Presently a high-pitched voice called out an order. The hitherto listless Arabs for'ard sprang into activity. With a smartness that would have evoked admiration from the most exacting seaman, the lateen yards were lowered and squared fore and aft, while the dhow, still carrying way, ranged alongside the West Barbican's boat.
"Any port in a storm," thought Peter, as the lascar for'ard threw the painter into the hands of one of the Arab crew. "I wonder what we're in for now?"
CHAPTER XXXII
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.