With Wolseley to Kumasi: A Tale of the First Ashanti War

Dick had not thought of that before, and the news came as a shock to him. If that were the case, and these miners from Ashanti would be in danger lower down the river, where would they be safe? In Elmina?

“Then we shall have to part, I fear,” he said, after some minutes’ thought. “The Fantis swarm lower down the stream, and though some might be friendly, others would soon make an attack upon you. Where can you go?”

“There are villages in our own country where we shall be secure, white chief. Already the fighting men will have left, so that our coming will not be noticed, and there will be none strong enough to harm us. Then, as the warriors return, we can leave. When all is quiet we will go to the mine and commence work again, for you will return?”

“I should say that we shall do that without a doubt,” answered Dick. “The gold obtained has been abundant, and my employers will come again when the country has grown quiet. Perhaps this trouble will die down rapidly, and we shall be back in a month or two.”

“You may, and yet I doubt it, Englishman. This war has been the thought of my countrymen for many years. They long to reach the coast, to have their own town there, where they may obtain supplies and guns. Yes, we know that, for we have listened to their talk. And besides, our brothers are born to fight. In times of peace they have little to do, and so it happens that we are forever quarrelling with those who live near at hand. A few, like ourselves, are trained to mine, and the king keeps us free from interference. We are necessary, for with gold the king buys guns and powder, and in our country it is a law that every nugget found goes to him as tribute. The dust belongs to the diggers, while those who dare to conceal the nuggets, even if they be only as small as the smallest bean, are taken to Kumasi and sacrificed. Thus, as I said, we can return to the villages, and we shall be safe so long as we can keep away from the war parties. For they will know that we come from the mine, and doubtless the king, having declared that he will fight the Fantis and the English, has given orders for all who worked there to be slain or taken captive.”

“And how do you propose to avoid these war parties?” asked Dick, anxiously.

“In this way. We will steam on till we are clear of these cravens who attacked us, and as the moon grows near we will tie up under the bank. Then, if our white chief agrees, we will serve out the dust, each man taking what is due to him. Then we will dive into the forest, and will make for Kumasi. Trust us to keep away from the fighters.”

“While I shall have to run down-stream alone and escape them if I can.”

“We would gladly come with you,” said the native, “but it would mean death to us. If the white chief desires it we will come.”

“No. I will go alone. You have done splendidly,” said Dick. “You have proved true and more than brave. I shall report that to our employers. We will steam on for a little while, and then we will serve out the wages. Later we shall hope to meet again at the mine.”

Little did Dick guess that this river would be dyed in many places with the blood of men ere the country was quiet again, and that the forests and woods would echo to the cheers of British soldiers ere King Koffee, the arrogant and bloodthirsty potentate of Kumasi, would consent to withdraw his fighters. He did not know that even then telegrams were speeding home to England, that the situation at Elmina and at Cape Coast Castle was serious in the extreme, and that nothing but war and rumours of war were in the air. Little did he dream that he was still within the nest of a hornet, almost the only man of his colour still alive so many miles from the coast. How was he to learn that thousands of warriors were on the march, and that the forest paths were teeming with men of Ashanti? It was enough for him to remember the danger from which he had escaped. The memory of it, and of the successful defence and escape, filled him with glee, and he looked forward to the brush which he might have on his way down the Pra with a light heart which defied all thoughts of failure.

Two hours later the launch ran in to the bank, and was moored under the trees. Then the books showing the amounts due to the miners were produced, for Dick had had the care of these, and had sent them to the launch in one of the bags. There was a pair of scales also, and very soon the portions were separated, four ounces of gold going to swell each little heap, as a special reward for the manner in which the men had fought. Then each of the heaps was sewn up in a piece of canvas, and secreted upon the person of the owner. The remainder of the dust was stored in the cabin again, and, that done, the launch put out from the bank, and ran to the far side of the river. Then, with many a cheer and shout, the Ashanti gold-miners – excellent fellows all, and very different from their warlike brethren – stepped ashore, and made off into the bush. Dick and Johnnie felt quite lonely when they had gone. They pushed off into the stream and steamed away.

