I do not think that Shireen would have been quite happy, had she not
been able to go now and then and see her village friends, especially
perhaps Emily and the blacksmith.
A rough-looking and a rough-voiced sort of a man was Mr Burn-the-wind,
as the villagers called him; but it will be readily enough admitted, I
think, that there is always some good in people whom cats, and dogs, and
children, are fond of. You see, it is like this: we grown-up people are
very apt to judge others by their speech, and by what people say about
them; while the children, and the creatures we are so fond of calling
the lower animals, read one's character often at a glance, or if not, by
one's actions at all events. Well, Mr Burn-the-wind was actually
beloved by dogs and cats, and seldom during the day could you have come
into his shop without finding a crowd of merry children there, with whom
the good fellow laughed and romped, or chased round and round the anvil.
Lizzie and Tom looked in pretty often to see the blacksmith, although
they were what the people called gentlefolks' children, and although
Burn-the-wind did not take the liberty of romping with them, he told
them many a droll story, and sometimes sang them a song.
Then Shireen used to be found there, and if Tom and Lizzie came in and
waited awhile, she went trotting home with them, and sometimes they met
Cracker, and so they all came back together.
Tom admired Burn-the-wind very much, and sometimes insisted upon being
taken up on his sturdy shoulders, that he might catch hold of the
bellows handle and blow the fire. And how he used to laugh, to be sure,
when the coals got red and hot sparks flew!
"What are you going to be when you grow up?" said Burn-the-wind one day
to Tom.
"I haven't twite (quite) made up my mind yet," replied Tom manfully,
"but I will either be a great general, and cut off lots of heads, or a
blacksmith, and soo (shoe) horses."
Tom thought it grand fun to see a horse being shod, and wondered at the
animal's patience in holding up foot after foot, while Shireen sat by
and sang.
The snow was on the ground one afternoon when Lizzie and Tom, rosy and
healthy-looking after a long walk, dropped in on their way home.
Warlock and Tabby were with them, and Vee-Vee also.
"Is Shireen here, Mister Blacksmith?" said Tom.
"Ay, that she is, my lad. Been singing to me, and I was singing to her.
Oh, we're fine friends, I assure you."
So all waited with Burn-the-wind for some time and then all went home
together, after bidding the village smith a kindly good-night.
Uncle Ben was just coming out of his gate as they passed, with Cockie on
his shoulder, and the bird screamed with delight when she saw the party.
"Oh, Uncle Ben," cried Lizzie, "you're coming to the Castle, aren't
you?"
"Yes, my dear, that's where old Ben is bent upon going for a game of
chess and a long clay pipe."
The little party were all assembled to-night around the low fire, which
was burning and spluttering away most cheerfully. Even Chammy was
squatting on a branch of his tree by the ingle-nook, holding up first
one hand and then another to the welcome blaze.
"Shall I begin just where I left off, Cracker?" said Shireen.
"Oh, do!" cried Cracker. "I want to hear about more fur flying, you
bet."
Well, then, said Shireen, we left a sufficiently large army to guard the
entrenched camp at Bushire, and went on with quite a small, and very
daring fleet, to attack the large army of the Shah, in the town of
Mohammerah.
I felt somewhat sad after we had reached the fortified town we were
going to attack, to find that I was not to be taken on shore, and so you
see, Cracker, I can give no personal narrative of the battle, because I
was not in the thick of it, and didn't actually see the fur flying.
But all I saw on the morning of the twentieth of March impressed me very
much. Where do you think I went for safety, Warlock?
"Into your master's bed, perhaps."
No, Warlock, but right up into the maintop crosstrees, where I could be
as far as possible away from our own ship's guns. I had no fear of the
enemy's guns.
I had gone up there very early and at daybreak heard much heavy firing,
for a raft had been placed quite close to the walls of a fort, with
mortars on it. Then soon after all our ships began to batter the walls
of the fortified town, and they got as near as possible in order to do
this. But mind you, Cracker, the Persians weren't slow at returning the
fire, and some of their round shot crashed into our ship, and made her
tremble from stem to stern.
"That means from head to tail, doesn't it, Shireen?"
Yes, Cracker. One great shot came tearing quite close past me, but I
took no heed. Indeed, despite the roar of battle that was going on on
all sides of me, I couldn't help thinking about my mistress. Everything
beautiful always made me think of Beebee. And it was a lovely sight I
saw.
"The battle?" said Cracker.
Well no, not so much that perhaps, but the morning was bright and clear,
every puff of white smoke, with its tongue of fire, made me jump a
little, but the smoke itself was borne quickly to leeward on the wings
of a cool breeze. Then on shore were the low wicked-looking forts, and
the greenery of trees, and the Persian horsemen in splendid uniform
dashing hither and thither, and the ships themselves, with the loosely
hanging canvas and their flags, on the river, glittering in the rays of
the spring sunshine. All was beautiful.
Then further on in the day began the disembarkation, and I saw my dear
master among his hilted warriors going on shore, and my heart sank with
fear, as I thought he might be shot.
I even began to descend the rigging to go with him, but then I thought I
could be of no use, and so remained.
