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

“There he is,” he said, with a good-natured smile. “I pass him as fit, and shall be glad to get rid of him, for, ’pon my word, the youngster has been the worry of my life. Every day he has pestered me to allow him to go ashore. Take him and welcome.”

“Then, Mr Stapleton, the General sends his compliments and desires that you will call at Government House and see his Chief of the Staff. Will you come now?”

Would he come at once? Dick smiled at the very idea, and ran below with all the eagerness of a boy. Soon he appeared again, spruce and neat in his white clothing, and stepped into the launch.

“Remember me. Dick,” sang out the young officer, who had become friendly with him. “If there is a boat expedition or anything going, I am a volunteer. Ask to choose your own staff, and don’t forget that I shall be keen.”

Half an hour later the surf-boat had landed them, and our hero felt like a young horse which has been conveyed oversea, and has not set foot on land for many a day. It was glorious to feel the sand under his shoes, to see the people moving about, the laughing kroomen, the native carriers, the mulattoes of the coast, the white men, English for the most part, with an occasional Dutchman, all busily engaged in checking stores. There were young officers, as young or younger than himself, in their shirt sleeves, with pith helmets tilted to the backs of their heads, perspiring freely, while they saw that the stores were correct. And everywhere, some under tarpaulins, some exposed to the air, were the stores, cases of biscuit, of rice, of pork, and of beef. Huge ovens for field camps, kettles of the standard army pattern, known throughout the service as “dickies.” Bales of clothing for native levies, cases of the same for European troops, shells of regulation construction, swords which were sharp on one side and had a saw edge on the reverse, star shells meant to be fired high into the air and light up the surroundings, hand grenades and rockets. Dick even noted some barrels labelled “beads,” a curious thing to find in such a place.

“For the niggers and their wives,” said the staff officer, with a laugh. “That is the way in which we shall pay our way in some parts, though I fancy it will hardly take us to Kumasi.”

There was a grim smile on his face as he said the words, and he looked closely at Dick.

“What is your opinion?” he asked.

“All depends on the force we have, and on the methods we employ, and the strategy adopted by the enemy,” answered Dick. “If King Koffee leads his troops against us and shows up in the open, he will be smashed to pieces. Our rifles would beat down his gun fire, while our shells and gatlings would send his men running. But it will be different.”

“You have seen for yourself? You have been up-country, they tell me.”

“A little. The forest extends for something like two hundred miles, and we shall have no choice but to fight through it. Whether we go by river or road to Prahsu, there we shall have to take to the bush, and it will be difficult work. A man can creep close to one and stab, while rifles are almost useless. Then there’s the climate. But we ought to get to Kumasi if we have the troops.”

“What I think and hope. But come along. Here’s the office.”

A few moments later Dick was ushered into the large, airy room in which the Staff held their meetings, and at once stood at attention, his hat in his hand. By now he had become used to official matters and people, and therefore he felt no nervousness when he discovered that there were four officers present, all of senior rank, while two at least were high up in the service. Instantly Dick’s eye was riveted on the figure of one of these officers, moderately tall and exceedingly soldierly in appearance.

“Sir Garnet,” said the other, motioning to him. “Mr Dick Stapleton, of whom you have heard.”

Dick bowed at the name and stood, awaiting the wishes of those who had summoned him.

“You are well and strong again, it is reported?” said the chief of the staff. “That is good news, for the General desires some information. Do you consider that you are well enough to undertake another journey into the bush?”

“Quite,” was Dick’s emphatic answer. “I am fit and strong again now, and longing to be off.”

Sir Garnet smiled. The chief of the staff smiled, while the officers present exchanged knowing glances.

“That is like your spirit,” went on the officer, “but I wish you to consider this question before you reply, for the journey upon which we require you to go is one from which some do not return. We have news, more or less reliable, of the movements of the Ashanti armies, news which is sufficient till the troops arrive from England. But in the meanwhile we want to have particulars of the country beyond the Pra, from there to Kumasi, and if possible news of the captives and of King Koffee. Troops are expected at the end of the year, in two months perhaps. So you have that time in which to get this information. But you know, doubtless, the condition of the country. There are at least two Ashanti armies lying in the jungle, and perhaps there are others.”

