Biggles In Africa

by W E Johns

  ‘I don’t think an awful lot of this place,’ confessed Biggles. ‘But we shall have to put up with it for the time being, at any rate. I should hate to think of the crawling things that live in thatch. I’d rather sleep in the open, and so I would but for the fact that I’d rather be bitten by a flea than a lion. It ‘s no use starting operations by getting our heads chewed off in our sleep.’

  They cleared up the place as far as it was possible, and then set up their mosquito-curtained camp beds, standing the feet in pans of paraffin. They scrubbed the table with carbolic soap, and then piled on it such stores as would be required immediately, together with small kit such as toilet things and flash lamps, which might be needed at any time. There was nothing more they could do, so they went outside and sat on the crude bench that had been provided for the purpose by whoever had built the rest-house.

  Already the disk of the sun, a glowing crimson ball, was sinking swiftly over the distant horizon, while the outskirts of the aerodrome were lost in vague, purple shadows. All was still, silent; nothing moved. It was almost as if nature herself was closing her eyes in sleep.

  ‘I suppose there are lions and things wandering about out there,’ reflected Ginger in a low voice.

  As if in answer a deep, vibrant roar rose menacingly on the sultry air; it came from far away, rolled sullenly across the deserted landscape and lost itself again in the distance.

  ‘There’s your answer,’ smiled Biggles. ‘That’s the voice of Africa speaking—straight from the lion’s mouth.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound so good out here as it does at the Zoo,’ muttered Ginger, frowning ‘Hadn’t we better get the rifles out?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Nothing is likely to worry us, except mosquitoes.’

  ‘Hark! What was that?’

  A harsh, coughing grunt had come from somewhere in the trees behind them.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ protested Biggles. ‘I should say it was a crocodile, or a leopard, but I’m no wild-beast expert. At a rough guess there are probably a hundred different sorts of wild animals, birds and reptiles, wandering about the landscape within a few miles of us—lions, leopards, hyenas, elephants, jackals, ostriches, hippos, rhinos, buffaloes, zebras, giraffes, antelopes, and goodness knows what else—and if you’re going to say “what was that” every time one of them makes a noise, you’ll give us all the heebie-jeebies. I don’t know any more about them than you do, except hyenas and jackals, and we’ve seen plenty of them, haven’t we, Algy?’

  Algy nodded. ‘Too many,’ he answered moodily.

  ‘Well, I think we’d better turn in,’ observed Biggles presently. ‘We’ve had a longish day, and we’ve got another long day in front of us tomorrow.’ He led the way back into the rest-house, and Ginger closed the door behind them.

  ‘So this is Africa,’ he observed facetiously.

  ‘Just the first sniff of it,’ agreed Biggles, ‘but we’re going to see plenty more of it before we’re through with this job, unless I’m very much mistaken,’ he added thoughtfully.

  A raucous howl split the night air not far away. It rose to a quavering scream, and then subsided in a series of ghastly chuckles and gurgles. Another joined it, and another, until the night became hideous with the clamour.

  Ginger started up. ‘What in the name of goodness is that?’ he gasped.

  ‘Hyenas,’ replied Biggles laconically. ‘If you say “what’s that” again, I’ll throw you out to them.’

  * * *

  1 Haboob is the local name for the fierce sandstorms that sweep across this part of the world.

  CHAPTER III

  AN UNPLEASANT PASSENGER

  BIGGLES was the first to awake the following morning. It was still quite early, scarcely more than the break of dawn, with the stars paling in a pearly sky.

  ‘Come on, you fellows,’ he cried, throwing back his mosquito net and springing out of bed.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ grumbled Algy.

