I noticed, too, that this good priest spoke ne'er a word about himself,
or his own affairs. He seemed to interest himself in master and in him
only. This I thought was very unselfish and considerate of him. It was
kind of him, too, to keep master and me company at all, for he was still
very weak from his wounds, and a less brave-hearted man would have been
confined to his hammock.
At last we got up steam and departed for the camp at Mohammerah, and not
only our General Sir James Outram, but all our soldier and sailor
companions-in-arms were rejoiced to see us, and hailed us as the heroes
of Akwaz, which we undoubtedly were, despite the fact that we had
suffered but little loss.
But that same day news came which delighted some of us, but grievously
disappointed most.
Peace had been proclaimed, and we were to fight no more. This was
looked upon by our brave soldiers as a downright shame. Just as the
campaign was opening out so hopefully, and there was every prospect that
we would, in course of time, conquer the whole of Persia.
But two of our number were very glad of the news, and these were that
dear, big priest, and my own beloved master.
They went out together at sunset to talk matters over, as they wandered
slowly up and down among the shady date trees. Jock McNab accompanied
them at a little distance, and I trotted quietly between the two.
At last they sat down at a spot which afforded them a beautiful view of
the river.
"War is a terrible thing, my friend," began the priest. "Are you not
glad that peace is concluded?"
"War is, as you say, a terrible thing," replied my soldier-master; "yet
I fear we redcoats like it. You see, we all look forward to honour and
glory. Every private carries a marshal's baton in his knapsack,
figuratively speaking, and yet, for one reason, I am glad this war is
over."
"Ah! I knew," said the priest smiling, "that I should soon reach down
to that which is next your heart."
"How true and good you are!" said Edgar.
"And do you know what I have done?" continued the priest. "What I have
dared to do?"
My master turned quickly round to him.
"You have been to see the General!" he said quickly.
"Indeed I have."
"And you have told him all the story?"
"I have told him almost all."
"And he--"
"He is going to help us."
"Heaven bless you, dear friend, all your life."
Edgar extended his hand, which the priest shook right cordially.
"Now, you know," the priest said, "I had to tell the General that you
were interested indirectly in this affair, and then he at once told me
that you and I could go to Bagdad in the _Comet_, which was going there
on state business. That he would gladly give an asylum and all
assistance to the English lady, Miss Morgan, and to her maid, if she had
one, no matter whether she were English or not. Then he shook hands
with me and told me to go and talk the whole matter over with you."
My master sat thoughtfully looking at the river for a time, then he
turned once more to the priest.
"I can see exactly how the land lies," he said smiling. "How good and
thoughtful of the General."
"Yes, he is our friend."
"His horror," added the priest, "at the villainy displayed by a father,
who would sell his young and beautiful daughter to the Shah against her
will, was plainly discoverable in the manner in which he stamped his
foot, and cried, `Scandalous! Shameful!'"
"And the allusion to the maid--" began Edgar.
"That, you know," said the priest, "is left for you and for me to
interpret, as best we may. Miss Morgan must have a maid, must she not?"
"Certainly. Every English lady must have a maid," said my master,
smiling a happy smile.
"And it wouldn't do, would it, for the English General to be implicated
in the abduction of a Persian noble's daughter?"
"No, certainly not."
"And so you see that--"
"Yes, yes, I see," cried master, laughing right heartily now. "Beebee
must, for the time being, become Miss Morgan's lady's-maid. Ha! ha! ha!
It is droll."
"Yes, it is droll."
But then master's face fell.
"Ah! my dearest friend," he said, "we may, after all, be counting our
chickens before they are hatched."
"Nay, nay, nay," cried the priest. "I have set my heart upon having
this strange adventure end well, and end well it must and shall."
"Unless--"
"I know what you would say, captain. Unless Beebee has already been
taken off. But I do not think this is at all likely. They do not do
things very rapidly in Persia. They are a calm, contemplative kind of
people. But, nevertheless, Beebee is doomed to a fate too horrible to
think of if we do not rescue her."