“Better leab um boat behind,” said the native, suddenly, after some minutes’ silence. “Suppose hab to run, den boat hold um back. P’raps mean um dead.”

It was an excellent idea, showing again that there is wisdom to be found in a native, and that Johnnie, for all his quaint looks and merry ways, was a thinker.

“We’ll do so certainly,” said Dick, at once adopting the advice. “Look for a spot where we can hide her, and which we can pick out again should we require her. It must be on this bank, too, so we will keep within easy distance.”

It was not until an hour had passed that they hit upon a suitable place. Then, at a nod from the leader, the launch swung in closer to the bank, while Johnnie ran to the stern and drew in the painter. He ran the native craft up alongside the launch, and hopped lightly into her. Then, as Dick put the propeller astern – for the stream ran fairly strong here – the native pushed off, and guided the boat into the shallows. There was a massive tree there – a species of fern, growing to the height of thirty or forty feet perhaps, and dropping its abundant spreading foliage like an umbrella all round till the tips trailed in the water. Johnnie pushed boldly in, and Dick could see the big fronds shaking. Then he edged the launch closer in till her nose dipped under the leaves, and he heard her grate against the side of the native craft.

“Got um fast front and back,” sang out the native. “No move um, whateber happen. She fill wid water, and not sink. Tree hold um up nicely. Yes, and no one know um dere. Whole army pass, and neber guess. Golly, massa, de berry place!”

“And one to find easily,” answered Dick. “Now, hop along, and let us get off. We’ve plenty of steam, and I think we’ll put her hard at it. The tales of these warriors of King Koffee make me uneasy, and I’m anxious to get down to the coast.”

Very soon Johnnie appeared from amidst the leaves, and they pushed off into the stream till they reached the centre. And there they remained throughout the day, reeling the miles off rapidly, for they had the stream to help them.

“We’ll keep on without a single halt right down to the sea,” said Dick, as he sat on the edge of the engine-well, eating a meal which the native had just cooked. “We know there will be a moon, and now that the river is broader we shall be able to see easily. We’ll chance sandbanks, and hope that none will come in our path. By to-morrow morning the natives should be left behind, and we should be within reach of friends. Good coffee, Johnnie. You are a capital hand at other thing besides making war!”

The native stoker grinned his delight as he turned to face his master.

“When me so high me learn to cook,” he said, with a merry laugh, holding his hand out some three feet from the deck. “In my country de women and de children see to de food while de men smoke and sleep, and get strength for de fight.”

“A queer way of getting up one’s muscle,” laughed our hero. “Just fancy training for school sports, or a gymnastic competition, in a similar manner! One would be rather soft, and hardly in the best condition.”

“Dere where Johnnie learn to fight,” went on the stoker. “Me go out when me not yet a man, and in de first battle me kill an enemy. He rush so” – he clambered from the well, and demonstrated the method of attack with such energy that the launch rolled – “he make stroke at Johnnie’s head, and miss um mark, golly! by de inch. Den me answer. Me hit wid all de strength wid um club, and he go whop! He fall dead on de ground. Den me take um head, and shout de war cry.”

He made another attempt to bring the last in reality before his master, and set the forests ringing. Dick clapped a hand over his mouth, and pushed him into the well.

“Steady, my lad,” he said. “There may be an Ashanti army within hearing of that call, and then what will happen? Spin your yarn if you wish, but do it quietly. How’s steam?”

A little abashed, but yet glowing with the memory of his victory, the native stepped to the gauge and read off the pressure. Then he shovelled a heap of coal from the bunker.

“Come night, and not see so well,” he said. “Hab plenty ready to run wid.”