  ‘The sooner we’re in the air the better,’ Biggles told him crisply. ‘It should be quite nice in the air now, but presently it will get as hot as the dickens and the heat-haze will spoil visibility. I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no necessity for all of us to fly every time the machine takes the air. It would only mean carrying extra weight, besides tiring us out more quickly than if we worked in relays. I suggest that we take it in turns, or it’s quite likely that we shall be sick to death of the job before we’ve covered half our territory. Suppose Ginger comes with me now while you stay behind, Algy, and knock up some breakfast. We’ll do, say, two hours, and then, after breakfast, you can take a turn at the stick.’

  ‘I think that’s a sound idea,’ declared Algy.

  ‘Good enough; then that’s settled. Slip your things on, Ginger; we’ll wash and eat when we get back. Algy, you might come along and give us a hand to start up.’

  Together they walked along to the hangar, Algy still in his pyjamas, with a pair of canvas shoes on his feet, and the others in trousers and sweaters, caps, and goggles. The usual heavy flying kit was unnecessary, for although the dawn air was quite chilly they knew that the heat would be intense later on.

  Biggles glanced suspiciously at the pool of oil as they passed it. ‘Be careful of Sarda, Algy,’ he said seriously. ‘There is something going on here or it wouldn’t be necessary for him to lie, although whether or not that has anything to do with Harry Marton it is yet too early to say. No doubt we shall find out in due course. Meanwhile, try to keep an eye on Sarda without letting him know you are watching him, but bearing in mind that he is probably watching us, too.’

  Between them they folded back the rickety doors of the hangar and pulled the machine outside, with its nose pointing to the open aerodrome. Biggles, with Ginger dose behind, opened the door of the machine and walked through to the cockpit, and with his left hand resting lightly on the back of the seat, he reached forward with the other to turn on the petrol cock. As he did so he happened to glance down. The next instant he had spun round, almost knocking Ginger over in his haste. ‘Outside for your life!’ he hissed tensely.

  Ginger took one amazed look at Biggles’s face; the expression of it made him catch his breath, but he was too well trained to waste time asking questions. Without a word he whipped round, darted to the door and leapt to the ground.

  Biggles landed almost on his heels. ‘Run,’ he yelled at Algy, who was staring at this astonishing behaviour in bewilderment. ‘Make for the rest-house,’ he went on, desperately, ‘and don’t stop on the way.’

  With one accord they made a wild rush in the direction of the rest-house.

  ‘What the dickens is it?’ cried Algy in something between fright and anger.

  ‘Don’t talk—run,’ panted Biggles, snatching a glance over his shoulder. ‘Faster,’ he yelled, his voice rising to a frenzied cry of panic.

  His fear communicated itself to Ginger, who sprinted for dear life; but with Algy curiosity overcame all other emotions and he took a quick look behind. Twenty yards away what appeared to be a short length of black hosepipe was covering the ground at incredible speed in a series of galvanized jerks, and it told him all he needed to know. With his elbows pressed against his ribs, he shot forward like a sprinter leaving the starting line, while a gasp of real terror burst from his lips.

  They reached the rest-house about half a dozen yards ahead of their pursuer, and Biggles, who was in last, slammed the door behind him. ‘On the table,’ he roared, glancing at the base of the walls, which he now noticed for the first time had been undermined in several places by rodents and storm water.

  It was touch and go. For a moment it looked as if the table would collapse and throw them into a heap on the floor, but they recovered their balance just as the snake, twisting and curling like a whip-thong, shot through a hole near the door.

  There was a roar as Algy’s gun blazed, but the target was a difficult one, and the bullet only sent up a shower of earth, which serve
d to drive the reptile to greater fury. Biggles snatched up a wooden case from the pile on the table. It weighed about twenty pounds and was marked ‘corned beef’. For a moment he held it poised, and then brought it crashing down on the snake, now almost at the foot of one of the table legs. It curled back upon itself furiously, but uselessly, for its back was broken, although the ends which projected from under the box continued to writhe convulsively. Biggles took the revolver from Algy’s hand, and leaning down, fired three shots at point-blank range at the squat black head. The third shot shattered it to pulp, and the threshing became a slow sinuous movement. Then he jumped down, not very steadily, and stood staring at it. ‘Well,’ he said in a curious voice, ‘now we know where we are.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ginger in a strained whisper.

