Shireen and her Friends: Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat

“One evening, while wandering thus, I came upon a little country cottage, and, listening near to the stackyard, I heard the voice of a young girl raised in song coming from one of the outhouses.

“I crept nearer and nearer, and presently came to the door of the byre, where the cows were. The girl’s song was a very simple and a very sweet one; but far more sweet to me was the sound of the purling milk as it fell in rich streams into the pail.

“The temptation to enter was irresistible. But I did not venture too far in.

“‘Oh, what a pretty pussy!’ said the girl.

“Her voice re-assured me, and I began to sing. She tried to get me to come indoors with her, but I was too wild and suspicious for that. Yet I accompanied her as far as the cottage door, and I even peeped in.

“A cheerful fire of wood was burning on the hearth. How pleasant it looked! And near it sat an old man smoking, and two pretty children – a girl and a boy – were playing by the fireside.

“They brought me bread and milk, and I ate it coyly and hungrily. But when they would have taken me up I ran out again, and once more made for the forest and for my cold bed in the tree.

“Next night, however, I returned to the cottage, and was treated with equal kindness; and so for night after night, till the children used to quite expect me. I allowed them to smooth and pat me now, and sometimes I went indoors and sat a little by the fire.

“But one dark and stormy evening some dogs and men discovered my tree. They had traced me by my footprints through the snow.

“It was, however, too late for them to do anything to me that night, but I knew they would come and rout me out when morning broke, so I made up my mind now that the forest was no longer safe for me in winter. That night I left the tree, and wandering away to the cottage, I took shelter in the outhouse above the room where the cows dwelt.

“Next morning I astonished and delighted the children by appearing among them to breakfast. I had captured a huge rat, and, bringing it in with me, I laid it on the hearth to show my prowess. By so doing I quite ingratiated myself with the old man.

“And so it ended by my taking up my abode with these good people.

“When summer came again I used to go roving in the forest, for a very delightful life I found it. Nevertheless, I invariably came home in the evening, and did my best to keep the outhouse clear of rats and the rooms indoors free from the plague of mice.

“I was a great favourite with this humble family, and many people came from afar to see the wonderful wild cat as they called me, who had been tamed by the power of kindness.

“I loved the old man, and used to sit on his knee of an evening, as he sat and smoked his short clay pipe by the fire; and I loved the children too, especially little Alfred, the boy who would never go to bed at night until I was ready to go with him.

“Poor wee fellow, he fell ill at last, and this was the beginning of the end of life in the grand old forest.

“Alfred died, and they took him away to his long home, and I never saw him more. But I used often and often in the bright summer days to go and sit on his little grave and think of him. People said I expected he would one day come again. Nothing of the sort. Cats know what death is, and I felt sure that Alfred would never, never come again.

“I knew these people were very, very poor, because one day, when a lady came to see the wonderful wild cat and took quite a fancy to me and offered my master a long price, he reluctantly agreed to part with me.

“He sat silent for a long time.

“But I could see the tears silently coursing down his cheeks.

“Then he turned to the lady.

“‘Take him, then,’ he said, ‘take him and be good to him. He were my wee lad’s cat like that be dead and gone, but a ten-pun’ note’s an’ awfu’ temptation to poor folks like we, and will get the children many a little comfort for the comin’ winter. Pay the lassie,’ he added, ‘I’ll no touch it.’

“He gave one glance at the fireside, and then went out and stayed away for hours.

“He could not bear to see me leave.”

Chapter Twenty

Hand Met Hand in a Hearty Shake

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!”

Chapter Twenty One

“Have Heart and Hope, my Friend.”

Far away up the river Karoon, my children, lies the city of Akwaz, and it was for this place our three little gunboats, the Comet, the Planet, and the Assyria, now started.

But for the anxiety that I could not help noticing was depicted on my dear master’s face, this expedition would have been altogether as nice as a picnic.

We – my master, the priest, Jock and I – went in the Comet, with one hundred Highlanders.

Our whole force did not amount to much over three hundred men, and yet with this little mite of an army we were going to attack a town, the size and strength of which we were not even sure of.

I, however, felt no fear, because I heard master say that whatever men dare, they can do.

Well, in due time we reached the town, and we landed, attacked and captured it.

Persians are not cowards. They can fight well, and this army of about nine thousand men would, doubtless, soon have destroyed our bold little force, had it not been so arranged as to look like three invading armies.

Then, of course, we had the support of the gunboats, and, as master said, it was but right to give the Persian general his due. He must have thought that our troops were but the advance-guard of General Outram’s whole force. And so he and his army ran away.

“Did much fur fly, Shireen?” asked Cracker.

Not much, said Shireen. You see, Cracker, we didn’t get so near to the enemy as you did to the butcher’s dog that day you saved life, else brave Jock McNab and master would have made plenty of fur fly.

From the river, the town of Akwaz and the broad sheet of water, with its beautiful wooded islands, and the wild and rugged mountains far behind, formed a scene which was lovely in the extreme.

On the evening after the day on which our gallant force had routed the enemy, and captured the town with all their stores, the priest and my master sat long on deck, talking of the past. I sit on the priest’s knee. There was a calm or repose about this man that to me was very delightful, and as he smoothed me while he talked to master, I purred and sang with my eyes half closed.

I was not asleep, however, and I could hear every word they said.

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?”