Every body in Constantinople warned us to be very careful about our passports, see that they were strictly 'en regle', and never to mislay them for a moment: and they told us of numerous instances of Englishmen and others who were delayed days, weeks, and even months, in Sebastopol, on account of trifling informalities in their passports, and for which they were not to blame.

I had lost my passport, and was traveling under my room-mate's, who stayed behind in Constantinople to await our return.

To read the description of him in that passport and then look at me, any man could see that I was no more like him than I am like Hercules.

So I went into the harbor of Sebastopol with fear and trembling--full of a vague, horrible apprehension that I was going to be found out and hanged.

But all that time my true passport had been floating gallantly overhead--and behold it was only our flag.