  ‘I’m not quite sure, because I’ve never seen one before, but I think it’s a mamba,’ replied Biggles quietly. ‘Did you ever see anything go so fast in your life?’

  ‘Is it poisonous?’ asked Algy, getting off the table.

  Biggles felt in his pocket and took out a small, thin book. ‘This is a handbook on Africa issued by the Zoological Society,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be useful.’ Swiftly he flicked through the pages. ‘Here we are,’ he went on. ‘“Mamba. Two species; green and black. The black mamba is one of the deadliest snakes in the world, and one of the few that will attack a human being without provocation. It is extremely venomous and can travel at great speed. It has been known to catch a fast runner and, it has been said, can catch a man on horseback, although this is regarded as doubtful. It can only travel slowly uphill, however, and natives, when pursued, always seek to escape by making for a gradient if one is available.”’

  ‘Very pretty,’ observed Algy grimly. ‘I’ll take a gradient about with me while I’m in Africa. What did you mean when you said that now we know where we are?’

  ‘How do you suppose that thing got into the cockpit ?’

  ‘It must have crawled in.’

  ‘Crawled in, my foot! Nothing is going to make me believe that a snake can open doors, go through, and then close them again behind it.’

  Algy whistled softly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The machine was all shut up, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was; doors, windows, and windscreen. I took particular care to shut everything up tightly in order to keep dust and insects out.’

  ‘Then it looks as if somebody must have put it in.’

  ‘Your powers of deduction are improving.’

  ‘But who would do a thing like that, and why?’

  ‘Somebody who wants us out of the way, but is cunning enough to try to make cold-blooded murder look like an accident,’ answered Biggles coldly. ‘Can you imagine what would have happened if we had taken off with that horror in the cockpit? I can—easily. It would just have been another of those mysterious crashes that defy explanation. No doubt the hyenas and jackals would have removed any traces of snake-bite. Ssh! Here comes Sarda—leave this to me.’ He raised a warning finger as a soft footfall was heard outside. The door opened and Sarda stood on the threshold, looking inquiringly from one to the other of the three airmen.

  ‘I heard shooting, huh?’ he said. Then, following Biggles’s eyes, he looked down and saw the crushed reptile. ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, sibilantly.

  ‘That’s a mamba, isn’t it?’ asked Biggles carelessly.

  ‘Yaas—him mamba. Very dangerous,’ answered the half-breed.

  ‘Many of them about these parts?’ inquired Biggles.

  ‘Yaas—many.’

  ‘Well, that’s how we treat them,’ murmured Biggles, looking Sarda straight in the face.

  ‘You may not always be so lucky,’ replied Sarda thoughtfully, picking up the dead reptile by the tail and throwing it out on to the aerodrome. ‘You were just going to fly, huh ?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes, and we’re still going to,’ Biggles told him shortly. ‘Come on, chaps, don’t let’s waste any more time.’

  ‘We’d better have a debate about this after you get back,’ declared Algy as Biggles got into the machine and Sarda walked back to the bungalow.

  Biggles nodded. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘One thing is certain: we shall have to mount a guard over the machine or it will take more nerve than I’ve got to get into it. I don’t mind the ordinary risks of flying, but I’m no snake-charmer—or lion-tamer. Are you O.K. Ginger?’

  ‘O.K., Chief.’

  ‘Right-ho. Cheerio, Algy, see you presently.’

  Biggles twirled the self-starter and, as the engine roared, taxied slowly out across the aerodrome into position for a take-off.

  Five minutes later they were in the air, circling for height, with the vast African continent stretching away on all sides, harsh, forbidding, mysterious.

  Far to the north a cloud of yellow smoke marked the position of a bush fire, a common enough sight in Africa where native tribes employ this method of driving game towards their traps. To the west, a range of mountains, their blue serrated peaks softened by distance, rose above a bank of heat-haze that was now beginning to form.