About three hours after that, dusk began to fall, and for a little while the fugitives were compelled to lie in close to the bank of the river, for it was densely dark. But the time passed pleasantly enough, for Dick had his pipe alight for the first time since the previous day and as he smoked it, watching the glow of the bowl, and looking across to a similar glow proceeding from the clay gripped between the white teeth of the native, his thoughts returned to the stockade. He went over all the scenes again, his nearness to James Langdon, and the luck he had had then. His successful attempt to reach the stockade, and the desperate fight he had had on the way. And, later, the retreat, with all its numerous incidents. He was still thinking of it when the moon came up in all her splendour, flooding the river till it was almost as light as day. And then, for the first time for many an hour, he looked at himself, and was horrified. His hands were cut and scratched in all directions, as doubtless was his face also. His clothes hung in ribbons about him, while, by the stains upon the breast of his coat and upon his shirt, one would have thought that he had been badly hit. But that he certainly was not; and now he remembered how the wretch who had first attacked him outside the stockade, had fallen under his own sword – fallen against the one who struck the blow.

“Time to move,” he said, springing to his feet. “Steady ahead. More. Let her have it.”

The native grinned. He wiped his hands with a piece of waste extracted from his pocket, and then opened the throttle. And once he had the launch moving at full speed he leaned back in contentment, watching his master with one eye, while with the other he looked at the smoke curling up from his pipe.

An hour later, as they swung round a bend in the river, and came into a long, straight stretch, a cry of amazement escaped them. The water on the left bank was black with native craft, while the hubbub of some thousands of voices came to their ears. But that was as nothing to the shouts which greeted the appearance of the launch when she came into the straight. There was a deafening burst of shouting. Tom-toms and drums were beaten in all directions, while the deep note of many a native war-horn was heard. For crossing the stream was one division of King Koffee’s army, en route for the Fanti country. And of this division, amounting to some ten thousand men, not more than a tenth were on the water, for there were insufficient boats within a radius of many miles to carry more. The passage was being made by detachments, and the first crossing had just commenced. That there were more of the warriors ashore Dick quickly learned, for if there had been shouting from the men on the water, the noise from the jungle was vastly more pronounced. And then the firing commenced, though the launch was beyond the range of the cheap, Birmingham-made guns owned by the natives. Still, the loud reports issuing from the bush were sufficient to show what was happening, while any doubt that there could possibly have been was set at rest by the manner in which the surface of the river was struck and thrashed by the bullets. They splashed in all directions, bullets ricocheting and screaming, slugs and buck-shot of native manufacture dropping heavily into the water, while the numerous pebbles which were fired sank out of sight at once.

Dick smiled grimly, once he had overcome his first feelings of consternation and astonishment. He stretched out from his position at the tiller and caught up a rifle. Another movement and he had three of the weapons at hand, for there was a good supply on board. And while he held the tiller between his knees, he jerked cartridges into the breeches. As for Johnnie, his mouth had opened in one vast expression of astonishment as the natives came into view, and for an instant he had changed colour under the dark pigment of his skin. Then, glancing at his leader, and seeing how he was engaged, the little fellow gripped his pipe the tighter and threw himself upon his shovel. The door of the furnace swung open with a clatter, and Dick heard the grating of the shovel on the narrow iron floor of the engine-well. A flash lit up the stoker’s figure, and Dick caught sight of a roaring fire, quenched a second later with a mass of coal. Then a dense volume of black smoke swept out of the low funnel and went trailing overhead till it merged with the clouds and the trees. He glanced at the pressure gauge, and by the help of the moon saw that it stood at sixty. Johnnie turned to it also and pointed.

“Hab plenty more soon, massa,” he said. “Make water bubble and fizz. Boiler go bur-r-r-r-r wid de pressure. Chimney velly hot. Golly! Look at um!”

“Time to think about a shot or two,” answered Dick, quietly. “Get a couple of rifles and some cartridges, and load. Keep them handy to the engine. Then go on stoking. By the way, have we a fender aboard?”

“Big one forard, sar. Where hab him?”

“Right on the bows, rather low down. Slippy, my lad.”

