The Arab nodded gravely, and said something which induced his men to lower their muskets. Then with a wave of his hand he invited the strangers to come over the creek to him.
This was rendered possible by the breadth of the boat already mentioned being so great that, while one side touched the right bank of the creek, the other was within four or five feet of the left.
Without hesitation Harold Seadrift bounded lightly from the bank to the half-deck of the boat, and, stepping ashore, walked up to the Arab, closely followed by his companion.
“Do you speak English?” asked Harold.
The Arab shook his head and said, “Arabic, Portuguese.”
Harold therefore shook his head;—then, with a hopeful look, said “French?” interrogatively.
The Arab repeated the shake of his head, but after a moments’ thought said, “I know littil Engleesh; speak, where comes you?”
“We have been wrecked,” began Harold (the Arab glanced gravely at his dripping clothes, as if to say, I had guessed as much), “and this man and I are the only survivors of the crew of our ship—at least the only two who swam on shore, the others went off in a boat.”
“Come you from man-of-war?” asked the Arab, with a keen glance at the candid countenance of the youth.
“No, our vessel was a trader bound for Zanzibar. She now lies in fragments on the shore, and we have escaped with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Can you tell us whether there is a town or a village in the neighbourhood? for, as you see, we stand sadly in need of clothing, food, and shelter. We have no money, but we have good muscles and stout hearts, and could work our way well enough, I doubt not.”