He ceased speaking and looked questioningly at the young fellow standing hat in hand, as if awaiting an answer, while he desired above all things to weigh his character, to see for himself whether he were indeed the lad of courage which the Governor had represented him to be, and whether he were a fit person to undertake an expedition of such danger.

“There will be no mercy from the Ashantis,” he added, lifting a warning finger. “You have met them and you should know.”

“When can I start? The sooner the better,” said Dick, quietly.

“Then you will go?”

“Yes, sir, and I will get this information for you if it is possible. What men may I have? I’d like the old launch which I had before. She steams well, and has a stout hull.”

“Choose your own staff and your own methods of proceeding,” was the genial answer. “They tell me that you have patrolled the river before, so you must know what is wanted. Come and report here just before you leave. And, er – Mr Stapleton, there will be a handsome reward for this information.”

Dick was glad that he had heard that after he had accepted the task.

“After all,” he thought, as he left the office, “I would rather work for the fun of the thing and for the good of old England than for money. If, however, there is a reward and I win it, why, all the better. It will be like winning a prize. And now for the preparations. I shall want to think it out.”

He bade farewell to the staff officer who had brought him from the ship and went to see Mr Pepson. A week later he set off on his hazardous journey to Kumasi, to the headquarters of the most ferocious monarch known to Englishmen, to the spot where everything was fetish, where thousands of slaves were butchered in the year, and where the sight of a white man was sufficient to rouse all the inhabitants to a condition bordering on insanity.

“Recollect, my dear lad,” said Mr Pepson, as he bade his young friend good-bye, “that King Koffee is a wild beast, and that it would be better for you and your men to die fighting, or to shoot one another, rather than fall into his hands. Good-bye, and good luck.”

He turned away to hide a tear, this strong man who so seldom showed his feelings. But he was deeply attached to Dick, and would gladly have kept him. However, this was duty, duty to his country, and he was forced to let him go. Then he turned and watched as the surf-boat took our hero out to his launch. There was the scream of a whistle, the waving of many hands, and Dick was off – perhaps never to return again.

Chapter Fourteen.

A Brush with the Enemy

“We will look into Elmina on the way over to the Pra,” said Dick, as the launch steamed along the coast, keeping just outside the rollers. “I have news of something, and want to inspect. Later we can go up the Pra and get this other information.”

He was sitting on the roof of the tiny cabin, surveying the coast with a critical eye, while every now and again he turned his gaze to his crew with a feeling of satisfaction. For this was some reward for the disappointment occasioned by his illness. He was again on the move, with the very same crew, and in addition there was with him young Emmett, a youth some few months older than himself, tall and straight, and now entirely recovered from the sickness which had prostrated him and sent him to the hospital ship Simoon.

Jack Emmett was just the sort of fellow to take our hero’s fancy, for he was a genial, high-spirited lad, fond of a joke, and still keener on seeing some fun with the enemy. So far he had done nothing more than inspect the Gold Coast from the sea, for he had fallen ill on the voyage out. But he was eager to meet the enemy, and more than that, Dick found that he took a great interest in the coming operations, intelligently following the movements and preparations on our side. More than all, he had a huge admiration for his young leader, who had in so few weeks managed to meet with so much adventure.

“What is this news?” demanded Jack, for up till now Dick had kept his counsel to himself. “It is new to hear that we are to make into Elmina. Are there any Ashantis there?”

“You will hear,” was the answer. “This I can tell you, that Sir Garnet has had a big palaver since he reached the coast, and called in all the kings of the tribes under British protection. Some came in all state, with umbrellas and tom-toms, and with the accompaniment of rattling bones and war-drums. Others stayed away, and sent defiant answers. Those fellows live in the neighbourhood of Elmina, and it struck me, when I heard the tale, that they would hardly have dared to act as they have done had there not been some sort of encouragement.”

“I follow the argument. Then you think – ?”

“That the Ashantis are somewhere in the neighbourhood. Yes,” responded Dick. “Let’s talk to Johnnie.”

