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.