Kitabı oku: «Shireen and her Friends: Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat», sayfa 12
Chapter Twenty Three
En Voyage for Bagdad
Winter had passed and gone. It had fled far away to Norland hills, and spring reigned in its stead.
Sweet-voiced, hopeful spring! Spring, that is always so full of love and joy. Spring, with the balmy wind that whispers softly through the woods and groves, mingling its voice with the purling song of the brooklet and rill, sighing over fields of waving corn, and wooing the odours from a thousand wild flowers. Spring, with its chorus of joy-birds, whose melodies ring out from every woodland, every thicket and grove, till all the green earth seems to lift up its voice in a chorus of gladness and mirth. Sweet-voiced, hopeful spring, the poet’s one season of all the seasons of the year.
The old castle lawn was beautiful again, green with verdure and starred over with daisies, and out there now Lizzie and Tom were able to play and gambol once more, where Uncle Ben, with his cockatoo, and the Colonel used to sit there in their good straw chairs, smoke their pipes, and talk together of the days of auld lang syne.
Out on this lawn on one particularly blue skied sunny afternoon, Shireen and her friends were assembled, Warlock looking as wise as ever, Vee-Vee as gentle and loving, and Cracker, with his droll, rough, kindly face, all willing to please.
“Shireen,” said Cracker, “we haven’t heard you speak for a long time.”
Shireen paused in the middle of the operation of face-washing and sat on her mat for a moment or two, with her paw raised thoughtfully in front of her.
“You see,” she said at last, “it takes some time for grief like what I suffered for poor Emily to die away. Oh, mine isn’t gone even yet, and somehow I feel older since they took and buried my girl friend. But this is not going to prevent me from concluding my story, and I’m sure I ought to be glad to see you all around me on this lovely afternoon, and to know that we are all alive and well.”
“Let me see, where did I leave off in my story about my master and Beebee?”
“Oh, I remember,” cried Warlock. “You and your master were about to start on a long journey up the great river to a town called – what was it called though?”
“Bagdad!” cried Shireen. “I have it all now. Yes, and the kind good-natured priest was going with us.”
Well, my children, Bagdad, you know, is far away to the north, and high up the winding Tigris. Oh, that river does wind to be sure, in and out, out and in, and sometimes it really flows north when it might be saving time by keeping on towards the sunny south, or the golden east. But I dare say, after all, the river knows best, and is in no great hurry to leave this lovely land.
Not all lovely is it, though, for even at the places where the river winds the most, the banks are low and wide, stretching afar on each side, and bounded by rising hills, with here and there a tuft of palm trees.
But at other places the river goes hurrying on rapidly, as in terror and dread of the very wildness of the scenery, tall beetling cliffs, impassable jungles and bare-scalped rocks, rising brown above the greenery of storm-rent woods and forests. This is the home of many a strange and beautiful bird, the resort of many a savage beast.
“Grand opening for sport, Shireen,” said Cracker.
“Ah, Cracker, you are strong and big and brave, and your teeth are like daggers of ivory, but short indeed would your existence be if you attempted sport in this lovely wilderness. There are beasts herein, Cracker, one touch from the paws of which would end all your joys and troubles as well.”
“I’m not going there then, Shireen. Yorkshire or Scotland is good enough for me, and I’d as soon tackle a Bingley badger as a Bagdad tiger, you bet.”
On and on went our little vessel, Chammy, up the waters of the broad, deep river.
“How happy I should be to-day,” I heard my master remark to the priest, “if it were not for this ever-abiding anxiety.”
He put one hand upon his heart as he spoke.
“We must trust to Providence and do our best,” replied the priest with a smile. “You are not giving way to despair, are you, my friend?”
“No, my best of friends. But I cannot help feeling within me a strange comminglement of hope and doubt, of joy and fear. Oh, Antonio, if anything happens to that dear child, I shall not want to live one single hour longer. I should – ”
“Hush! hush! mon ami, I feel certain it will all come right.”
My master grasped his hand.
