Nearly a score of naked fellows, with clothes only round their waists, were standing round the halyards, to which they were holding on as if they were part of the crew.
Tom inquired of the savage-looking fellow who came forward in the character of captain, where they came from.
“Zanzibar,” was the answer.
“And where bound for?”
The captain pointed to the north-east, and pronounced some name not on the chart.
“Of how many men does your ship’s company consist?” asked Tom, making signs by hauling away with his hands, then pretending to be rowing, and then holding up his fingers and pretending to count.
The skipper pointed to the black fellows forward and then to the Arabs, who were, indeed, alone quite sufficient for navigating the craft.
“Who are these ebony-coloured ladies and gentlemen who sit so demurely about the deck?” asked Tom, pointing to them.
The Arab replied by signs that they had paid money into his hands for their passage, and by putting his head down, as if to sleep, that they had no work to do.
“So they are passengers,” observed Tom. “I understand that, and now my fine fellow, we will have a look below.”