ly naval officer. I was ready to receive
the unconscious couple, and soon made my claim good. Of course, the
officer was not to blame. He had bought it of a sailor, who in his
turn had purchased the animal of a messmate, who of course had
obtained it from another, and so on; but eventually it returned to its
old quarters, where it only remained about a fortnight. I grew tired
of looking for Angelina, and had given her up, when one day she turned
up, in capital condition, in the possession of a French officer of
Chasseurs. But nothing I could say to the Frenchman would induce him
to take the view of the matter I wished, but had no right to enforce.
He had bought the horse at Kamiesch, and intended to keep it. We grew
hot at last; and our dispute drew out so large an audience that the
Frenchman took alarm, and tried to make off. I held on to Angelina
for a little while; but at last the mare broke away from me, as Tam o'
Shanter's Maggie did from the witches (I don't mean that she left me
even her tail), and vanished in a cloud of dust. It was the last I
ever saw of Angelina.

More than once the Crimean thievery reduced us to woeful straits. To a
Greek, returning to Constantinople, we entrusted (after the murder of
our washerwoman) two trunks, containing "things for the wash," which
he was to bring back as soon as possible. But neither upon Greek,
trunks, nor their contents did we ever set eyes again. It was a
serious loss. The best part of our table-cloths and other domestic
linen, all my clothes, except two suits, and all of Mr. Day's linen
vanished, and had to be replaced as best we could by fresh purchases
from Kamiesch and Kadikoi.

Perhaps the most ridiculous shift I was ever put to by the Crimean
thieves happened when we rose one morning and found the greater part
of our stud missing. I had, in the course of the day, urgent occasion
to ride over to the French camp on the Tchernaya; the only animal
available for my transport was an old grey mare, who had contracted
some equine disease of which I do not know the name, but which gave
her considerable resemblance to a dog suffering from the mange. Now,
go to the French camp I must; to borrow a horse was impossible, and
something must be done with the grey. Suddenly one of those happy
thoughts, which sometimes help us over our greatest difficulties,
entered into my scheming brains. Could I not conceal the poor mare's
worst blemishes. Her colour was grey; would not a th