By this time Lillyman was running like mad from Cluffe's lodgings along Martin's Row to the rescue of Puddock, who, at that moment with his friends and the aid of a long pole, was poking into a little floating tanglement of withered leaves, turf, and rubbish, under the near arch of the bridge, in the belief that he was dealing with the mortal remains of Cluffe. Lillyman overtook Toole at the corner of the street just in time to hear the scamper of the men, at double-quick, running down the sweep of the road to the bridge, and to hear the shouting that arose from the parade-ground by the river bank, from the men within the barrack precincts. Toole joined Lillyman running. 'What the plague's this hubbub and hullo?' he cried. 'Puddock's drowned,' panted Lillyman. 'Puddock! bless us! where?' puffed Toole. 'Hollo! you, Sir--have they heard it--is he _drowned?_' cried Lillyman to the sentry outside the gate. 'Dhrownded? yes, Sir,' replied the man saluting. 'Is help gone?' 'Yes, Sir, Lieutenant Brady, and Sergeant Blakeney, and nine men.' 'Come along,' cried Lillyman to Toole, and they started afresh. They heard the shouting by the river bank, and followed it by the path round the King's House, passing the Phoenix; and old Colonel Stafford, who was gouty, and no runner, standing with a stern and anxious visage at the door, along with old Trumble, Slowe, and Trimmer, and some of the maids and drawers in the rear, all in consternation. 'Bring me the news,' screamed the colonel, as they passed. Lillyman was the better runner. Toole a good deal blown, but full of pluck, was labouring in the rear; Lillyman jumped over the stile, at the river path; and Toole saw an officer who resembled 'poor Puddock,' he thought, a good deal, cross the road, and follow in Lillyman's wake. The doctor crossed the stile next, and made his best gallop in rear of the plump officer, excited by the distant shouting, and full of horrible curiosity and good-nature. Nearly opposite Inchicore they fished up an immense dead pig; and Toole said, to his amazement, he found Puddock crying over it, and calling it 'my brother!' And this little scene added another very popular novelty to the doctor's stock of convivial monologues. Toole, who loved Puddock, hugged him heartily, and when he could get breath, shouted triumphantly after the more advanced party, 'He's found, he's found!' 'Oh, thank Heaven!' cried little Puddock, with upturned eyes; 'but is he really found?' The doctor almost thought that his perils had affected his intellect. 'Is he found--are _you_ found?' cried the doctor, resuming that great shake by both hands, which in his momentary puzzle he had suspended. 'I--a--oh, dear!--I don't quite understand--is he lost? for mercy's sake is Cluffe lost?' implored Puddock. 'Lost in his bed clothes, maybe,' cried Lillyman, who had joined them. 'But he's not--he's _not_ drowned?'