“How much I admire your repose, your calmness, and your perfect trust in Providence.”
Most of the officers had now congregated round the bows, one or two only being on the little bridge, for we were within but a few miles of the strange quaint city of Bagdad. But what a lovely picture the river and its banks now made! Here was many a beautiful house and charming villa, in whose gardens or lawns lovely children were playing. There were flowers everywhere, and everywhere were orchards all in bloom, pink, crimson, and snow-white.
The river was very rapid here indeed, so our progress was slow; but except my master, no one on board I believe would have cared to have it any quicker.
He was standing astern, near the wheel, gazing dreamily into the water, when the priest advancing, led him aside. Then he pointed to a strange-looking building on a low hill, surrounded by waving woods. It seemed partly a villa and partly a fort.
“They are there!” said the priest. “Miss Morgan and her maid.”
I could see the colour come and go on my dear master’s face, and really felt sorry for him at that moment.
“Pray Heaven,” he said, “we are not too late, Antonio.”
“Better now,” said Antonio, “leave all to me. This is a matter of life and death. If I keep calm and cool my head will be clear and I shall succeed. If I lose my presence of mind for one moment, Miss Morgan and her maid may – ”
“What?”
“Die.”
“Antonio!” said my master, “I leave all to you. I trust you thoroughly.”
Our little steamboat was now rapidly getting near to Bagdad, the city of Kaliphs, and all at once we rounded a bank, and there burst upon our gaze a scene which is as impressive as any, my children, I have ever witnessed.
Perhaps our sudden appearance caused as much astonishment to the people of Bagdad as their strange city caused to us. For very quickly, before indeed we had thought of casting anchor, boats began to crowd shyly round us; boats strange in shape, boats laden with strange passengers and gaily-dressed Turkish men and women, whose veils scarce concealed their beauty, boats flitting hither and thither on trade or pleasure bent, and high up the stream a wonderful bridge built of boats.
The city itself, along the side of the river, seemed a city of palaces, of domes and minarets, of cupolas and towers. There was beauty and brightness everywhere, and the tall waving palm trees, that shot upwards their green-fringed tops against the blue sky and fleecy clouds, lent to the whole scene additional charm.
But anchor was let go at last, right in front of the charmingly-kept gardens of the British Consul, and master, with Antonio and other officers, went on shore to visit him.
That night the Consul himself came off to our little ship, and master confided to him – for he was a kindly man – the whole story of Beebee, and sought his advice.
This was willingly given.
“It seems strange, however,” said Mr Wilson, the consul, “that she should have been sent to Bagdad.”
“This was no doubt for safety,” said Antonio, “although the visit was said to have been recommended by the Persian doctor for health’s sake, and she is as strictly guarded here as she would be in her own country.”
“Well,” said Mr Wilson, “any assistance that is in my power to give you, you may depend upon. Meanwhile, I think that your plan of getting Miss Morgan and her maid away by stealth affords the best chance for the safety and perhaps the lives of both.”
Two days after this all was arranged, and Antonio, dressed as a travelling merchant of Persia, and accompanied by myself, dropped down stream in a hired boat.
But little did I know then the important part I was to play in the delivery of my poor mistress from the fate that threatened her.
Chapter Twenty Four
“Remember, it is for Freedom, and for Life itself.”
“Oh! Miss Morgan,” cried Beebee. “How is this all to end?”
My mistress was sitting on the balcony of the room when she made this remark, and Miss Morgan, her English governess, was by her side.
The window overlooked the orchards, that went sweeping down towards the banks of the swift-flowing Tigris; and on the far horizon, high above a cloudland of trees, rose here and there the painted cupolas and gilded minarets of the great city of Bagdad itself.
“I hardly know yet, my dear child, how it will end. I have prayed, Beebee, prayed long and earnestly, and I have hope, and for some reason or another which I cannot explain, I associate the passing of that British steamer with our deliverance.”
“And I, too, have prayed to the Christian God; but somehow he gives me not the hope that He seems to give to you. Suppose,” she added, “we could escape to Bagdad, and reach your British ship, would she give us shelter?”
“As a last resort I may counsel this, Beebee, mine; but, ah! think of the risk. The chance of discovery is very great, and you know what discovery means.”
“Yes,” sighed Beebee, “it means, to me at all events, death, and a bed beneath yon dark flowing river. And yet I feel I should like to take the risk, dear teacher. In a few days, at most, we shall be sent back to our own home, for the peace has come. Then, oh, dear Miss Morgan, it will be too late.”
“See how lovely the sunset is,” she added, with a sigh, “and listen, teacher, to the song of those happy birds. Ah! every creature is happy that is free. I – I – oh, teacher, I am the veriest slave!”
Poor Beebee leant her head on the shoulder of her companion, and burst into tears.
It was at this very moment, my children, that I, led by some unerring instinct that I cannot even describe to you, crept through the orchard and leapt upon the balcony with a joyful cry.
Antonio had brought me within two hundred yards of the house.
“Your mistress is not far off, Shireen,” he said; “go, seek her.”
I had sought her. I had found her. Oh, happy hour; but for a time neither she nor Miss Morgan knew me.
Beebee looked up when I came in, her face still streaming with tears.
I sang aloud, and rubbed my head and back against her; and at last a light seemed suddenly to dawn upon her. She stared at me for a moment almost in fright, and superstitiously. Then gradually a smile crept around her lips and eyes.
“Oh, teacher!” she cried. “Can it be possible? Take her up, quick, and look for the ruby.”
“Yes, yes, I am right,” she added quickly, as Miss Morgan exposed my gum for a moment, and showed the gem set fast in my tooth. “Oh, I was sure of it!”
And then I was held fast to Beebee’s beating heart.
Miss Morgan was looking strangely puzzled. She was thinking.
“I cannot understand,” she said, at last. “What can it possibly mean, Beebee? And how could Shireen have come here?”
“You cannot understand,” cried Beebee gladly. “Oh, but I do. They tell us love is blind. It is false. For I can see; I can see it all. My prince is near at hand, and soon he will come. He is, indeed, he must be in that very ship that passed on up the river to Bagdad.”
Miss Morgan’s eyes now began to gladden with joy.
“What you say must be true,” she said. “And deliverance is at hand. We have but to wait.”
I felt happier now than ever I had done in my life before. Night fell soon; and I retired with my dear mistress into the luxuriously-furnished apartment, just as slaves began to light the lamps.
They took no notice of the strange pussy.
By-and-bye, the tall, black, fierce-eyed eunuch himself came in, with boys bearing refreshments. But even he did not know me. He had not Beebee’s eyes of love.
Beebee talked to him to-night pleasantly too. She even teased him a little, as she used to do when more of a child.
He looked pleased, happy even. He seemed to love his mistress; and yet, this man, at the bidding of his master, Beebee’s father, would have thrust her shrieking into a sack, and cast her into the Tigris, whose dark waters close, every month, over many a lovely female form, doomed to death by their heartless husbands.
“How long now,” she asked the eunuch, “before we return to our own lovely Persian home? Oh, I am sick of Bagdad.”
“But two, three days, then I have the order.”
“Ah!” he added, “my little bird-mistress will rejoice when at last the Shah sends for her!”
Beebee clapped her little hands.
“Indeed, indeed, I shall be joyful,” she said, “when the day of my deliverance comes.”
I slept that night in Beebee’s apartment; but the whole of next forenoon wore away and nothing unusual occurred, and I began to notice that sadness was once more stealing over the face of my young mistress.
But when it was once more close upon sunset, the eunuch glided silently up to the window of the balcony, on which Beebee sat, with Miss Morgan and me.
“Would the ladies be amused?” he asked. “A Persian merchant, with a box of jewellery and many fine things, would like to spread his wares at their feet?”
A quick glance passed betwixt Miss Morgan and Beebee, and the latter smiled and nodded assent.
In a few minutes more, Antonio, the priest, prostrated himself on the mosaic, before the now veiled ladies; but was told he might arise and show his wares.
He lost no time in doing so, and Beebee lifted up her hands and laughed with delight. For here were gems and jewels, rich and rare; dresses of every description, and toys of curious workmanship.
“Oh, Jazr!” she cried to the eunuch. “You have been always so good and kind to me, and I may not again have such an opportunity of presenting you with a gift. Wear, for my sake, Jazr, this chain of gold, and think of me when I am far away, as I soon shall be, you know.”
The eunuch was profuse in his thanks.
“And now,” added Beebee, “go, good Jazr, and bring me my two favourite female slaves. You have to-day made Beebee happy, and she will show her joy by giving them also gifts of value.”
Next moment Jazr was gone.
Though he was not absent from the room a minute, for he had but to go a little way along the passage and clap his hands, there was time for a few words to pass between Beebee and Antonio.
“You know me?” he said in English.
“Yes, yes,” in a quick whisper.
“Buy this gold watch as a gift for Miss Morgan, and open it when alone. Buy, also, this large parcel of silk. It contains all you will require to insure your safety.”
In half an hour more, Antonio, the Persian merchant, was gone, and the whole house and garden had resumed their usual quiet.
Hours passed away. Then over all the country fell the silence of the night, scarce broken even by the song of birds in the orchards and groves.
The window of Beebee’s sleeping apartment was fully thirty feet above ground; but it overlooked a wild piece of jungle or woody thicket, into which, if anyone could drop, he or she would be beyond the walls of this prison villa, and presumably free.
Oh, children, continued Shireen, after a brief pause. I am very old now, but were I to live as long again, I should not forget the anxiety and terror of the hour that succeeded midnight.
In Beebee’s apartment slept two girl slaves, and on a mat outside the door, the red-eyed eunuch, Jazr, himself. There was a dim light in the room, that came from a little taper floating in a glass of oil. That was all; and it just served to render things dimly visible.
Quick though my hearing was, I heard no footstep when Miss Morgan stood beside Beebee’s couch, and lightly touched her shoulder. She was dressed in a long dark cloak of some kind, the hood of which was over her head.
One finger was on her lip, as if to counsel silence and caution. But there was no need of this, for Beebee had been awake for some time, and knew now that the hour of action had come.
She got up at once, but slowly, cautiously.
My heart beat high with dread at that moment, for there was the sound of talking outside the door. Miss Morgan held up a finger, and both girls paused, waited and listened.
It had been but the eunuch talking in his sleep, for he soon resumed his heavy breathing, and as far as he was concerned, all seemed safe for the time being. Miss Morgan now stepped across to the place where the two little slave-maids lay, and bent for a moment over them. Both were sleeping soundly, and she drew a breath of relief.
Then she went directly to the window, followed by Beebee and myself. It was an open jalousie, and to a hook in the wall I noticed that a thin ladder of silken ropes had been attached and flung over.
This was the most trying moment.
By the taper’s pale glimmer I noticed that my dear young mistress was white with fear.
Miss Morgan now took me on her shoulder, and next moment swung herself over the window-sill, descending, it appeared to me, to certain death in the awful darkness.
When her head was level with the sill, she beckoned to Beebee.
“When I give the signal,” she whispered, “hesitate not a moment, but speed downwards. Remember, it is for freedom, and for life itself; and, Beebee, for your prince.”
How brave Miss Morgan was!
In two minutes’ time, though it seemed to me it was an hour, we had reached the ground. Then Miss Morgan held fast the end of the silken ladder, and gave the signal.
There was no response!
What a fearful moment that was! Surely my mistress had fainted, or had the slaves awakened and held her?
I glanced upwards. Oh, joy! Against the dim, grey light above the trees, and against our prison wall, something dark was visible. And descending too.
It must be; it was, Beebee.
But see; she is still ten feet at least above the ground, when from the window, high above, comes a piercing shriek.
The slaves have awakened and given the alarm.
Beebee has paused in her descent. She is petrified with fear.
Next moment she lets go her hold and falls.
Ah! but inanimate though she be, for she has fainted, she is safe. Strong arms have caught her; and next moment, while the great bell of our prison villa clangs forth from the turret its iron notes of alarm, we dash into the deepest, darkest part of the wood, guided by Antonio, the priest, who is carrying Beebee, and in a few minutes more are close by the river’s brink.
Clang – clang – clang, goes the dreadful bell!
There is not a moment to lose. Lights are already springing up here and there, by the side of the dark stream. A boat is now liable to be intercepted or even fired upon.
Antonio steps lightly into the skiff. Miss Morgan – I still clinging to her shoulder – quickly follows, and takes Beebee, still insensible, from his arms.
One light push, one touch of the oars, and we are off and away into mid-stream, and soon speeding down the dark river to freedom and to safety.
I think that even Cracker himself drew his breath more freely now that Shireen had reached this part of the story. There could not be much more of it. Only they all wanted to hear the very, very end. So they waited in silence.
The forest would have been searched, said Shireen, everywhere; and everywhere next day, boats would dart up and down the river. But all too late, for we were all safe and sound on board that little British boat, and gaily steaming down the river.
A few weeks after this we reached Bombay, and here, once more, I had to part with Beebee, my mistress; for the terrible Indian Mutiny had broken out, and I and my master had to stay with our regiment; while Miss Morgan and her pupil, with the dear, good priest, Antonio, sailed homewards round the Cape.
Heigho! sighed Shireen. That was a terrible war, and it would take me weeks and weeks to tell you of all I heard and saw. And it was all very, very sad, too.
But dear master gained what he called honour and glory; though for the life of me, my children, I never could see where that came in, or what it meant, but it is something that soldiers and sailors greatly love, and often sigh for.
The longest time has an end, Warlock, and when the horrors of the mutiny were all things of the past, and the sun of peace shedding once more its soft rays over beautiful India, master and I found ourselves sailing back to Merrie England.
Yes, Tabby, we sailed in the dear old corvette Hydra, and Tom was there – Tom Brandy. Need I say that I was happy?
The first place that master started for, when the ship reached English shores, was his aunt’s pretty home in Yorkshire.
Almost the first words he said, when his good old auntie sailed smiling into the room, were, —
“Well, my dear aunt, I am so pleased to get back alive and well; but tell me, how is the blackamoor?”
“Oh, your blackamoor,” cried his aunt, laughing. “She is not far away, nor Miss Morgan either; and she is the dearest, sweetest child on earth. Here she comes!”
Yes, there she came. And never had I seen her look more lovely, more gentle, and good.
Children! a marriage took place sometime after this, and Beebee became the wife of Colonel Edgar Clarkson.
“What!” cried Warlock. “Our master that is now?”
“Yes,” said Shireen, nodding.
“And,” said Tabby, “Beebee is our mistress?”
“None other.”
“Oh, how delightful! How charming!”
“Tse, tse, tse!” said Dick, the starling, and off he flew to Lizzie, who, with her brother Tom, was reclining on the lawn, making gowan garlands (the gowan is the mountain daisy) to hang around their favourites’ necks.
Dick alighted on Lizzie’s head, and at once began to go through the motions of bathing and splashing in the sheen of her bonnie hair.
But Dick’s departure seems the signal for the breaking up of the party. For lo! shades of evening have begun to fall.
“And in the painted oriel of the West,
Whose panes the sunken sun incardines,
Like a fair lady at her casement, shines
The Evening Star, the star of love and rest.”
So “good-nights” are said, and hands are shaken, then slowly homewards to his bungalow, by the pathway under the lindens, swings honest Ben and his cockatoo; while the shadows deepen beneath the trees, and the blackbird trills his last sweet song.
Behind him walks Cracker – a garland of gowans around his neck – all the way to the bungalow gate. Here he stops a moment to receive Ben’s friendly farewell pat, then gives his droll old stump of a tail a shake, and trots slowly home alone.
The End.