They had little time for chatter, and both knew it. The native crawled on his hands and knees along the deck, and swung a large rope fender over the bows, securing it on the very stem of the launch. Then he ran back, and the furnace door swung open again. By now the steam pressure had risen to sixty-four, and the needle was slowly jerking up. The funnel vomited even more inky-black smoke, while flames and small particles of coal flew into the air, the latter raining down on the deck. Meanwhile the natives had not been idle, for after the first shouts of surprise, and the salvo of bullets and slugs, the whole mass of canoes had set off across the river to intercept the launch. The consequent confusion can be well imagined. There were then screams and shouts of anger. Boats became locked together, and Dick saw some of the crews striking at one another in their rage and in their anxiety to get clear of their neighbours, and have a share in the capture.

“That gives us a chance,” he said. “If they had started from the outside line there would have been no doubt about the issue. Now it’s touch and go. They may be lined across our way, or they may not. Depends on the crews. As for their firing, I don’t care a rap about it. Those guns don’t carry over-far, and from what I saw at the stockade I should say that at a little more than a hundred yards one would only experience a heavy blow. At fifty the slugs would penetrate. Hullo! I don’t like those beggars.”

As he spoke there was greater commotion amidst the canoes, all of which were now under weigh, while those on the outside, the river side of the fleet, had broken clear of their comrades and were pushing for the centre of the stream. This, however, was not what attracted Dick’s attention, and drew the remark from him. It was the sight of two native craft of larger size which suddenly pushed from the shadow of the bank. They were crammed to overflowing, and carried big crews, who knelt in a line along each side. In the centre stood the warriors, shouting and gesticulating, and fighting their way through the mob. Small consideration did they give to those who were in their way. Dick saw the warriors strike at their comrades with the butts of their firelocks, and watched as more than on of the smaller craft was overturned. Then he sat down and took up a rifle.

“A shot might help,” he said quietly. “How’s steam?”

Johnnie pointed to the indicator and looked proud.

“Hab plenty,” he said. “Stoke um more and perhaps um bust. Plenty steam in de biler.”

“Then get your rifle, and aim at the rowers in the first of those two boats. Don’t leave her alone. Keep on all the while unless you have to stoke again.”

“Not want to. Hab plenty steam and big fire,” answered Johnnie, with a satisfied nod. “Not hab any more coal till half-hour. By den p’raps not hab steamer.”

“Perhaps,” answered Dick, with a smile. “We’re going to see to that. Out with your rifle.”

Still gripping the tiller between his knees, while he sat on the edge of the well, he took a long and careful aim at the first of the paddlers, the one who set the stroke to the boat, and pressed the trigger when the sights were on him. Instantly there was a howl of rage, and the man dropped back on to the rower behind him, while the whole lot came to a halt. But it was only for a quarter of a minute. One of the warriors who stood close by lifted the body and hove it overboard without ceremony. Then he seized the paddle and thrust it into the water. Crack! Dick’s rifle broke the stillness which had followed the shout, and the man who had just knelt crumpled into a mass, the same disorder following.

“Five hundred yards I make it,” said our hero quietly. “Give them a full sight, Johnnie, and aim for the centre of the body. Ah! A good one. I think you hit the side of the boat first, and then the man. They don’t waste time aboard those craft, and human life does not seem to be over-valuable.”

