The hardly ruffled surface of the sea now began to lose its clearness,
and a little spray sprinkled the fo'c'sle, drying almost as it fell.
I called down to the fo'c'sle, and Mr. Scarlett fired a second gun,
whereupon the crew evidently thought it wiser to haul down their big
sail. Down it came, and, as we ran alongside, a little cur of a dog,
running backwards and forwards, kept jumping up on the gunwale and
barking at us. We could not help laughing at its absurd fury.
"Any fight in them?" I asked Griffiths.
"Not by a jugful, sir. They'll be as quiet as lambs. You'll 'ave to be
mighty 'nippy' a-searching of 'er, sir; the shamel's coming."
As our sides grated together I clambered on board her, Jaffa, the
interpreter, Dobson, the leading seaman, Jackson and Wiggins following
me. The little dog snapped at us, then went howling aft to where the
crew of the dhow--nine or ten of them--were squatting, glaring at us.
There were two big hatches, one for'ard and the other aft of the mast,
both covered with several layers of timber planks, securely lashed down.
Beneath them were my rifles. I felt sure that she must be full of
rifles, and that they were mine already. As Jaffa followed me aft, the
others began to make the launch fast alongside with ropes thrown to
them.
"Tell the nakhoda[#] to show his papers; tell him to get his hatches
uncovered," I told Jaffa; and he, perfectly accustomed to this job,
began jabbering to a saturnine, bearded old villain who sat on the
raised poop-deck between the tiller ropes.
[#] Nakhoda = captain.
The dog snarled and barked from beneath the poop, but the nakhoda and
the rest of the crew sat there absolutely silent, not moving a muscle,
just looking steadily at us.
I cursed them, but the only effect was to make the old villain smile--a
curious smile, which I could not understand.
"Send everyone you can spare to clear away the hatches," I shouted to
Mr. Scarlett. "They won't show their papers, and won't do anything."
Three lascars and the Goanese carpenter (yellow with fright) climbed on
board with axes, and all my people began hacking at the ropes and
hauling away the balks of timber on top of the main-hatch cover.
I yelled myself hoarse to make the Arabs come and lend a hand; Jaffa,
too, was trying to persuade them. I pulled out my revolver and
flourished it. Still no one budged an inch, except the nakhoda, who
kept turning his head to the north-west.
It was half an hour's work to clear the main-hatch cover of all that
timber, and we were about to start knocking out the securing wedges when
I looked towards the land. Sheikh Hill was now six miles to the north;
its outline was indistinct, and the water under it had a peculiar
greyish, muddy appearance.