"
I think it was on the fifth night of our voyage, or it may have been
the seventh, that we anchored one afternoon off the island of Kilwa,
not very far from the old Portuguese fort. Delgado, with whom we had
little to do during the passage, hoisted some queer sort of signal.
In response a boat came off containing what he called the Port
officials, a band of cut-throat, desperate-looking, black fellows in
charge of a pock-marked, elderly half-breed who was introduced to us
as the Bey Hassan-ben-Mohammed. That Mr. Hassan-ben-Mohammed entirely
disapproved of our presence on the ship, and especially of our
proposed landing at Kilwa, was evident to me from the moment that I
set eyes upon his ill-favoured countenance. After a hurried conference
with Delgado, he came forward and addressed me in Arabic, of which I
could not understand a word. Luckily, however, Sam the cook, who, as I
think I said, was a great linguist, had a fair acquaintance with this
tongue, acquired, it appears, while at the Zanzibar hotel; so, not
trusting Delgado, I called on him to interpret.
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