  ‘I’m going to try the south first,’ declared Biggles to Ginger, who was sitting beside him, gazing around with absorbed interest. ‘It’s almost certain that Marton started for Juba, whatever may have happened afterwards to make him change his course,’ he concluded.

  For an hour they flew on, watching the ground closely on each side for any signs of a crash, but in vain. Automatically they also kept a watchful eye open for prominent landmarks, and although they picked out one or two, salient features were few and far between. For the most part the landscape was wearisome in its monotony. Wild animals they saw in large numbers, giraffe, buffalo and deer, and occasionally a solitary lion. Once they saw a small herd of elephants standing flank deep in a lake by a forest of considerable dimensions.

  ‘We’d better be getting back,’ murmured Biggles at last, and suiting the action to the word brought the nose of the Dragon round until it was pointing to the north. ‘I’ve learnt something, anyway,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The size of the task we’ve taken on. It’s all very well to sit at home and look at maps, but when you get out here and see this’—he indicated the vast territory below with a wave of his left hand— ‘one begins to get an idea of what one is faced with. And I don’t mind telling you that it gives me a sort of hopeless feeling.’

  Ginger said nothing, possibly because he shared Biggles’s pessimism. Nor did they speak again until the aerodrome came into sight and they were gliding down towards it.

  ‘What the dickens does Algy think he’s playing at?’ asked Biggles, as he flattened out and landed.

  Ginger peered forward through the windscreen and saw Algy standing just inside the hangar making strange but definite signals to them. ‘I fancy he’s got something to tell us,’ he said slowly. ‘If I were you I’d taxi right up to the shed.’

  This apparently was what Algy was trying to induce them to do, for he remained in the shed, beckoning them on, without making any attempt to meet them.

  ‘Has the sun given you St. Vitus’s dance or something?’ inquired Biggles, opening the windscreen and looking down.

  ‘No! Come on out; I’ve got something to tell you,’ was the impatient answer.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ asked Biggles a moment later, as he jumped lightly to the ground.

  ‘There’s some one else in the bungalow besides Sarda.’

  Biggles pursed his lips. ‘How do you know?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘I heard Sarda talking to him. Shouting might almost be a better word.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘It’s happened twice. Once, immediately after you had taken off, and again just now. I may be wrong but I fancy he didn’t know I was in here. He thought we’d all gone off together.’

  ‘What makes you think that ?’

  ‘Because as the machine took off he dashed out and looked up at it; the
n, as soon as you were well away, he ran back without even glancing in this direction and started shouting at somebody. I was so surprised that I stayed here in the hope of learning something else, instead of letting him see me as he would have done if I had gone back to the rest-house to make the coffee.’

  ‘Very interesting. Is the other fellow still in there, do you think?’

  ‘I’m certain of it. I’ve kept my eyes on the place all the time.’

  ‘Good! Ginger, watch the bungalow until further orders,’ commanded Biggles; and as Ginger jumped to obey he turned again to Algy. ‘By fair means or foul we’ve got to find out who it is,’ he declared.

  ‘Why not go to the place openly?’

  ‘Because I’m afraid that if there is any one there he won’t let us in, and we couldn’t force our way in without an open declaration of war. Still, there may be no harm in trying. Come on, let’s go. Leave the talking to me.’

  Side by side they walked down to the bungalow. Sarda must have seen them coming, for he opened the door and stepped on to the threshold as they reached it.

  ‘Phew! It’s warm,’ muttered Biggles, truthfully enough. ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Yaas. With pleasure. Why not?’ was the prompt reply.

  Biggles concealed his surprise at this invitation, and threw a quick glance round the room into which the front door gave access, but except for the fact that it was in a filthy condition there was nothing unusual about it. Indeed, it was pretty much as a stranger would expect to find it. ‘Not a very big place to have to spend your life in, is it?’ he murmured sympathetically, with his eyes on Sarda’s face.