Around me, below me, above me,
all--all is peace! I think, as I sit here so lonely, on my country,
England! and muse over the sweet and bitter recollections of my early
days! Let me resume my narrative, at the point where (interrupted by the
authoritative summons of war) I paused on the last occasion.
I left off, I think--(for I am a thousand miles away from proof-sheets
as I write, and, were I not writing the simple TRUTH, must contradict
myself a thousand times in the course of my tale)--I think, I say,
that I left off at that period of my story, when, Holkar being before
Futtyghur, and I in command of that fortress, I had just been compelled
to make away with his messenger; and, dressed in the fallen Indian's
accoutrements, went forth to reconnoitre the force, and, if possible,
to learn the intentions of the enemy. However much my figure might have
resembled that of the Pitan, and, disguised in his armor, might have
deceived the lynx-eyed Mahrattas, into whose camp I was about to plunge,
it was evident that a single glance at my fair face and auburn beard
would have undeceived the dullest blockhead in Holkar's army. Seizing,
then, a bottle of Burgess's walnut catsup, I dyed my face and my hands,
and, with the simple aid of a flask of Warren's jet, I made my hair
and beard as black as ebony.
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