“‘Monsoon, your Excellency,—Major Monsoon, of the Portuguese brigade.’
“‘The d—d old rogue, I know him!’ Upon my life that’s what he said. ‘Hang him up on the spot,’ pointing with his finger as he spoke; ‘we shall see if this practice cannot be put a stop to.’ And with these words he rode leisurely away, as if he had been merely ordering dinner for a small party.
“When I came up to the place the halberts were fixed, and Gronow, with a company of the Fusiliers, under arms beside them.
“‘Devilish sorry for it, Major,’ said he; ‘It’s confoundedly unpleasant; but can’t be helped. We’ve got orders to see you hanged.’
“Faith, it was just so he said it, tapping his snuff-box as he spoke, and looking carelessly about him. Now, had it not been for the fixed halberts and the provost-marshal, I’d not have believed him; but one glance at them, and another at the bullock-cart with all the holy images, told me at once what had happened.
“‘He only means to frighten me a little? Isn’t that all, Gronow?’ cried I, in a supplicating voice.
“‘Very possibly, Major,’ said he; ‘but I must execute my orders.’
“‘You’ll surely not—’ Before I could finish, up came Dan Mackinnon, cantering smartly.
“‘Going to hang old Monsoon, eh, Gronow? What fun!’
“‘Ain’t it, though,’ said I, half blubbering.