Note 1 — Chapter III

A few months back, while on duty at the Tower, one of the warders informed me a most extraordinary lady was anxious to see me, when, to my astonishment, Mrs. Plunket stood before me, and while she held a handkerchief by one hand close to that part where her nose formerly stood, with her other hand she squeezed mine, and in the most plaintive tone told me of poor Tom’s death. It appeared that herself and Plunket, who usually tramped through different parts of the country, and procured a livelihood selling needles and tapes, while passing through a street in Colchester, suddenly staggering a few paces fell down and expired. The death of Tom and the sight of Mrs. Plunket, whose extraordinary countenance excited disgust as well as pity, spread like wildfire through the town, and it came to the ears of several retired officers living in that city, who happened to read my description of him; the result was that a handsome collection was set on foot, and the amount of twenty pounds was collected for the widow. The lady of a colonel also, entirely out of her own pocket, paid for the funeral of poor Tom, with a handsome tombstone to perpetuate his memory. This she told me with many sobs. Thus ended the career of the gallant but unfortunate Plunket.