Taleb Mohammed laughed at this speech, though he saw the difficulties in our way; and next morning, leaving our tents and heavy baggage, we entered the district of the Reefian chief. It was towards evening that we approached his dwelling, which we discovered from its superior size to the rest of the neighbouring sun-dried brick cottages, thatched with reeds. It was surrounded by a garden, full of melon plants and vines, and many other fruits, delicious in a hot climate; and backed by fields of Indian corn. Before entering the village, we ascended a height, whence Mr Vernon took a long anxious glance over the blue sea with his telescope, which he had brought with him.
“There she is, D’Arcy,” he exclaimed at length, in an animated tone, pointing to a white speck just seen above the horizon, which I made out to be a ship’s royal. “I knew that Captain Poynder would be up to his time. Now we can depend on help from without, if we can but find our friends.”
It was near the time that the voice of the Mueddin, from the summit of the village mosque, announced that the hour of evening prayer had arrived, and called on the faithful to worship Allah, when we entered the village. Without halting, we rode at once up to the entrance-gate of the great man’s abode. Cool confidence afforded us the best chance of success. We were brought up at a porch, with a closed gate, in a high wall which ran round the mansion. We knocked loudly, and after a time the gate was opened by a slave, who salaamed low as he demanded our business.
“To see your great, powerful, and most illustrious master, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera,” said Mr Vernon, in Arabic. “Tell him that I have come to treat with him about a matter of great importance.”
The slave on this disappeared, keeping us outside, though he shortly returned, with two or three more slaves and a couple of armed men. Two of the slaves taking our steeds, the first signed us to advance, and led the way through a garden full of sweet-scented plants, the verbena, the jessamine, and rose, and shaded by luxuriant vines, trailed on bamboo trellice-work over head, the fruit hanging down in tempting bunches within our reach. In front of an alcove, or summer-house, on a rich carpet, sat a stout old man, in flowing robes, and long white beard, which hung down over his breast. We bowed low, and then stood still before him, for he did not offer us cushions to sit on; while Mr Vernon, paying the fullest compliments his knowledge of the language could command, opened his business.
“I do not understand clearly what all this is about,” said the old Sheikh, in reply. “Jewels to sell and jewels to buy. Perhaps to-morrow I may understand better. Come again in the forenoon, and show me your wares, and we will see what is to be done.”
Taking this remark as a signal that we were dismissed, we salaamed as before, and retired down the garden. We had reached the entrance, when a slave overtook us, and informed us that his master would allow us to sleep in a guest-room, opening into an outer court-yard, on one side of the main entrance. Mr Vernon told me afterwards, that not having any definite plan, he thought it would be wise to accept the Sheikh’s offer with a good grace, as more likely not to excite suspicion. The room to which we were shown was a small one, without windows or furniture, some little apertures over the entrance alone admitting light and air when the door was shut. It had the advantage, however, of enabling us to get out without being observed. Still a great difficulty remained—how we were to obtain any information about Miss Norman in the first place, and how we were to gain access to her in the second. In my character of a slave, I assisted the Sheikh’s slaves in bringing in the box of jewels, the saddle-bags, and saddles, and horse-cloths, as well as our blankets, which we had brought to form our beds at night. Our room being arranged, Mr Vernon told me to remain within, while he went out to try and obtain some information in the village, advising me in the meantime to amuse myself with my fiddle, which had already delighted the ears of many of the believers of the Prophet of Mecca during our long journey. I had some misgivings about his going, for I was afraid that the villagers might suspect his character, and might ill-treat him. For myself I had no fear as long as I could continue to feign dumbness, as my character was easily kept up. He had told the Sheikh’s people that I was a Nazarene lad, who was ignorant of their language. Being dumb, they considered me under the peculiar care of Providence.
After a little time, having recovered my spirits and cast all forebodings from me—which are, after all, but the result of a morbid imagination, or of a want of trust in God’s providence,—I sat myself down on the chest, and pulling my fiddle out of its case, began playing away most vigorously some of the old tunes Hanks had taught me. I had gone through some five or six of them, when a voice, which I felt sure I had often heard, hailed—
“Hillo! shipmate, what part of the world do you come from?” The faint light which came through the door was obscured by the figure of a seaman.
“Why!” I exclaimed, forgetting that I was dumb, as he stepped into the room,—“why, if I can believe my senses, there is Jack Stretcher himself.”