Shireen and her Friends: Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat
“There was a moment or two of intense stillness, and my master fell back into the arms of a friend.
“‘Oh, my dear wife and bairns!’ That was all master had breath to say before his death-blood rose and choked him.
“They told me I nearly went wild with grief, that I jumped upon his breast and cried and howled. Well, perhaps I did. I forget most of what happened. Only I know they buried him next day, and I sat on the grave for days, refusing to leave it. Then I wandered off to Melbourne. I thought if I could only get home and find master’s wife, and children, I might be a comfort to them. But this was impossible.
“Well, I stayed for some months in Melbourne, just a waif and a stray, you know, begging my bread from door to door. Then the Venom, the very ship we are now on, Shireen, lay in, and when walking one night near the docks, a sailor came singing along the street. He looked so good and so brown and so jolly that my heart went out to him at once, and I spoke to him.
“‘Hullo!’ he cried, ‘what a fine lump of a cat. Why, you are thin though, Tom.’”
“How did he know your name?” said I.
“Oh, just guessed it, I suppose.
“‘How thin you are!’ he says. ‘Well, on board you goes with me, and you shall be our ship’s cat, and if any man Jack bullies you, why they’ll have to fight Bill Bobstay.’ And that is how I came to be a ship’s cat, my lovely Shireen.”
“Nobody objected to your being on board, I suppose,” said I.
“Well, I don’t know, for you see, next day was Sunday, and seeing they were rigging up a church on the main deck, I went and sat down by the parson very demure-like, as I had sat beside poor master in the miners’ camp.
“Then, after church, the first lieutenant asked the men, who brought the cat on board. But of course nobody knew.
“‘Throw him overboard,’ cried the lieutenant.
“‘No, no,’ said the captain. ‘That will never do, Mr Jones. The poor cat is welcome to his bite and sup as long as he likes to stop with us, whoever brought him on board.’
“Then a man in the ranks saluted.
“‘Did you want to say anything?’ said Captain Beecroft.
“‘Well, sir,’ said the man, ‘I wouldn’t like any of my pals to be blamed for a-bringing of Tom from shore, ’cause I did, and you may flog me if you like.’
“‘No, no, my man, instead of flogging you I’ll forgive you. I like my men to be bold and outspoken just as you are.’
“And from that day to this, three long years, Shireen, I’ve been ship’s cat to the saucy Venom, and, what is more, I like it.
“Now, if you please, I’ll take you forward, and you can see the men’s quarters.”
“What are those three trees growing on the lid of the ship for, Tom?” I asked.
“Those are not trees, Shireen,” he answered; “those are what they call ship’s masts, and you must not say the lid of the ship, but the deck.”
“Thank you, Tom. And are those sheets hung up yonder to dry, Tom?”
“Oh, no, those are the ship’s sails. They carry the vessel along before the wind when the steam isn’t up. Look down into that hole, Shireen. Take care you don’t fall. Do you see all those clear glittering shafts and cranks and things? Well, those are the engines. Keep well away from them when they begin to move, else you might tumble in and be killed in a moment.”
“How strange and terrible!” I said.
Well, children, Tom took me everywhere all over the ship, and even introduced me to the men.
“My eyes, Bill,” said one man, “here’s a beauty. Did you ever see the like of her before? White’s the snow; long coat and eyes like a forget-me-not. Stand well back, Bill. Don’t smoke over her. She belongs to that soldier officer, and I’ll warrant he wouldn’t like a hole burned in that beautiful jacket she wears.”
But oh, children, for many weeks I thought ship-life was about the most awkward thing out, for when it isn’t blowing enough to send the vessel on through the water, then, you know, they start the mill and the rattling wheels, and your poor life is nearly shaken out of you, while the blacks keep falling all about, and if a lady has a white coat like mine, why – why it won’t bear thinking about. And if it does blow, Warlock, well, then it is too awkward for anything, and sometimes it was about all Tom Brandy could do to hang out, although his claws were sharper and stronger far than mine.
But long before we reached the city of Zanzibar I was, I think, quite as good a ship’s cat as Tom Brandy himself.
I’ll never forget, however, the first day Tom took me aloft.
We went as far as the maintop, and there we sat together talking for quite an hour.
“Hullo!” said Tom at last, “there goes eight bells and the bugle for dinner; come on, Shireen.”
Tom began to go down at once, but lo! when I looked over my heart grew faint and my head felt giddy, and I wouldn’t have ventured after Tom for anything.
“No, no, Tom,” I cried, “save yourself. Never mind me.”
“Why, there is no danger,” he answered. “Only you mustn’t try it head first as if you were coming out of a tree, but hand after hand, thus.”
And Tom soon disappeared.
I sat there till the shades of evening began to fall. Tom, however, hadn’t quite forgotten me, for he brought me up the breast of a chicken.
After I had partaken of it: “Will you try to come down now, Shireen?” he said.
“No, Tom,” I replied. “I shall end my days up here. I – ”
I said no more. For at that moment a rough red face appeared over the top.
It was the honest sailor-man who had brought Tom Brandy on board, and he soon solved the difficulty by taking me down under his arm.
But I gained confidence after this, and was soon able to run up even to the top-gallant crosstrees, and come down again feet first, and hand after hand, just like Tom Brandy himself.
I’ll never forget the first day I heard the guns go off. Tom told me it was nothing. That we were merely chasing a slave-ship, and that the moment she lay to our brave sailors would board her, and very soon make an end of the Arabs.
Tom and I had crept into the largest gun that day, having found the tompion out. She was called a bow-chaser, whatever that may be, and she stood on a pivot away forward. The sun had been fearfully hot that forenoon, but Tom came aft to the quarter-deck, where I was lying panting, with my mouth open.
“Very hot, isn’t it?” said Tom.
“I feel roasting,” I replied.
“Well, follow me,” he said. “I know where it is dark and cool enough for anything. The tompion is out of the 56-pounder.”
“Whatever do you mean? What is a tompion, Tom? And what is a 56-pounder?”
“Come on and see, Shireen.”
Then we went to the gun.
“Follow your leader,” cried Tom, and in he crawled and soon was lost to view.
“But why, Tom?” I cried; “it must be dirty as well as dark. I’m afraid of soiling my coat.”
Tom looked out of the gun to laugh.
“Oh, Shireen!” he said, “the idea of a Royal Navy gun being dirty. I wonder what the gunner would say if you told him?”
So, half ashamed of myself, I jumped in. It was delightfully nice and cool, and so my companion and I fell sound asleep.
I was awakened before Tom by a voice. “Can’t load the bow-chaser, sir. Cats have both gone to sleep in it, and I can’t get ’em out.”
“Stick in a fuse,” cried the lieutenant, “and rouse them out.”
Immediately after there was a rang-bang let off behind us, and Tom and I were blown clean out of the gun.
We weren’t hurt, Warlock, for we both alighted on our feet; but, my blue eyes! I did get a scare.
Tom said that was nothing. He often went to sleep in the gun, and, as to being blown out with a fuse, it didn’t even singe one, and was quicker than walking.
But when the battle began in earnest, and the first gun went off, I bolted aft with my tail like a bottle-brush, and dived down below.
I tore in through the wardroom, and did not consider myself safe until I got into my master’s bed.
The battle didn’t last long. Tom told me it was only a small slaver. But she was captured, and towed astern, and Tom said there was some talk of hanging one or two of the Arabs, but I didn’t know anything about this. I was very pleased the fight was over.
Three slaves were brought on board. One was a little boy, with no more clothes on than a mermaid. And he was so black, children, that when he crawled up and put his arms round my neck, I quite expected to see a black ring round me next time I looked in the glass.
But the blackness didn’t come off.
Strangely enough, this poor little black child and I grew very great friends indeed.
I think that by this time, however, there wasn’t an officer or man in the ship, fore or aft, that didn’t love me very much.
Chapter Twelve
Old Shipmates
Tom and I, continued Shireen, weren’t the only pets on board the Venom. There was a monkey though, and a very large one he was. When he stood up he was as big as a second-class boy. The sailors had dressed him as a marine, and given him a wooden gun, and taught him to shake hands and salute. His name was Joe; but I’m sure he wasn’t happy, I often saw tears in his eyes, or thought I did. Perhaps he had been taken from his home, far away in the beautiful forests of Africa, and had left a wife and children behind him.
We had a mongoose too – a sly old grey creature that the men petted. But Tom never took to him, and used sometimes to whack him when nobody was looking.
We had a large chameleon just like Chammy, – and I wonder where Chammy is – our ship’s chameleon lived in an old coffee-pot that was turned down on its side like a kennel in the corner of the doctor’s cabin. He was chained to this just like a doggie, and used to catch little cockroaches and hammer-legged flies for himself all day.
In another part of the doctor’s cabin was a lizard four feet long, that looked terribly fierce and dangerous, he was also secured with a chain. In a hatbox, in the doctor’s cabin, lived a beautiful bronze-winged pigeon, who purred like a cat. Tom said he must be awfully good to eat, but he wouldn’t venture into the cabin for anything, owing to the dragon that was chained in the corner.
We had in the wardroom a grey parrot with a red tail that he was very proud of. And all the week through the parrot was allowed to go on deck if he liked, but not on Sundays, because once when he came to church in the middle of the service he set everybody laughing by calling the parson “Old Boots.”
The sailors now began to teach me tricks, and seeing that it pleased them very much, I tried to learn my lessons as quickly as possible.
On fine evenings then at smoking time, the men would call me forward, and a ring would be formed near to the winch and between the bows.
Jumping backwards and forwards over a stick, or over a man’s clasped hands, was nothing. Heigho! my dear children, this happened twenty years ago, although I remember it as if it were but yesterday. Well, I was supple and strong, and lithe of limb in those dear days, being little more than a kitten, and a man could hardly hold a stick so high that I couldn’t spring over it.
As soon as I was fairly well accomplished at this work, a piece of iron wire, bent in a half hoop, was used instead of the stick, and every night the sailor who was teaching me brought the two ends of the wire nearer and nearer, until at last it was a whole hoop and nothing else.
Next he covered the hoop half over with paper, leaving just a hole, but I was determined not to be beaten, and through I went.
One evening, to my surprise, the hoop was all covered with thin paper; nevertheless, when the man spoke kindly to me, and asked me to leap, through I went, and my education in leaping was supposed to be complete.
This man was afterwards called aft to the quarter-deck, and there, to the delight and amusement of the officers, and the envy of the mongoose, who couldn’t jump a bit, I went through the whole performance, and was applauded sky-high.
“Pussy,” said my master laughing, as he took me and fondled me in his arms, “I never knew before that you were a play actor.”
There were no rats on board the Venom, so Tom and I had an idle time of it. When Tom first came on board ship in Australia, there had been a large number of these nasty creatures in the vessel. They used to eat everything, and sometimes they got into the men’s hammocks for warmth, and slept with them all throughout the watch-in. Put Tom cleared the ship by degrees.
“That must have been fine fun,” said Warlock; “but it must have been dull times for Tom and you – no rats, no sport.”
“But,” added wise, wee Warlock, with a sigh, “it will be as bad in this country, Tabby, before long.”
“Yes,” said Tabby.
“What I would propose if I were in Parliament,” said Warlock, “would be this. We have a close season for birds, and even for seals, so we ought to have a close season for rats also.”
“Bravo! Bravo! tse, tse, tse!” cried Dick.
“Then if we had a close season for rats, though the farmers might grumble a bit, Tabby and I would have sport, and it is everybody for himself in this world. But, dear Mother Shireen, we are interrupting the easy flow of your narrative. Pray go on.”
Yes, Warlock, and I think if you wait for sport till a close season for rats becomes the law of the land, you’ll be pretty old and stiff before you get it. But on board the saucy Venom, although Tom and I scorned to catch cockroaches like the big ape and the mongoose, we had fine fun at night fishing.
“Fishing?” cried Tabby. “Why, whatever did you catch, Mother Shireen? Sharks?”
No, my dear, nor whales either, though a shark once nearly caught me. No, we caught flying fish, Tom and I.
“Tse, tse, tse!” from Dick.
I observe that Dick is much surprised. Perhaps he thinks I am becoming foolish in my old age. Not a bit of it, Dick. Tom taught me how to catch the flying fish, and I soon became a very apt pupil indeed. And easy work it was. You see, flying fish instead of being chased by dolphins, though they sometimes may be, or by sharks either, are generally out in shoals, looking for their own food, and they fly, Warlock, just for the fun of the thing.
“For sport like?” said Warlock.
Yes, Warlock, for sport.
Well, they always will fly to a light, and so all Tom and I had to do was to sit on the top of the bulwarks and look down. The starlight, flashing in our eyes, soon attracted the attention of the fish, and they jumped over our heads, and danced a jig on the deck behind us.
Then Tom and I went and had a very nice little supper, and there was always more than we could eat, so the men on watch had some too.
“Well, that is good,” said Tabby. “I’ve tried my hand at trout fishing, but I never heard of flying-fish catching like that before.”
“Trout fishing,” said Shireen, “is what I should call mere bottom fishing.”
“Yes, and you do go to the bottom too, with a plump.”
Shireen laughed.
“It may be all very well for short-haired Tabbies like you, my dear,” she remarked. “But, la! to get my jacket wet would entirely spoil it; besides, you know, I’m not so young as you. If I got wet I should be laid up with the rheumatics for a month to a dead certainty. Heigho! it might be a dead certainty too, though that, children, is only my little joke. But tell us Tabby, how you got on fishing.”
Tabby sat up for a moment, and Dick flew off her back, crying, —
“I say, I say, what is it? you r-r-rascal!”
“Well,” said Tabby, “it wasn’t with me that the catching of trout originated, nor with Warlock either. It happened thus. In a cottage near the forest, a year or two ago, there came an old maiden lady to live, who was very fond indeed of cats. She had three altogether, and she very wisely permitted them to roam about at the freedom of their own will. Two of her cats were ladies, the other was a fine red fellow, of the name of Joe.
“The gamekeepers said that Joe was a noted thief, and that he caught their birds and their leverets also, and that they would shoot him on sight. When the old lady heard this, she went straight to the keepers’ huts by the forest edge. Joe was trotting by her side, but as soon as they were within fifty yards of the cottages, Joe got up on his mistress’s shoulder. She was a strong old lady, and armed with a two-horse power umbrella in one hand, and a big book in the other.
“‘Do you see this cat?’ said Miss Simmonds to the head keeper.
“‘Can’t help seeing him, miss,’ he answered, ‘besides, we know him; he kills our birds and our leverets too, and we’ve seen him take a grilse out of the river!’
“‘Well, that is a pity; I just called to say that I was sorry, and that I will do my best to keep Joe at home, though this is difficult sometimes with a tom-cat, you know. But if he kills a bird or a leveret, you must let me know the amount of damage, and I’ll pay. But,’ she added, ‘you must not take the law into your own hands and shoot my cat.’
“‘Nonsense, miss!’ cried the keeper, pointing to a board on which was printed:
“Trespassers will be Prosecuted.”
“Dogs will be Shot.”
“‘That’s the way we serves dogs, miss, and it isn’t likely we’ll trouble about sparing a cat.’
“Then Miss Simmonds stuck her big umbrella ferule down in the turf, and took the big book from under her arm.
“‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Ahem! Corner versus Champneys. 2 Marsh, 584. A gamekeeper has no right to kill a dog for following game, even although the owner of the dog has received notice that trespassing dogs will be shot. In such a case as this, the shooter must pay the full price of the animal shot.’
“‘Didn’t know that before,’ said the keeper. ‘But, begging your pardon, miss, cats are not dogs.’
“‘The same law holds good, sir.’
“‘Cats can be trapped, miss.’
“‘Listen again,’ said Miss Simmonds. ‘Townsend versus Withan. In this case it was ruled that the defendant was answerable to the plaintiff for injuries sustained by his cat and dog in a trap, although he had no intention of injuring plaintiff, and meant only to catch foxes and vermin.’
“‘Poison, miss, is a quiet way of getting rid of cats. I’ll try that.’
“Once again, Miss Simmonds turned over the pages of her book, and proved to the satisfaction of even those surly keepers, that the putting down of poisoned flesh in a field laid the perpetrator under a penalty of 10 pounds.
“Well, although Miss Simmonds laid down the law to those men, she did not part from them in an unfriendly way, and something bright and yellow passed from her hand to that of the keeper.
“But in future Miss Simmonds restricted Joe’s liberty somewhat.
“Well, one day, Warlock and I were sitting by the burn (a small stream or rivulet is so called in Scotland) somewhat disconsolately, for we hadn’t had very much sport that day, only a few field mice and a mole, when I heard a cat mew softly within a few yards of me.
“I looked quickly round, and Warlock pricked up his ears, and prepared for instant combat.
“It was Joe.
“And very handsome he looked. I lost my heart to him at once.
“‘Shall I give him a fit?’ said Warlock.
“‘No, no,’ I cried hastily; ‘that is Joe.’
“‘I’m a little afraid of your dog, miss,’ said Joe. ‘Will he bite?’
“‘Oh, no, sir,’ I hastened to say.
“Then Joe advanced.
“All three soon got talking in quite a neighbourly kind of way, and the conversation naturally enough turned upon sport.
“‘We haven’t done much this forenoon,’ I said.
“‘Ah! then why don’t you catch trout?’
“Just at that moment fire seemed to flash from Joe’s yellow eyes. His nose was turned towards the stream; he was crouching low with his tail all a-quiver. Next minute he had left the bank and disappeared with a splash in the water.
“I was thunderstruck. So was Warlock. But Joe crept up the bank again almost directly, with a beautiful crimson-dotted yellow trout in his mouth.
“This he placed at my feet as a love-offering. Then he shook himself once or twice, and seemed quite pleased to see me enjoy the trout, the head and tail of which I gave to Warlock.
“‘Delightful, isn’t it?’ he said.
“‘Delicious!’ I replied.
“‘I’ve been a fisherman for over five years. You see, my late master had always been a disciple of Walton’s, and when only a kitten I used to sit and sing beside him, when packing his luncheon for the river’s side. I jumped up when he took down rod and basket, and would trot off with him all the way to the river. How eagerly I used to watch the skimming fly, and my master can make a lovely cast, and I couldn’t help being all of a tremble, and squaring my mouth, and emitting little screams of delight, when a fish rose to nibble; then when one was caught and thrown on the bank, nothing could prevent my jumping on it and killing it with blows of my paw. I did not put a tooth in it because master always fed me well, and I knew there was luncheon in the basket for me as well as for him.
“‘But I soon learned to catch fish myself, and now I not only spring on them as you saw me do just now, but where the stream is shallow, I fish as I have seen schoolboys do; for lying down on the bank I stretch my paw far in under it, and very often hand out a trout.’
“‘How clever!’ I said.
“‘It is wonderful!’ said Warlock.
“‘Well,’ said Joe, ‘you can do the same.’
“‘Can I?’ asked Warlock.
“‘No,’ said Joe smiling. ‘You’re only a dog, you know, but you can sit on a hillock, and watch and warn us if you see any fiend-boys coming along with catapults.’
“So, as Joe’s late master had been a disciple of Walton’s, I became a disciple of Joe’s. I think, Shireen, that I have proved a very apt pupil, though not quite as good yet as Joe. For Joe takes to the water like an Irish spaniel, and he told me that he often caught eels and also water rats.
“My fishing lessons have been an advantage to me and to Warlock too, because previously I used to be rather afraid of the water, and more than once when Warlock and I were out hunting, and he swam over a stream, I had to go miles up or down till I found a bridge. But now I leap in just as Warlock does, and swim to the other side.”
Shireen got up and stretched herself now.
“I’ll go on with my story another night,” she said.
Then she jumped upon Colonel Clarkson’s knee.
“How fond that cat seems to be of you,” said Ben.
“Ah! yes, poor Shireen! She dearly loves both me and my wife. As for Lizzie and Tom, well, she adores them. But Tom here is such a good lad, and never pulls her about, for I have told him that pussy is very old, and, heigho! I daresay we’ll miss her some of these days.”
“But we can lift Tabby, can’t we, uncle?” said Lizzie.
“Well, I do think Tabby rather likes being teased just a very little, and I’m sure she would stand from you, Lizzie, treatment she would soon resent if Uncle Ben or I were going to resort to it.”
“Getting late,” said Uncle Ben, starting up. “But,” he added, “somehow when the wind roars as it does to-night, and takes my thoughts away back to the stormy ocean, I cannot help talking.”
“Won’t Cockie get wet?” said Mrs Clarkson. “Hadn’t you better leave him here to-night?”
“Bless your innocence, my dear Mrs Clarkson, the bird would break his heart.”
“Coakie wants to go home!” cried the cockatoo.
It will be observed that the bird called himself Coakie, not Cockie.
But Ben produced a big red handkerchief, and simply tied Cockie up as if he had been a bundle of collars going to the wash.
He placed the bundle under his arm, bade everybody good-night, then walked boldly forth into darkness and storm.
Chapter Thirteen
“Away, Lifeboat’s Crew!”
The house where the Clarksons dwelt, with the two dear little orphans Lizzie and Tom, and to which Uncle Ben so often found his way, was a fine old place. It stood high on a great green brae, not far from the forest and sea, and had been at one time a real castle, for our friends only occupied the more modern portion of it. All the rest was in ruins, or nearly so.
It was within sound of the roar of a cataract, which could be heard ever and ay in drowsy monotony, except on stormy nights, when the wild wind, sweeping through the tall dark pine trees that grew on a beetling cliff top behind the ruin, quite drowned even the voice of the linn.
It was a rare old house and ruin for cats and children to play about; for there was not only quite a jungle of cover for birds of every sort, but the ivy itself that covered some of the sturdy grey walls gave berth and bield to more than one brown owl.
