Selim and Abdullah gave a shout of joy, in which they were joined by Moto, Simba, and Niani, and as they passed on, Selim proposed that they should break in upon the old man suddenly, who would no doubt be found on his verandah, chatting with half-a-dozen other Arabs.
In a few minutes—minutes that were never counted, but which glided by swiftly—they found themselves pushing their way through crowds of well-dressed Zanzibar slaves, who looked upon the Arab boys with surprise, mingled with awe, but who made way for them immediately, but eyeing them as if they had never seen Arabs.
Selim and Abdullah passed on, however, and came at last before the spacious tembe. They saw the white-bearded Sheikh, seated with his back to the wall, leaning on a pillow which was covered with gay print. On each side of him sat several other Arabs. All started up as they saw the strange Arab boys, undressed and naked, with the exception of ragged pieces of dirty cloth about their loins, walk up to them, and heard the unmistakable Arabic of Muscat, as the boys said:
“Salaam Aleekum!” (Peace be to ye.)
“Aleekum Salaam!” (and unto ye be peace), responded the startled Arabs, rising to their feet.
“Are ye Arabs, children?” said the old Sultan bin Ali, gazing at them sternly.
“We are children of the Arabs of Muscat,” answered Selim, with a tremulous voice.
“How is it, then, in the name of Allah,” said the aged Sheikh, “that ye come in this guise, naked, into the presence of true believers?”
“Our fathers are dead. They were rich merchants of Zanzibar. They were slain in battle, and we, their sons, were made slaves. After many months we have escaped—praised be Allah for his mercies!—and have sought ye, our kinsmen.”
“Slain in battle!” echoed the Sheikh. “Who are ye? In what battle were your fathers slain?”