He sang out for the native stoker, who relinquished his firing shovel, and came trotting along the miniature deck, still clad in his tattered garments, and still with the clay pipe of which he was so fond, gripped between his teeth. But there was a little difference. Johnnie had added dignity. His was a proud mien, and whenever he stopped to speak to a white man or even a black nowadays he always turned his right cheek to the stranger, for there was the scar, livid and red against his dusky skin, an honourable scar which told of fighting, of a battle in which his master had gained a name, and he, Johnnie the stoker, a proportion of the glory.

“Massa call,” he said, raising his hand to his battered cap after the custom of the seamen. “Johnnie here. What yo want?”

“Repeat this tale of Elmina,” said Dick, quietly. “Tell this officer what you told me.”

Johnnie greeted the youth beside his master in similar fashion, with an elaborate salute, and treated him to a critical survey.

“Johnnie know little ting or two,” he began, with a knowing smile. “He ’tend dat he no good, like same as many at de coast. He say, ‘hate white men, and wish Ashanti here.’ Johnnie know dere heaps of spies at de Castle, and he listen and open um ear. Soon fellow come and ask him if he find out what going to happen. Me say glad, if plenty gold dust. Den dis fellow he tell Johnnie dat de Ashanti lie in de bush along close to de coast, ready to jump on de white man. Ask me to let um know when time come for de rush. Dat all I know. Johnnie take de dust and perhaps get more later.”

He looked at the two sprawling on the roof of the cabin with a cunning smile, in which they joined. For, after all, though it was not precisely honest, this action of the stoker’s, yet all was fair in love and war, and if one of the agents of the enemy came to one of the servants of the white men asking for information and offering money, was it not in the nature of such a man as Johnnie to keep his information to himself, giving tit-bits of news which were of no importance, while he abstracted information as to the enemy’s position, and a reward for himself?

“And that is all, Johnnie?” demanded Dick.

“All same as me tell yo. Noding more.”

“Then you can get back to the engine. Now, Jack,” went on Dick, “supposing it were true that the Ashantis were here, within a few miles of Elmina, and imagined themselves hidden from the English. Wouldn’t it be an opportunity to take them by surprise and start the campaign favourably? There are not many troops at the Coast, I know, but there are marines and bluejackets aboard, and they should be sufficient.”

“And they could be concentrated here rapidly. Yes; it would be a golden opportunity, and I see your meaning. Then you will put in at Elmina?”

“When it is dark,” said Dick. “Then we shall not be seen, perhaps. That is why I delayed our departure. We are far enough along the coast now, and I propose that we steam out a little and lay to.”

The proposal was carried out at once, for they judged that they were now some two hours’ steaming from Elmina, and the day was still young. Therefore, it was as well to keep as far out as possible. Accordingly, the bows of the launch shot out over the oily sea, which was heaving continuously as it does along this long unbroken African coast, and very soon she lay to, a couple of miles or more from the beach.

“We’ll have the lines out and do a little fishing,” sang out Dick. “Any one who likes may sleep, save the man on guard. Johnnie, you’ll need to bank the fires, for we shall want steam later.”

A canvas awning had been rigged over the deck of the launch, for the heat would otherwise have been almost unbearable. And beneath this the two young officers and their crew stretched themselves at their ease, while each dropped a line overboard, for they had been careful to bring these in case their provisions should run short.

Some four hours later, just as the day began to draw in, they pulled up their lines and headed for Elmina. It was dark when they arrived off the fort, and they steamed into the river at once, passing beneath the bridge erected by the Dutch. Not a sound was heard aboard. The engines were working dead slow, while a screen of sacks surrounded the funnel, hiding any sparks which might have betrayed the presence of the launch. In the bows stood two of the bluejackets, with long poles in their hands, and presently, as the launch passed beyond the town into the river, they stretched these ahead as far as possible, letting the tips trail in the water.

“Take her along dead slow,” whispered Dick in Johnnie’s ear. “There are plenty of sand and mud banks, and we don’t want to get stranded. Ah! that must be one.”

Without the slightest warning, the launch came sweetly to a stop, burying her nose in a bank of mud which cropped up in the middle of the river. Even the men who held the poles had not been able to detect the obstruction in time, for their rods simply pierced the soft material. And now, when they attempted to push the launch off, the same thing happened.

