'Pish! drowned, indeed! unless he's drowned in the crock of hot water he's clapt his legs into.' 'Where is he--where's Cluffe?' 'Hang it!--he's in bed, in his lodging, drinking hot punch this half-hour.' 'But are you certain?' 'Why, I saw him there myself,' answered Lillyman, with an oath. Poor little Puddock actually clasped his hands, looked up, and poured forth a hearty, almost hysterical, thanksgiving; for he had charged Cluffe's death altogether upon his own soul, and his relief was beyond expression. In the meantime, the old gentlemen of the club were in a thrilling suspense, and that not altogether disagreeable state of horror in which men chew the cud of bitter fancy over other men's catastrophes. After about ten minutes in came young Spaight. 'Well,' said the colonel, 'is Cluffe safe or--eh?' 'Cluffe's safe--only half drowned; but poor Puddock's lost.' 'What!' 'Drowned, I'm afraid.' 'Drowned! who says so?' repeated the colonel. 'Cluffe--everybody.' 'Why, there it is!' replied the colonel, with a great oath, breaking through all his customary reserve and stiffness, and flinging his cocked-hat on the middle of the table, piteously, 'A fellow that can't swim a yard _will_ go by way of saving a great--a large gentleman, like Captain Cluffe, from drowning, and he's pulled in himself; and so--bless my soul! what's to be done?' So the colonel broke into a lamentation, and a fury, and a wonder. 'Cluffe and Puddock, the two steadiest officers in the corps! He had a devilish good mind to put Cluffe under arrest--the idiots--Puddock--he was devilish sorry. There wasn't a more honourable'--_et cetera_. In fact, a very angry and pathetic funeral oration, during which, accompanied by Doctor Toole, Lieutenant Puddock, in person, entered; and the colonel stopped short with his eyes and mouth very wide open, and said the colonel very sternly. 'I--I'm glad to see, Sir, you're safe: and--and--I suppose, I shall hear now that _Cluffe's_ drowned?' and he stamped the emphasis on the floor. While all this was going on, some of the soldiers had actually got into Dublin. The tide was in, and the water very high at 'Bloody Bridge.' A hat, near the corner, was whisking round and round, always trying to get under the arch, and always, when on the point, twirled round again into the corner--an image of the 'Flying Dutchman' and hope deferred. A watchman's crozier hooked the giddy thing. It was not a military hat; but they brought it back, and the captive was laid in the guard-room--mentioned by me because we've seen that identical hat before. CHAPTER LI. HOW CHARLES NUTTER'S TEA, PIPE, AND TOBACCO-BOX WERE ALL SET OUT FOR HIM IN THE SMALL PARLOUR AT THE MILLS; AND HOW THAT NIGHT WAS PASSED IN THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD.