Not yet a bit, Cracker. Well, at night, I found my way to master’s tent, and was glad to snuggle up in his arms, for though the days were warm the nights were bitterly cold.
Just before I fell asleep, Jock McNab came to the tent.
“I’m sayin’, sir,” he said.
“Yes, Mac, what is it?”
“Is Shireen wi’ you?”
“That she is. Thank you, McNab, for being so mindful.”
“That’s a’ richt then,” said Jock. “Good-nicht.”
And away the faithful fellow went.
Now although we were lying in camp here before Bushire, we weren’t going to attack this town. Indeed, the people seemed very glad to see us, and sold us all kinds of nice things. So our brave General Outram soon got ready to make a terrible attack upon an entrenched camp of the Persians, fifty miles distant, and we had to walk all the way.
What a beautiful sight it was, I thought, to see all those brave soldiers in lines and lines, outside the camp; horses, Highlanders, and even fighting sailors and artillerymen. Of course you won’t understand all I am saying, Cracker, but I am a soldier’s cat, you know, and cannot help feeling a little martial ardour when I think of that splendid campaign.