"Do you think," said Edgar eagerly, "it will be very, _very_ difficult?"
"I do think it will be somewhat difficult. But have heart and hope, my
friend. Let me recall to you a motto that I have heard from your own
lips."
"And that is?"
"`Whate'er a man dares he can do.'"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"And now," said Shireen, "I am going to reserve the last part of my
story till we meet again, for, Cracker, your folks must think you are
lost, and I can see that the cockatoo yonder is standing on one foot and
half asleep."
"Cockie wants to go to bed," cried Uncle Ben's pet, arousing himself,
and lifting his great white, yellow-lined wings as if he would fly.
"As for me," said Cracker, "I'd sit and hear you talk all night, you
bet."
"And so would I," said Warlock.
"The more I see and learn of cats," continued Cracker, "the more I
respects them like, and I don't care a rat's tail what the other dogs
say about me. There's that butcher's rag of a bull-terrier, for
instance, goin' and tellin' the whole village that I'm often seen in
cats' company, and that I'm half a cat myself. Well, I says, says I, I
might be something worse. But, bless you, Shireen, next time I meets
he, I'm going to let him out."
"I wouldn't kill him quite," said Shireen.
"Oh, no. I'll just shake him like. They kind o' dogs can be killed
over and over again, and don't take much hurt. Besides, you know," he
added knowingly, "it will teach the varmint manners."
"I say, you know," said Warlock, "I think the quarrel with the butcher's
cur should be mine."
"Nonsense, Warlock, he would swallow you up."
"All! you don't know how much fight there is in me when I'm fairly
angered. Well, I keep company with Tabby here. We hunt together, don't
we, Tab?"
"That we do."
"And fish together. So just let that butcher's dog come across me."
"Tse, tse, tse!" said the starling, admiringly. The chameleon simply
warmed his other hand before the fire.
I'm not sure, that as far as that goes, Chammy wasn't the wisest in that
group of friends. Catch Chammy fighting! He would take a hundred years
to make up his mind to do it, and then he wouldn't.
"By-the-bye," said Shireen, "though human folk will have it that dogs
and cats don't agree, there is plenty of true stories told by
naturalists to prove that when a dog and a cat, indeed, I might say any
dog and any cat are brought up together, they agree like lambs upon a
lea. They will wander about together just as Warlock and Tabby do. Eat
out of the same dish without quarrelling, and sleep together on the same
mat at night.
"I see," added Shireen, "that master and Uncle Ben haven't quite
finished their game yet, so while we wait I may as well tell you a
little story about cat and dog life. It is mentioned and authenticated
in a book called `Friends in Fur.'" [Same author.]
This story is told of a cat called the "Czar," and a doggie whose name
was "Whiskey." And it is doubly _a propos_ because, like Warlock
yonder, Whiskey was a Scotch terrier, and he lived in a country village
far away in the north of bonnie Scotland. In the same house dwelt the
Czar, a splendid, large, rough-haired cat, who, it was said, had been
imported from Russia--hence his name.
My friend, Harrison Weir, to whom I am indebted for the speaking
illustrations contained in this book, once owned a cat of this breed,
and a very handsome cat it must have been. He speaks of it thus in his
book called "Our Cats," page 30; "The mane, or frill, was very large,
long and dense, and more of a woolly texture, with coarse short hairs
among it, the colour was a dark tabby. The eyes were large and
prominent, of a bright orange, slightly tinted with green; the ears
large by comparison, with small tufts full of long woolly hair; the
limbs stout and short, the tail being very dissimilar as if was short,
very woolly and thickly tipped with hair, the same length from base to
tip, and much resembled in form that of the British will eat. Its
motion was not so agile as that of other cats, nor did it apparently
care for warmth, as it liked being out of doors in the coldest weather.