By now the launch and the fleet had sensibly decreased the intervening distance, the latter making directly across the river Pra, while the former raced down the centre of the river. It had become more than ever a question of time, and the thought made Dick redouble his efforts. And thanks to his shooting, the progress of the two war boats was greatly delayed, his bullet singling out the leading paddler every time the place was filled, till there was a panic in that part of the vessel. Then suddenly an unexpected thing happened. The two aboard the launch had taken little notice of the firing which still went on from the bank and from a number of the canoes, and which was of greater danger to the enemy than to them, for the range of the enemy’s firearms was inconsiderable. Now, however, a shot attracted their attention. There was a louder report than usual, and a bullet of large size sped from the fleet, and striking the funnel, bored clean through it, the puncture being plainly discernible by the flames and smoke which instantly emerged. Dick started forward, till he was stretched across the after-well, the tip of the tiller in his hand, and almost at once there was a second shot, followed by a heavy thud behind him, and finally by a splash out in the river. He turned to find the tiller loose in his hand, splintered by the missile, the fracture of the shaft having taken place an inch or two in front of the slot cut for it in the rudder. The steering gear was cut adrift, and as he looked at the shaft in his hand the launch went off her course. She shot to the right, away from the enemy, causing a scream of rage to rise from a thousand throats. Then, as suddenly, she swerved to the other side, till those aboard her were almost rolled into the water. She seemed to see the enemy before her, for she took the bit in her teeth, and, with her propeller thrashing the water behind her, went directly towards them, a bow wave splashing up on either hand. And then the tone of the Ashantis changed. Whatever they were, they were men of courage, and not to be frightened by a monster of this sort speeding down upon them. They had, for the most part, never seen a launch before, and those who had, had probably never seen one in full flight. Yet they did not flinch. They stood in their boats, and such a shout of triumph went up that the woods rang and rang again. Then their guns opened with a vengeance, and a perfect storm of missiles hurtled towards the launch. They did not stop her. She did not seem to notice the bullets splashing on either hand and tumbling on her deck. The launch had got out of hand, and as if she were tired of life and roused to desperation by the pressure of steam which she carried, she went on her mad course, rushing down to doom and destruction.

Chapter Eleven.

Running the Gauntlet

“That stoking bar, Johnnie! Quick! For your life!”

Dick could not wait to explain, for the situation was one which demanded instant action. When he had recovered from his amazement at the result of the unlucky shot from the forest, and had seen that the tiller was broken, he had no time to reflect that but for the movement which he had made a moment before he would have been killed by the very bullet which had wrought the mischief. Action, instant and effectual, was required, and his eye had at once sought for a substitute. Suddenly he remembered the iron bar used for stoking the fire, and as he shouted for it he prepared to place it in position. With a bound he was on the deck right aft, and kicking the butt of the fractured shaft from behind, shot it out of its socket. Then he gripped the rudder post and twisted it with all his strength, contriving to head the launch for the centre of the stream. Two or three seconds later the native was beside him, and as Dick held the post the bar was pushed into the socket.

“Hab um now! Get over oder side plenty quick. Put um over, massa.”

Dick did so, with a heave which again caused the launch to roll till water spurted through her scuppers, while the two aboard crouched on the deck and held on for their lives. Then he set her on a new course, turning her head diagonally across the stream.

“Get to the rifle,” he said sharply. “And first lay mine here so that I can grip them. That’s right. Crouch in your engine well so as to avoid the bullets. Do you hear? Go!”

Johnnie’s eyes had asked a question. He had as good as said to his master when the caution to sit in the engine well had been given, “And what massa do? He not crouch. Plenty ob cover for Johnnie, but what about massa?” But Dick brushed aside his question with one word, and proceeded to fix the bar between his knees, as he had done with the wooden tiller.

“Let ’em shoot at it again,” he said, “and I guess the bullet won’t do much harm. In any case it was a fluke, and not a bad attempt to pot me. Hah! That got one fellow. I shall have to play with these men.”

As he ran the launch across towards the far bank, slanting her down stream all the while, he had seen that the fleet of canoes was now spread out across the river, and though there were fewer of their boats on the far side, and a narrow opening still remained there, yet the path to the sea was barred. He therefore steered for the far side. But a plan to get free was forming in his brain, and he watched for a chance to carry it out, his eye riveted on the two war canoes.

“It’s those fellows I want to dodge,” he said. “I wonder how we should fare if we ran into one of them.”

He was thinking of charging one, and measured the size of the stout launch against that of each one of the native craft.

“We’re about the same length,” he said, “and as to weight it’s a toss-up. She’s crammed with men, and we’ve engines and a boiler aboard. There’s nothing in it. All depends on how we hit her. All right!”

There was something ominous in those last two words. They meant much, and the quiet way in which the helmsman of the launch looked round, the set expression of his face, showed that he meant to choose well and make the most of his opportunities.

“We’ve steam to drive us, and plenty of it,” he thought. “That gives us an advantage.”

Once more he put up his rifle, and for three or four minutes peppered the enemy. But on this occasion he directed his shots to the boats at the far side of the river, now very close at hand.