"They won't know how to use them," he said; "they'll only shoot each
other."
However, he changed his mind next morning, for as I weighed anchor he
signalled across: "Am sending fifty rifles and two thousand rounds of
ammunition to the village ".
If the inoffensive, childlike villagers would only learn to use them
properly, and would guard that gap night and day, they would be safe;
but--I knew they would not. They were simply fishermen; they could not
spare men from the boats; and after the first few days had passed
without anything happening they would imagine themselves safe, or, still
more likely, never take any precautions whatsoever, considering it wrong
to interfere with "fate".
Just as the _Bunder Abbas_ was shoving off, a native boat came paddling
furiously from shore. I stopped my engines, and it came alongside with
a couple of sheep--a parting present from my old head-man. Sending back
a message of thanks, and dragging them aboard, I went ahead again, wound
my way through that extraordinary channel in the cliffs to the open sea,
and by sunset found myself once more anchored in Muscat harbour.
It was too late to report myself to the political agent that night, so I
went next morning. He heard my news with great satisfaction, said very
nice things about my part of the "show", and expressed the opinion that
the loss of the valuable caravan would be such a blow to the inland
tribes that the gun-running trade would be dead on that part of the
coast for many months. He agreed with me that something ought to be
done for the villagers, but shook his head when I suggested that the
"_B.A._" might be spared to protect them for a few weeks.
"Can't anything be done for them?" I asked anxiously.
"The most I can do," he said, "is to let the local Arab camel dealers
know that they have all those camels to sell--almost for the asking.
Once they have got rid of them there won't be so much temptation for the
Bedouins to attack them."
He did this, and during the afternoon six or seven large trading
buggalows glided out of harbour. I hoped that they were off to my
village, and, one passing close to the "_B.A._", Mr. Scarlett hailed her
to know where she was going.
"Yes," he nodded, after much shouting backward and forward; "they are
all on their way there as quickly as they can. They aren't going to let
the chance slip; they don't expect those Bedouins will leave the camels
there many days."
Poor devils! Precious little profit would they make out of their
assistance to us, and precious little would those traders give them.
We "coaled" and "watered" that day, having a good deal of trouble with
the natives in the lighters. There was such a swell running into the
harbour that we were banging against those lighters rather heavily, and
the natives were often frightened to carry the coal on board. Jaffa was
ashore, so Mr. Scarlett had to do all the persuading. He was in his
element at "persuading". I don't believe he had any more feeling for
those chaps than if they'd been dogs.
"There now, that comes of knowing the 'lingo'!" he said cheerfully, when
at last the eighteen tons of coal had been stowed below, and he came up
on deck to have a drink. "I told them a few things about their
grandfathers and fathers, grandmothers and mothers, which fairly got
them on the raw."
He was a very strange chap. He would be cheerful and talkative one
moment, morbid and taciturn the next--one never knew. I often tried to
chaff him out of these fits of depression, told him they were worse at
full moon, and joked him about being in love. The moon may have had
nothing to do with them; but I often noticed that he grew silent and
morose towards sunset, and have often seen him go and hide himself in
the cabin or turn his back to it.
Once I asked him why.
"I can't help it, sir; every time I see the sun setting I remember those
shadows racing down from the mountains that time Jassim's wife was
killed with this," and he tapped his left arm where the bracelet was.
He happened to be quite cheerful that evening, after his successful
day's work with the lightermen, so when it was cool I simply forced him
to come ashore.
"Come and have a walk; it will do you good," I said, and took him with
me in the dinghy. Directly we landed, between the Custom House and the
Sultan's palace, he started off along the shore at a great pace, pushing
in and out of the Arabs busy loading and unloading dhows as if he never
even saw them. As I caught up with him I saw that he was in one of his
morbid fits again.
"What's wrong now?" I asked.
"This is the very spot where I stood eighteen years ago and saw the
cursed snake for the second time. The Khan of Khamia came down here, and
his wives were carried along that passageway--the arm with this bracelet
on it showed up just there--there!" and he gripped my arm and pointed,
his eyes glittering as if he could really see it again.
"Come along, man; don't be a fool!" I cried angrily; "people will think
you mad," and dragged him reluctantly away through narrow, tortuous
passages, jostling natives of every black or brown nationality under the
sun, and pressing back occasionally against the walls of the miserable
houses to let laden donkeys pass. The Eastern smell pervading
everything delighted me; it was splendid; but I do not suppose he
noticed it. At last we came to the main gate of the town, with its
armed guard of ruffianly Arabs, and turned to the right along an open
space where many horses were tethered, until we found ourselves close to
a wretched mosque and a crowd of idlers lazily listening whilst a
decrepit-looking old chap, standing on the steps, read from a paper he
was holding. As we pressed through the people I caught the words
"Khamia", when Mr. Scarlett stopped suddenly, gripped my arm fiercely,
and literally pulled me away. He was shaking all over, and that muddy,
frightened expression had come back.
"What the dickens is the matter now?" I asked, very irritated.
"Come back; get back to the '_B.A._,' sir; I can't breathe here."
He let go of my arm and simply ploughed his way through the crowd, and
when clear of it actually began running.