The Dhow
Mostyn was the first to board the succouring craft. Somewhat dubious
as to the nature of his reception, he swarmed up the low side and
gained the deck.
His arrival elicited no demonstrations, either of friendliness or
hostility, from the white-robed Arabs. They simply looked at him
without visible signs of curiosity; without even the formal salaam.
There were five of the dhow's crew. Four, who had been attending to
the lowering of the sails, were standing amidships; the fifth, a
mild-looking, bearded man of more than average height, was at the long,
curved tiller. Save for his swarthy skin he might have passed for a
European, for his features were regular, his nose aquiline, and his
lips red and without the fullness of the typical African. He wore the
white "jebbah" and burnous, the only dash of colour being his red
Morocco slippers. In his white sash could be seen the leather-covered
hilt of a long knife.
"English," explained Peter. "Wrecked--want passage."
The Arab shook his head gravely, and motioned to Mostyn to get the rest
of the boat's party on board.
"Mahmed!" sang out his master.
"Sahib?"
"You speak Swahili. Tell this man who we are and what we want."
Mahmed came over the side and approached the Arab captain. Apparently
the former's attempt to speak Swahili was far from fluent, but the
desired result was obtained.
"He for Dar-es-Salaam, Sahib," explained Mahmed "He promise passage one
hundred rupees a head."
"He'll get it," replied Peter. "We'll give him one thousand rupees if
he puts into Pangawani."
The Arab rejected the amendment. He was willing enough to give them a
passage, but he was not going to put into an intermediate port even for
the inducement of an addition three hundred rupees.
Preston was the next to board the dhow. He managed it practically
unaided, for his lower limbs were regaining strength, and he was able
to use his left arm. The Arabs showed considerable interest at his
bandaged head, the captain going to the length of inquiring of Mahmed
how the injuries were caused.
Mrs. Shallop and Olive followed.
The two lascars completed the transhipment. They brought with them the
scanty personal belongings of the party, together with the water-beaker
and the rest of the provisions.
"Tell him we are ready to cast off," said Peter.
Mahmed translated. The Arab skipper went to the side and cast envious
looks at the boat, for from the deck of the dhow the damaged planking
was not visible. With an instinct not confined to dhow-owners he was
loth to abandon a craft that Providence had figuratively thrust into
his hands; but upon consideration he was compelled to admit that the
gift was too unwieldy. Nevertheless, since he was unable to make use
of the boat, he was determined not to give others a chance of so doing.
At his order a couple of Arabs, armed with knives and small-headed
axes, jumped into the boat. After removing the compass, oars, masts,
and remaining sails, and all other loose gear, they cut the gunwale
through to the water-line, regaining their own craft as the water
poured through the jagged rent. The painter was cut as close to the
boat as it was possible for a man to reach from the dhow, and the _West
Barbican's_ boat, her mission accomplished nobly in spite of
difficulties, drifted slowly astern in a water-logged condition. Then,
the lateen sails rehoisted, the dhow resumed her course, hauling close
to the wind on the starboard tack, her head pointing practically
nor'-west-by-north. For the best part of an hour the survivors of the
_West Barbican_ remained on deck, no attempt being made on the part of
the Arabs to offer them accommodation and shelter below. The captain
had handed over the helm to one of the crew, and with the other three
men was squatting on the deck. There was apparently no social
distinction between the Arab skipper and his crew. They were eating
_pilau_ from a common dish, and talking loudly, as if oblivious of the
presence of the "Kafirs" and the three Moslem members of the rescued
party.
At length Peter thought it was time to assert himself on behalf of his
companions. It was scant comfort to have to grill upon the deck of the
dhow, for the sails provided little shelter from the fierce rays of the
sun.
Calling to Mahmed to accompany him, Mostyn made for the short ladder
giving access to the steeply shelving poop.
Seeing Peter's intention the Arab captain stood up and warned the
intruder off, at the same time talking angrily to the Indian
interpreter.
"Tell the accursed Kafir not to set foot upon the ladder," was what he
said, but translated by Mahmed the message was, "The sahib is kindly
asked not to approach while the crew are having a meal."
