The African Queen Read Free Page A

propeller ceased to vibrate. Then he dashed into the bows once more, and just as the trees at Rose’s side began apparently to move forward again as the current overcame the boat’s way, he let go the anchor with a crash and rattle, and almost without a jerk the African Queen came to a standstill in the green-lighted channel. As the noise of the anchor chain died away a great silence seemed to close in upon them, the silence of a tropical river at noon. There was only to be heard the rush and gurgle of the water, and the sighing and spluttering of the engine. The green coolness might almost have been paradise. And then with a rush came the insects from the island thickets. They came in clouds, stinging mercilessly.
    Allnutt came back into the sternsheets. A cigarette hung from his upper lip; Rose had not the faintest idea when he had lighted it, but that dangling cigarette was the finishing touch to Allnutt’s portrait. Without it he looked incomplete. Never could Rose picture little Allnutt to herself without a cigarette—generally allowed to go out—stuck to his upper lip halfway between the centre and the left corner of his mouth. A thin straggling beard, only a few score black hairs in all, was beginning to sprout on his lean cheeks. He still seemed restless and unnerved, as he battled with the flies, but now that they were away from the dangerous mainland he was better able to master his jumpiness, or at least to attempt to conceal it under an appearance of jocularity.
    “Well, ’ere we are, Miss,” he said. “Safe. And sound, as you might say. The question is, wot next?”
    Rose was slow of speech and of decision. She remained silent while Allnutt’s nervousness betrayed itself in further volubility.
    “We’ve got ’eaps of grub ’ere, Miss, so we’re all right as far as that goes. Two thousand fags. Two cases of gin. We can stay ’ere for months, if we want to. Question is, do we? ’Ow long d’you fink this war’ll last, Miss?”
    Rose could only look at him in silence. The implication of his speech was obvious—he was suggesting that they should remain here in this marshy backwater until the war should be over, and they could emerge in safety. And it was equally obvious that he thought it easily the best thing to do, provided that their stores were sufficient. He had not the remotest idea of striking a blow for England. Rose’s astonishment kept her from replying, and allowed free rein to Allnutt’s garrulity.
    “Trouble is,” said Allnutt, “we don’t know which way ’elp’ll come. I s’pose they’re going to fight. Old Von ’Anneken doesn’t seem to be in two minds about it, does ’e? If our lot comes from the sea they’d fight their way up the railway to Limbasi, I s’pose. But that wouldn’t be much ’elp, when all is said an’ done. If they was to, though, we could stay ’ere an’ just go up to Limbasi when the time came. I don’t know that wouldn’t be best, after all. Course, they might come down from British East. They’d stand a better chance of catching Von ’Anneken that way, although ’unting for ’im in the forest won’t be no child’s play. But if they do that, we’ll ’ave ’im between us an’ them all the time. Same if they come from Rhodesia or Portuguese East. We’re in a bit of a fix whichever way you look at it, Miss.”
    Allnutt’s native cockney wit combined with his knowledge of the country enabled him to expatiate with fluency on the strategical situation. At that very moment, sweating generals were racking their brains over appreciations very similar—although differently worded—drawn up for them by their staffs. An invasion of German Central Africa in face of a well-led enemy was an operation not lightly to be contemplated.
    “One thing’s sure, anyway, Miss. They won’t come up from the Congo side. Not even if the Belgians want to. There’s only one way to come that way and that’s across the Lake. And nothing won’t cross the