Page:Harris Dickson--Old Reliable in Africa.djvu/248

 Mississippi River. And a bare hundred yards farther his words proved true.

Their forward barge had come nearly opposite the mouth of Timshi Khor when they felt a shock, an upheaval below.

"Aground again!" Lyttleton exclaimed.

All five barges rubbed violently against one another, creaked, groaned and threatened to break apart. The engines stopped; a powerful current swung the flotilla around. The paddles reversed, and started again. Something snapped, then everything stopped. It was all over, and they were aground—solid as a church.

Lyttleton bounded down the companionway, saying things in Arabic, vitriolic, vicious, untranslatable things; his words sizzled and burned blue, like a pot of sulphur. He reappeared on deck, still swearing in that copious tongue, with an occasional English invective, sincere but vapid.

"Don't mind me," suggested the Colonel; "spit it out of your system."

"Dammit, sir," the Britisher roared; "I was trying to swear in English for your benefit—out of respect to you, sir. But after using Arabic, English is like dummy-swearing, in a sign language." Then Lyttleton broke down and laughed, "Oh, well, we can pepper away at the hippos and crocks. Plenty of 'em here."

Long after the hubbub had quieted Old