Which was unfortunate. Out of deference to Arab customs Peter complied
with the request. The captain took it for a sign of weakness on the
Englishman's part. Had Mahmed translated literally, Mostyn would have
been on his guard. It would have been clear that the Arab had not any
intention of setting the party ashore at Dar-es-Salaam or at any other
port where the British flag was flying, otherwise he would never have
dared to insult a man who was quite capable of turning the tables on
him on arrival at a place within the sphere of British influence.
Mostyn waited more or less patiently until the _pilau_-eating party had
broken up. Then he again approached the Arab skipper, who was now
standing at the head of the poop ladder.
The Arab avoided a reply to the direct request for shelter by demanding
immediate payment of the seven hundred rupees.
"Tell him," said Peter, "that the money will be paid directly we arrive
at Dar-es-Salaam."
A faint smile fluttered over the Arab's olivine features.
"Has the Kafir the money with him?" he asked.
"That has nothing to do with the bargain," replied Peter, through his
interpreter. "He will be paid promptly and in full when he has carried
out his part of the deal, but for that sum we must have suitable
accommodation."
For a while the Arab looked decidedly sulky. Then, with another smile,
he gave a perfunctory salaam and shouted an order to two of his crew.
The latter promptly disappeared under the poopdeck, where they spent
some time shifting gear from one place to another.
When at length they reappeared, the captain led Mostyn to a fairly
spacious but low-roofed cabin on the port side of the dhow, and
immediately abaft the poop bulkhead.
"That will do for the women," thought Peter. "Now for a place where we
can sling our hammocks."
His request through Mahmed for additional accommodation was curtly
turned down on the score that it was impossible. Already two of the
Arabs had been turned out of their quarters to make room for the Kafirs.
"We won't kick up a shine over that," decided Peter. "Preston and I
can have a shelter on deck. We have a right to make use of our own
sails. I suppose the women will be safe down here? No lock on the
door, but I can show Olive how to jamb it with the blade of an oar.
Now there are the lascars to fix up."
That difficulty was quickly settled, the two lascars agreeing to the
Arab's suggestion that they should take possession of a small cuddy
for'ard, access to which was gained by a small, square hatch just
for'ard of the raking foremast. Mahmed, at his own request, was to
remain with his master and Preston.
Olive and Mrs. Shallop were duly shown the quarters assigned to them.
The latter, for a wonder, raised no objection to the place. Peter
could not help thinking that perhaps her overbearing nature had been
thoroughly cowed by the rebuff she had met with on re-embarking in the
boat.
It was Olive who took exception to the place.
"I think, if you don't mind," she said, "I'll get you to rig me up a
shelter on deck. It's rather stuffy down there for two. You have no
objection, I hope, Mrs. Shallop?"
"Not in the least," replied the lady loftily. "It's nothing to do with
me. You can please yourself."
"Thank you," said the girl promptly.
Peter concurred. Although he was curious to know why Olive should have
objection to the cabin--it had been swept out--he refrained from asking
why. He could only come to the conclusion that Olive was reluctant to
be in her late employer's company more than was actually necessary.
"It was stuffy down there," declared the girl. "No scuttle--I'd much
prefer a canvas screen on deck."
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. About four in the afternoon
land was seen broad on the starboard beam. What land it was Peter had
no idea. The Arabs were silent upon the subject. Preston could
advance no suggestion beyond the theory that it might be Cape St. Mary,
on the southernmost extremity of Madagascar.
"If so, old man, we were all out of it," he added. "On the course we
were steering we would have missed the whole island. Strange things
happen at sea."
At sunset the Arab crew turned their faces towards Mecca and prostrated
themselves on the deck. In their acts of devotion they were joined by
the lascars.
"Black heathens!" snorted Mrs. Shallop contemptuously, laughing loudly.
It was the act of an uneducated fool. People of that type, both male
and female, have done so before to-day, often with serious results to
themselves and others.
"For Heaven's sake shut up!" hissed Preston apprehensively. "You may
get a knife across your throat for this."
Peter too felt far from comfortable when the Arabs regained their feet.
There could not have been the slightest doubt that they had heard the
mocking laugh, and had there been trouble the lascars would have held
aloof, or even have sided with their co-religionists. But, grave and
inscrutable, the crew of the dhow carried on as if the unseemly
interruption was beneath their notice.
"I think I'll keep watch to-night after this," said Peter.
"P'raps 'twould be as well," agreed Preston. "That woman is a perfect
curse--I'm not much use, but I'll take a trick. If there's any sign of
mischief I can give you a shout. Got your automatic handy?"