“All walk aft,” said Dick. “Now, Johnnie, reverse the engines, and give her more steam. When I whistle let every man give a jump into the air.”

His orders were given in the lowest tones, and were carried out without confusion, for the British sailor hates fuss and flurry, and can be relied on to act well and discreetly in an emergency. All gathered aft, and as Dick whistled they jumped into the air, shaking the launch as they came to the deck again. But still she clung to her cradle of mud.

“Then some of us must get overboard. What is the depth?” asked Dick.

In the silence he could hear the two bluejackets grope for their poles, and plunge them into the water. Then one of them came to his side.

“About two feet of water, and three of mud,” he said. “If we was to go over the side, we couldn’t swim, and the mud would hold us. What about putting something at the end of the poles, sir? Something that wouldn’t sink so easily. How’d a couple of kegs do?”

Dick thought for a moment. Then he went to the tiny cabin, and unmasking a lamp, peered closely at the stores. Thanks to the generosity of those in charge of the commissariat, a liberal supply of provisions of a mixed character had been handed over to the expedition, and amongst these stores were some kegs of biscuits. Our hero gave vent to a whistle.

“Bring the two poles down here,” he said, as a head was thrust into the cabin. “And let all stand round, so as to hide the light should it show. Now, my lad, rip off the top of this keg.”

One of the sailors had his cutlass out in a moment, and soon contrived to get the lids off two of the kegs, and the contents were poured into an empty provision box.

“Now, how are we to make them fast?” asked Dick. “You ought to know better than I.”

He looked at the sailors and waited their reply, while they stared at the kegs, uncertain how to act, for it is no easy matter to attach an article of this kind to the end of a pole.

“With a bit of rope and a good fire I’d do it in half an hour,” said one of the men at length. “Yer see, by rights, sir, we ought to have a step at the bottom of the keg, and lash the end of a pole down on to it. But yer can’t do that ’cause a step needs hammerin’, and that ’ud warn the enemy if he’s hereabouts. But we’ve a fire, and a stoking bar, and that ’ud make a fine drill. With a hole through the centre of the lid and the bottom, we could push the pole through, and take a turn of the rope round above and below the keg. That would keep all in place and ship-shape.”

“Then we’ll get to the engine,” said Dick, promptly. “Bring the kegs and poles while I douse the light. Now, you men,” he went on, as he came out on the deck, “stand round the engine well while we finish the job. Johnnie, get that bar heated.”

Some twenty minutes later the four holes had been drilled, and the poles pushed through, and secured with rope. Then the two sailors took their station on the bows, while the remainder went aft. The propeller was reversed at full speed, while the kegs were placed against the mud bank, and the men holding the poles pushed with all their strength. Dick gave a low whistle, the men jumped, and this time with as gentle a motion as when she grounded, the launch left the bank and floated in the open water. Two hours later the boat was brought to a rest some miles up the river, and was pulled beneath an overhanging tree, where she lay till morning dawned.

“We have a fine place from which to keep watch, and we’ll see whether we cannot make a catch,” said Dick, as he and Jack Emmett sat down to breakfast. “How do you like the work, Jack?”

“It’s fine,” was the answer. “This is what I have been waiting for. And the best part of it all is that we are our own masters, and can therefore enjoy all the more fun. Supposing an army came along, as happened in your case?”

“We should lie hidden; if they found us we should fight. No more running away for me, particularly when I have a crew like this. Hullo! what’s the report?”

One of the sailors had ascended the branches of the tree, from which post he could keep a watch on the river, and at this moment he whistled. Then they saw him come swarming down to drop from a height of fully fifteen feet on to the deck of the launch. He alighted as easily as a cat and came aft to his commander.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, as he saluted, “but there’s a boat full of niggers a-coming down-stream, and they’re armed.”

Dick was up in a moment, and taking care to move with the utmost caution he pushed the leaves aside and looked out. The report was accurate, for coming down-stream was a large native boat, with some ten men aboard, on whose shoulders muskets were slung. A glance showed him that some at least were Ashantis, while the others he was not sure about.

“They must be captured,” he said with decision. “We will wait till they are quite close, and will rush out at them. If they fire, four of you give them a volley. That will be sufficient, for we want to make a capture.”