All the while the troops were leaving, the battle of great guns raged on
between ships and shore, and I was dreadfully alarmed once at a fearful
explosion that took place on shore, for the enemy's magazine blew up,
and masses of masonry and timber, and mangled human beings were thrown
straight into the air amidst sheets of flame and rolling clouds of
smoke.
Well, Cracker, I did not see my dear master again for three or four
days, and very anxious I was; but I had heard that the British arms had
been everywhere successful, and that the town and all the forts were in
our possession. The army of the Shah had fled far away.
When my master came back at last, and honest Jock McNab with him, how
loudly I sang as I ran to meet them! It was one of the happiest days in
my life.
But a strange adventure now gave hope and happiness to my dear master
once more.
One beautiful afternoon there he was, walking on the ramparts of one of
the half-ruined ports of Mohammerah, in company with Jock McNab, his
faithful Scottish servant. To-day, all being safe, I myself was
permitted to come on shore with them, and I was seated on Jock's
shoulder. After gazing for a short time down into the silver, silent
river--his thoughts, I felt, were very faraway--the surgeon of the ship
came round.
"Ah! Edgar," he said, "have you seen the ruins of the exploded magazine
yet?"
"No, my friend. Is it worth beholding?"
"Well, yes, if you are not too nervous. But a sight so ghastly and
awful I have never yet clapped eyes upon."
"I'll go," said master. "Mac, just wait here for me a few minutes."
Jock saluted, and seating himself on a block of masonry, look me off my
perch and began to play with me.
While so engaged, a footstep fell upon our ears, and we both looked up.
Before us stood a tall and handsome dark-bearded man, in a semi-clerical
garb, which, however, was sadly soiled with mud and blood, and very much
torn in several places. The man was in the prime of life, but the
paleness of his face contrasted strangely with the depth of colour in
his beard. No wonder he looked wan and weary, for his left arm was in a
sling, and there was a wound across one temple, which seemed to have
been received but recently.
"Man!" said Jock, rising from his seat, "you've got a sad cloot (knock)
there. I hope you felled the chiel that dang you."
"He isn't alive to-day," said the stranger, smiling sadly.
"I have just come from Akwaz," he continued. "Mine has been a
remarkable escape. I am safe now, however, and would seek the
assistance of your General Outram. I am told he is both brave and
gallant."
"Well, sir," said Jock, "I can answer for it, he is baith. Just let him
in front of the foe, and a braver man never swung a claymore, so early
in the morning; but place him alongside laddies and bairnies, and he is
the kindest, mildest lad that ever lived."
"I am glad to hear so good a character of your great General, but an
English lady is in great distress at Bagdad. I thought it possible he
might help me. With one hundred men, if they could but be spared, I
would take in hand to secure her release."
"Pussy, pussy," cried Jock, in some alarm, for I had been wistfully
gazing at the new arrival since he began to speak, and now sprang
lightly from the soldier's shoulder on to his, and began to sing, and
rub my head against his ear.
"Can it be possible?" cried the stranger, taking me down and looking at
my mouth. "Ruby and all," he added, as if speaking to himself.
You see, Warlock, that I had known the stranger at a glance. He was the
good, kind priest who had nursed my master back to health, when wounded
by the bandits in the wild forest.
"Soldier," he said excitedly, "this is Shireen."
"She's nobody else," said Jock. "But wha in a' the warl' are ye, that
seems so weel acquaint wi' the dear auld cat?"
But now the stranger had seen my master and the surgeon returning, and
hurried off to meet them, I still retaining my place in the priest's
arms.
The recognition had been mutual and simultaneous.
"This is indeed a happy meeting," both exclaimed.
Then hand met hand in a hearty shake.
"But you are wounded, my friend. Come, let our good surgeon attend to
you at once."
The priest was led to the doctor's tent, and master would not let him
speak until he had quaffed some refreshment, and had the ugly wound in
the forehead attended to.
"And now I must speak to you at once, and alone," said master's friend.
"I am rejoiced to meet you, and I hope it will all end well. But Beebee
and Miss Morgan--"
"Yes, yes. Speak! Tell me the worst."
"They have both been removed, under an escort, from her father's palace,
and are prisoners near Bagdad."
"In a prison! Good heavens!"
"No, friend, no. Not in a prison. Their home is a beautiful villa on
the outskirts of Bagdad. Their gaolers are women and eunuchs."
"And the father?"
"It is the father who has done this, and at the conclusion of the war,
or it may be before it, Beebee will be removed to the Shah's palace, and
Miss Morgan will be made a slave, if no worse fate befall her. I have
escaped and come to tell the tale. It seems to me providential that I
have found you."
"It would appear so; but I am indeed in great distress of mind. We
cannot, I know, spare a man, for an expedition is just on the eve of
starting up the river Karoon to Akwaz. The enemy are falling back in
force on that town, and the General wishes to be beforehand with him."
The priest-surgeon put his hand on my master's shoulder.
"Do not be afraid," he said, pointing with a finger skywards. "There is
One who rules all things for good. Trust Him. Be patient. All will
yet be well."
"Pray Heaven your words may soon come true!"