ean,"
said the Major, and glanced up the road where one of the troop
(Bugler Opie) had ridden in pursuit of the yellow horse and now
reappeared leading back the captive by the bridle.

"That's just what I'm saying," agreed Gunner Sobey; "and
you'll do very well if you change hats." He stooped and picked
Tadd-Bonaparte's _tricorne_ out of the dust and brushed it with the
sleeve of his tunic. "Here, let's see how you look in it."
He flipped off the Major's tarpaulin hat, clapped on the substitute,
and fell back admiringly. "The Ogre to the life," he exclaimed; "and
_with_ a wooden leg! Hurroo, boys!"

Before the Major could expostulate a dozen hands had lifted him into
the saddle astride the yellow horse.

"But--but I don't know in the least, my friends, what you intend!
I cannot ride; indeed I cannot!"

"_With_ a wooden leg! The idea!" answered Gunner Sobey, cheerfully.
"Never you mind, but catch hold o' the pommel. We'll see to the
rest."

The riders closed in and walked him forward down the hill, Gunner
Sobey pressing close and supporting him, holding his wooden leg tight
against the saddle-flap. The Major cast a wild look about him and
saw Bugler Opie and another Gallant (Gunner Warboys--he knew all
their names) lifting the half-unconscious Tadd and bearing him
towards the fountain, to revive him. What was happening? Should he
declare himself, here and now?

The company broke into cheers as they set their horses in motion.
Had they indeed recognised him? The procession was assuredly a
triumph, of some sort or another. But what did they intend?

From across the harbour the bells of Troy were ringing madly.

The Major shut his teeth. If this were indeed the town's fashion of
welcoming him, well and good! If it were a mistake--a practical joke
(but why should it be either?)--he had not long to wait for his
revenge. . . .

Let _The Plymouth and Dock Telegraph_ narrate, in its own succinct
language, what followed:

"The Corsican tyrant coming to grief in an attempt to elude the
righteous wrath of his pursuers, another impersonator was
speedily found, with the additional touch of a wooden leg, which
was generally voted to be artistic. This new Boney on being
conveyed down to the water's edge was driven into a boat, his
countenance eliciting laugher by its almost comic display of the
remorse of fallen ambition. A pair of his _soi-disant_
supporters leapt in