It was an exciting moment for the men of the expedition. Not that they had anything to fear from the men aboard the native boat. But they were now well above Elmina, and who could say whether the enemy were not all round them? In any case they must be near at hand, so that the attack might very well be followed by a general onslaught on the part of the Ashantis.

Dick busied himself with telling off the men to their stations, while he bade Jack Emmett take the tiller and steer the launch. Presently the native boat drew opposite their hiding-place, and at once the boughs were parted and the launch shot out into the river. There was a shout from the enemy, and half a dozen dropped their paddles and opened a hot fire, their slugs whistling over the launch.

“That proves that they are enemies,” said Dick, in tones of satisfaction. “Give them a volley, my lads.”

It was high time to return the fire, for as he spoke another burst of flame had come from the boat, and three of the sailors were struck by the slugs. Not that that made much difference, for the hardy fellows did little more than grunt. There was a quick answering flash, and instantly four of the natives threw up their arms and toppled overboard.

“Put us at her hard!” shouted Dick, waving to Jack. “Now swing her round and bring us alongside. Keep under cover if you can, my lads, and give them a volley over their heads.”

The whole manoeuvre scarcely took five minutes. In less time than it takes to tell, the launch had swung out into the stream, had headed for the enemy, and finally had run alongside, a second volley from the rifles of the seamen ripping the air over the heads of the natives. And that was sufficient. Within a second they had thrown down their arms and had grovelled on the floor of the boat.

“Get them all aboard here and lash their arms and legs,” sang out Dick. “That’s the way. Smartly does it. Now dash a hole in their boat and let her sink. Turn the launch’s head to the sea, Jack, and let us be going. Ah, there come the bullets.”

There could be no doubt that there were more enemies at hand, and that the firing had attracted their attention, for hardly had three of the bluejackets tumbled aboard the native craft, while their comrades held the two boats together, when a gun bellowed from the low-lying forest on the opposite shore, and a bullet crashed into the stern of the launch.

“Jest look lively, me lad, will yer?” sang out one of the salts, as he gripped the shoulder of one of the grovelling enemy. “That’s the sort. Yer don’t want to look at me as if I was about to eat yer, but jest hop aboard the launch.”

He used the utmost politeness, while his grip closed about the native like a vice, and with such force that the wretch gave vent to a cry of terror. Then he was lifted bodily aboard the launch, where in spite of the slugs and bullets which were now falling about her, he and his companions were carefully and scientifically secured, Jack Tar not deigning to hasten because the enemy happened to be near at hand. Then one of the salts borrowed the stoking shovel from Johnnie, and in less than a minute the native boat had disappeared beneath the water. Meanwhile the bush on one side of the river echoed to the shouts of the enemy, and the fire which had at first been spasmodic, now became furious, till the surface of the river was lashed with bullets and slugs.

“Lie down, men, and return their fire,” sang out Dick. “Jack, sink into that well, and steer us to the far side. I fancy we shall be out of range there, and I have seen none of the enemy. We will make for the sea now, for we have got all that we want; at least, we have obtained nearly all. The rest I shall hope to have soon. That’s the way, my lads, pepper them well.”

He took a rifle and lay down beside the men, firing at the flashes which spurted from the bush. And thanks to their superior weapons, and the skill of the sailors, the shots of the enemy gradually subsided, bursting out here and there afresh as they were silenced in one particular spot. Then Dick whistled to his men to cease fire.

“We do not wish to kill more of them,” he said, “and they cannot hurt us now. Let each of you stand beside one of the prisoners, and if you can impress him with your fierceness without really harming him, all the better.”

There was a knowing grin on the faces of the men as they went to carry out their leader’s commands; for they were beginning to grasp his meaning. And Dick, had he not been so serious, could have roared with laughter at the grimaces of the sailors, for they carried out his wishes to the letter till the captives writhed with terror. Meanwhile the launch, ignoring the continued fire of the enemy, kept to the far side of the river and steamed down to Elmina. Soon she passed beneath the bridge, breasted the breakers, and was at sea again, a few gashes on her planks, and a handkerchief or two about the arms of the sailors alone showing that she had been in action; those, and the captives lying upon her deck.