THE TREMENDOUS ADVENTURES OF MAJOR GAHAGAN Etc. Etc. by William Makepeace Thackeray Contents CHAPTER I: “TRUTH IS STRANGE, STRANGER THAN FICTION” CHAPTER II: ALLYGHUR AND LASWAREE CHAPTER III: A PEEP INTO SPAIN—ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN AND SERVICES OF THE AHMEDNUGGAR IRREGULARS CHAPTER IV: THE INDIAN CAMP—THE SORTIE FROM THE FORT CHAPTER V: THE ISSUE OF MY INTERVIEW WITH MY WIFE CHAPTER VI: FAMINE IN THE GARRISON CHAPTER VII: THE ESCAPE CHAPTER VIII: THE CAPTIVE CHAPTER IX: SURPRISE OF FUTTYGHUR Footnotes: CHAPTER I “Truth is strange, Stranger than fiction.” I think it but right that in making my appearance before the public I should at once acquaint them with my titles and name. My card, as I leave it at the houses of the nobility, my friends, is as follows:— MAJOR GOLIAH O’GRADY GAHAGAN, H.E.I.C.S., _Commanding Battalion of Irregular Horse_, AHMEDNUGGAR. Seeing, I say, this simple visiting ticket, the world will avoid any of those awkward mistakes as to my person, which have been so frequent of late. There has been no end to the blunders regarding this humble title of mine, and the confusion thereby created. When I published my volume of poems, for instance, the _Morning Post_ newspaper remarked “that the Lyrics of the Heart, by Miss Gahagan, may be ranked among the sweetest flowrets of the present spring season.” The _Quarterly Review_, commenting upon my “Observations on the Pons Asinorum” (4to, London, 1836), called me “Doctor Gahagan,” and so on. It was time to put an end to these mistakes, and I have taken the above simple remedy. I was urged to it by a very exalted personage. Dining in August last at the palace of the T-l-r-es at Paris, the lovely young Duch-ss of Orl-ns (who, though she does not speak English, understands it as well as I do), said to me in the softest Teutonic, “Lieber Herr Major, haben sie den Ahmednuggarischen-jager-battalion gelassen?” “Warum denn?” said I, quite astonished at her R—l H—ss’s question. The P-cess then spoke of some trifle from my pen, which was simply signed Goliah Gahagan. There was, unluckily, a dead silence as H.R.H. put this question.