"Rather."
"Pity you hadn't shown it, off-handed like," continued the Acting
Chief. "A little moral persuasion of that description goes a long way
with these gentry. I remember once getting into a jolly tight corner
at Port Said. It was my own fault to a great extent, but I was only an
irresponsible 'prentice in those days. I shifted a dozen low-down
Arabs with the stem of a pipe. They thought it was a six-shooter.
It's as likely as not that our friend the skipper has spotted that
bulge in your hip pocket."
"And taken it for a purse with a thousand rupees in it," added Peter.
"Yes, I think I'll have to keep my weather eye lifting."
Preston and the Wireless Officer had rigged up a canvas shelter
amidships, spreading the covering ridge-wise on a gantline stretched
between the mainmast and the for'ard end of the hatch. The hatch was a
large one, measuring roughly thirty feet by ten, and was covered with
canvas held down by bamboo battens. This, with the tent, took up the
greater part of the deck space amidships.
Farther aft, but on the centre line, a tent made from the boat's mizzen
sail had been set up for Olive's use. Provided the weather remained
fairly quiet it formed quite a sheltered and comfortable retreat.
The Arab captain had raised no objections to the execution of this
plan, although it had been carried out without his sanction. Peter and
Mahmed had set up the shelters without any hesitation. The former was,
indeed, prepared to assert his right to do so in consideration of the
fact that he had not pressed his claim for more accommodation under the
poop-deck.
It was late before Mostyn turned in. For quite an hour he had stood on
deck with Olive, watching the moon sinking lower and lower in the
heavens until it dipped beneath the horizon.
Peter gave no hint to the girl of his misgivings, nor did Olive refer
to her reasons for refusing to share the cabin with Mrs. Shallop.
After all, knowing the lady, he was not surprised at the cultured
girl's reluctance to be in her company more than was absolutely
necessary.
At about ten o'clock Peter bade the girl good night. Creeping in under
the flap of his shelter he found Preston fast asleep on one side of the
deck-space and Mahmed, equally somnolent, lying right across the
entrance. He stirred as Peter made his way over him, but instantly
fell asleep again.
"Fortunately I'm not sleepy," thought Mostyn, as he settled himself
upon his share of the rough bedding, which consisted of oilskin coats
and a rafia mat.
On deck all was quiet, save for the occasional creaking of the blocks
and the ripple of water at the dhow's bows. With the exception of the
helmsman the Arab crew had gone below before Peter had retired to his
shelter-tent. The lascars had also retired to their assigned quarters
for'ard.
The night was calm and sultry. At twelve the solitary watch on deck
was relieved; it apparently being the custom on board the dhow for the
helmsmen to work three hour-tricks both by day and night.
Peter heard the two men talking for a few minutes in a low tone; then
the Arab off duty went below, his slippers pattering softly on the deck.
Another hour passed. Nothing of an unusual nature happened. Mostyn
began to wonder whether his precautions had been in vain. He was
feeling a bit sleepy by this time, but he had no desire to arouse his
injured companion. He was content to take Preston's word for the deed,
but if he were to keep awake he simply must have some fresh air.
With this purpose in view Peter crept cautiously across the sleeping
Mahmed, drew aside the flap of the tent, and gained the open air. It
was now a fairly bright starlit night. The cool breeze thrummed
tunefully through the scanty rigging, gently filling the huge,
triangular, lateen sails. The foot of the mainsail was cut so low that
from where Mostyn stood, just abaft of the foremast, the shelving poop
was hidden from view.
Bareheaded and lightly-clad he grasped one of the weather-shrouds and
drunk in great draughts of the ozone-laden air. He realized the relief
of being no longer responsible for the safety of his charges, so far as
seamanship and navigation were concerned. Day after day, night after
night in an open boat had considerably dimmed his ardour for exercising
command.
After a while he wanted a cigarette, but remembered that he had left
his share in the breast-pocket of his drill tunic.
"Better be turning in again," he soliloquized, with visions of malaria
in his mind. "It's rather a risky game hanging about here."
Even as he turned to regain the shelter a shriek rent the air. Less
than ten feet from where he stood were a couple of Arabs kneeling
beside the collapsed tent. One was holding the canvas down with hands
and feet, while the other, knife in hand, was raining furious blows
upon the defenceless and sleeping men pinned beneath.