahs of the Royal Guard, the disheartened garrison laid down its arms, and the place surrendered at discretion. We had brought HADJU THÂR MEEBHOY with us, although, in his perforated condition, it was a matter of some difficulty to transport him. Still it would have been barbarous to leave him behind to the tender mercies of the neighbouring peasantry, and we resolved to attempt his conveyance to Balmuggur. Fortunately we succeeded beyond our most sanguine hopes. I was able to render him some slight services on the march, and, after the city had fallen, I paid him daily visits, during which I conceived a sincere and lasting friendship for the gallant fellow whose only fault, after all, had been the notion that he could defeat one who has never yet given way an inch before the hottest attack even of overwhelming numbers. It was quite touching to see his swarthy face brighten into a smile when I entered the room. He looked forward eagerly to my daily visit, and often told me that the simple tales of my courage and daring with which I entertained him were of more use to him than all the ointments and bandages and medicines with which dear old TOBY O'GRADY used to treat his wound. On his side the MEEBHOY, too, was confidential. Many an hour have I spent with him listening to his stories of court plot and palace intrigue in Balmuggur, dark episodes of passion and crime and sudden death.
[Illustration: "I perceived the Ranee's Chamberlain."]
One morning I was sitting as usual by the MEEBHOY'S bedside. I had just related to him my adventure with the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom, as readers of contemporary journals will remember, I had been compelled to chastise for the unpardonable affront of calling me by my Christian name at a public meeting, by kicking him bodily from end to end of the Rotunda, breaking three chandeliers as he spun through the air, and imprinting the shape of his back on the opposite wall, where it may still be observed by the curious. This adventure, and the story of my subsequent escape from the dungeons of the Dublin Mansion House, have rarely failed to extort applause from those to whom I have narrated them. But on this occasion the MEEBHOY was silent and _distrait_. He lay for some time drumming in an absent-minded way with his fingers on the front aluminium door of his wound (the famous operation had by this time been successfully performed), and made no comment whatever on the tale I had related to him. Then suddenly he turned, looked me full in the face, and addressed me. "Harkye, Sirrah," he observed, "your story has interested me strangely; but there is that in my mind which demands an exit. Methinks that they who hold governance here mistake me strangely. Because I am all but corpsed, they think they can neglect this JOHNNY. The Ranee has but once sent a stable-helper to inquire after me. Grammercy, but such treatment is scurvy, and I mean to show the old witch that HADJU THÂR knows what's what, and, by Jingo, he's going to have it all the time. That's so." I have forgotten, I think, to mention that my friend had learnt his English in Seringapatam from such examples as he could lay his hands on in that remote island, and the result was a certain patchiness of style, which did not, however, by any means, interfere with the vigour and fluency of his diction.