On the morning of the 5th day I landed, for the purpose of reporting my arrival to my commanding officer. After wandering about the station a considerable time, without seeing a single European soldier, at last I met a woman, and I asked her if she would have the goodness to inform me where I could find the commanding officer of the 87th regiment. I found by her manners (I mean ill manners) that she had early paid her devoirs to the shrine of rum. I repeated, "Will you, my good woman, have the goodness to inform me where I can find the 87th regiment?" "What! the old Fogs?"[14] said she. "Fogs!" said I, "no: the 87th regiment, I mean." "Is it making fun of me you are?" I replied, "No, my good woman: I really want to find where the 87th regiment are." "Sure they are just after laving this place, becase they are gone away these three big days." "Gone!" I repeated, "where?" "Fait, to fight against Paul." "Paul!" said I, "who the devil is he?" "Arrah! bad luck to you, is it after mocking Judy Flanagan you are, you tafe?" I again assured the woman that I was in earnest (for she had put herself in a boxing attitude), and informed her that I was an officer of that corps. Here she burst into a loud horse-laugh, slapping her legs with both her hands, "You an officer of the old Fogs! ha, ha, ha! Arrah, none of your blarney, honey." "However you may laugh," said I, "I am an officer of the old Fogs, as you call them, and I am come to join them." "Then," replied she, "you might have saved yourself the trouble, joy; for the divel a one is here, except the quarter-master, and I could not find him this morning; but does your honour really belong to the old Fogaboloughs?" I pledged the honour of an ensign, upon which she stretched forth her brawny paw, and grasped my hand, saying, "Give us your daddle, your honour; sure I am always glad to see any of the old corps here." She gave me positive proof of her attachment to the regiment, by nearly squeezing my hand off, and she was about to confirm the whole with a kiss, but I parried her in this kind intention. She then entered on a eulogium of the regiment. "The divel a better corps within a whole day's march. The regiment is a credit to your honour. Och, thase are the boys for fighting!" Here she pulled up her petticoats nearly to her knees, and commenced capering and humming a tune. I could not help laughing, for she footed it with the skill of a dancing-master. When she had pretty nearly winded herself, she again seized my hand, and asked me for something "to drink his honour's health, and success to the old Fogs." I told her that, if she could inform me if there was any person belonging to the regiment at the station, I might be inclined to give her something to drink. "Thank your honour," said she; "sure, the adjutant, and one Captain Bell, are left behind." "The adjutant here?" answered I, "what--sick or on duty?"