Another peculiarity being that it seemed to care little in the way of
watching birds for food, neither were its habits like those of the
short-haired cats that were its companions.
"It attached itself to no person, as was the case with some of the
others, but curiously took a particular fancy to one of my short-haired
silver tabbies; the two appeared always together. In front of the fire
they sat side by side. If one left the room the other followed. A down
the garden paths they were still companions; and at night they slept in
the same: box; they drank milk from the same saucer, and fed from the
same plate, and, in fact, only seemed to exist for each other. In all
my experience I never saw a more devoted couple."
No two animals in the world could have loved each other more dearly and
devotedly than did the Czar and his little wise companion, Whiskey.
Whiskey, I need hardly tell you, Cracker, was like Warlock there, the
gamest of the game, but of course he never showed his teeth to the Czar.
They took their meals from the same dish, only Whiskey seemed to have
compacted to have all the bones. They were also constantly together,
all day long, except when Whiskey's duty to his master called him
afield, and at night they shared the selfsame bed; the Czar often taking
Whiskey in his arms because he appeared to be the biggest. I'm not
sure, indeed, that the Czar did not awaken Whiskey when that little
gentleman took the nightmare. Be this as it may, they were, altogether,
as loving as loving could be.
And once or twice a week this kindly couple used to go out hunting
together.
"Just like Warlock and me," said Tabby.
Yes, said Shireen, and they cared nothing for game laws, and took no
heed of the keepers, except to hide or run from them; for this cat and
dog were a law unto themselves apparently.
On their hunting expeditions they used to go out together in the
morning, and after spending all the long day in the woods and wilds,
they invariably came home before dark.
This coming home before nightfall was no doubt a suggestion of
Whiskey's, for a dog can neither see so well in the dark as a cat, nor
can his constitution so easily withstand the clews of night. But the
very fact of the Czar's consenting to keep early hours to please his
Scottish friend, is another proof of how dearly he must have loved him.
And almost every night these sons of Nimrod brought home with them some
trophy from the hunting-ground. Sometimes it was a rabbit, more often a
bird--if the latter, Whiskey generally had the honour of carrying it,
and very proud was he of the distinction; if a small rabbit, the Czar
bore the burden.
And so things went on till one mournful night, when Whiskey returned
later than usual and all alone. He came into the house, but lay down on
the mat near the door, and from that he would not budge an inch. He
refused his porridge and all consolation, and lay there in a nervous and
acutely listening attitude, starting up whenever he heard the slightest
sound outside.
His mistress at last went to bed and left him.
It must have been long past midnight when Whiskey came dashing into his
mistress's bedroom, knocking over a chair in his excitement, and barking
wildly as he rushed hither and thither.
When his mistress got up at last poor little Whiskey preceded her to the
door, barking again and looking anxious and excited.
Outside a pitiful mew was heard, and as soon as the lady opened the door
in rushed the Czar on three legs. He had left one foot in a horrid
trap.
And now nothing could exceed the kindness of the dog towards his wounded
companion and playmate. He threw himself down on the rug beside her,
whining and crying with very grief, and gently licked the bleeding stump
where the cat himself had gnawed it off to save his life.
And every day for weeks did Whiskey apply hot fomentations with his soft
wee tongue to pussy's leg, until at last it was completely healed.
But they had no more romping together in fields and woods, for the
Czar's hunting-days were over--in this world at all events.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Cornered at last," cried Uncle Ben, laughing, as he looked at the
chess-board. "No, you haven't a move. Ho! ho! Well, I've had my
revenge."
"And I," said the Colonel, "shall have mine another evening."
"Right you are. Now, good-bye, Lizzie and Tom. Come, Cracker, old dog,
you go my way, don't you?"
So good-nights were said, and hands were shaken, and off went Uncle Ben
and his cockatoo adown the road towards his bungalow, where his man
Pedro was waiting to place before him his frugal supper.