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

“Certainly,” came Dick’s answer, given in the coolest tones. “As leader, I give orders. I find on going into this matter, that it would be unwise to risk the lives of the crew and ourselves in attempting a rescue. But, at the same time, I cannot leave an old friend to a ghastly fate.”

“Then you will go?”

“Yes; I will go alone with this native. He came down the river at night, and what he has done I can do. I will return with him, and we will bring my friend away. You will command in my absence, and will remain as near as possible, so as to pick us up. It’s all very clear and simple.”

“By George! clear and simple! You can’t mean it?”

A nod of the head was his only answer, as the two young fellows stared at each other, Dick looking very calm and determined, and Jack decidedly taken aback. As for the crew, who perforce, owing to the limited space aboard the launch, had been interested listeners to the whole conversation, they had been itching to throw in a word to encourage the order for a dash, for nothing would have pleased these gallant fellows more. But they were intelligent men, and they, too, when the matter was thrashed out before them, could understand the grave risk attached to such an attempt, and the fact that it was not legitimate to undertake it. They could appreciate a brave decision, too, and as their young leader quietly announced his intentions, they set up a cheer, which brought the blood to his cheeks. Jack gripped him by the hand, while Johnnie started from his stoking well, and came a pace nearer.

“Then yo want me,” he said eagerly. “Johnnie know de forest, know dese debil Ashanti, and hab no fear. He fight plenty Ashanti.”

“I want no one, thank you,” came the answer. “I will accompany this native, and I shall hope to be back here two nights from this. ’Bout ship, Jack. We must make these beggars think that we are turning tail. Now, I’ll ask this fellow a question. Come here, my man. Will you direct me to the white chief to-night, and return here with him?”

A smile broke out on the wan face of the native, and he showed his teeth.

“I will go gladly,” he said. “To the white chief my life is due, and I will repay the debt. Let there be no fear for our safety. These enemies will not expect us, and during the night we shall easily pull up to the creek. In two days, perhaps, we shall return.”

All was now bustle and movement aboard the launch, for many preparations for the coming attempt had to be made. Meanwhile, seeing that he could not persuade his comrade not to make the journey, Jack Emmett went to the helm and sent the launch back to her course, down the centre of the river. And there he held her, sitting motionless and thoughtful at the tiller, while Dick and his men prepared the native boat. Two rifles and an abundant store of ammunition were placed in her, and to these were added a cooking-pot, some tinned provisions, and a keg of water. That done, and some miles having been covered since they turned towards the sea, the launch was run in toward the bank and anchored, while all threw themselves down beneath the awning to sleep. As evening came, they partook of a meal, and once the night had fallen, they pulled in their anchor and stood up the centre of the river again, their course guided by the faint streak which intervened between the two black lines of forest on either side. A shield of sacking surrounded the top of the funnel, while precautions were taken to hide all trace of light from the fire. In fact, the launch might have been a ghost, so silent and invisible was she.

“Stop her. Bring that boat forward, please.”

It was Dick’s voice, cool and collected as before.

“Now hold her while we embark. Good-bye, Jack. Good-bye, men. Keep a watch for us to-morrow night. Shove her off.”

A dozen hands stretched out to grip his in the darkness, and a dozen voices, gruff and deep, and sunk to a whisper, bade him good luck and good-bye. A push then sent the boat clear of the launch, and within a few seconds she was under way, the dip of the paddles being just distinguishable. That sound soon ceased, and as the crew of the launch stared disconsolately after their leader, they could neither hear nor see a trace of the boat.

“Good luck to the lad,” growled one of the sailors. “Blest if he ain’t the pluckiest gentleman as ever I see.”

“And if them fellers gets ’im and does for our young orfficer, I tell yer they’ll ’ave ter pay, do yer ’ear?” growled another. “Strike me! but we’ll give ’em something for interferin’!”

“Silence there, for’ard. ’Bout launch! Steady there with the tiller, and hold your tongues, my lads.”

This time it was Jack Emmett’s voice, strangely altered. At once there was silence. But the men could think and mutter to themselves, and as they slowly steamed down the dark river that black night, each and all, from their new commander downward, registered a vow that if Dick Stapleton did not soon return, they would find the cause and probe the mystery to the bottom.

Chapter Seventeen.

A Well-laid Scheme

“Not a sound. Nothing to disturb us. We have been lucky.”

“And the creek lies within an hour’s paddling from here, chief. Soon we shall reach the white man who befriended me.”

It was still quite dark, though the partial view which the curling river Prahsu allowed of the east showed that there the sky was already streaked with dull grey clouds, and that the day would not be long in coming. It was hours since the native boat had put off from the launch, and the paddles of the two occupants had dipped regularly and monotonously all the while, with an occasional spell of rest. And never once had a sound or suspicion of the proximity of the enemy alarmed them.

“We had better paddle over to the bank and be ready to take cover beneath the trees,” said Dick, at last. “I remember that they overhang, and that we can run in beneath them and still paddle. Let us get close to them, and stay outside till the light is brighter.”

“Or it may be that we shall be within the creek by then,” came the answer. “Then there will be no danger. We have seen no sign of the enemy near the mine for some days past.”

Turning the nose of the native boat towards the bank, they ran her in till she was only a few yards from the long and continuous line of overhanging boughs which clothed the side of the river. And in that position they paddled on till the growing light warned them that longer stay in the open would be dangerous. Then they plunged in beneath the boughs, and continued their passage up the river. Presently a cry from the native attracted Dick’s attention.

“The creek, chief,” he called out. “We will push on.”

He was strangely excited, and now that the goal was in sight plunged his paddle into the water with greater energy, and set the pace so that his white companion had difficulty in keeping time. They surged along through the shallows, dodging the boughs which dropped to the water, and ducking their heads to avoid others which came dangerously near to the boat. It was still hardly light when they shot the boat into the narrow mouth of the creek, though as they rested on their paddles and looked back, the gloom surrounding this narrow and foetid strip of water was deeper when compared with the prospect offered by the river.

“At last,” said Dick. “We are here in safety, and still there is no sign of the enemy. Where is Meinheer? Shall we have trouble in finding him?”

“Perhaps a little,” was the answer. “He wanders here and there in search of food, and to keep watch lest these Ashanti men should come to the neighbourhood.”

“Halt!” whispered Dick, suddenly, for he thought he saw a dark object on the bank. “Look there! Is that some one watching us? There! He has moved away.”

They came to a sudden stop, while each peered into the jungle. The native lifted his head to listen, while his white companion stretched out his hand for his rifle and took it across his knees.

“Perhaps a beast of the forest, chief. It was not a man, of that I feel sure. Let us press on, for we might still be seen from the main channel of the river, and see how light it is getting.”

Once more they plunged their paddles into the water and sent the boat ahead, though Dick, who sat in the stern, kept his eyes on the forest. His suspicious were aroused, and he was now keenly alert, for he felt almost sure that he had actually seen a man. Then, too, something told him that they were being watched.

“That was a call, too,” he said to himself suddenly, as the note of a bird came to his ear. “Of course it may have been all right, but I don’t half like it.”

He eased his sword in its sheath, and felt for his revolver, which of late he had carried suspended to his shoulder and between his coat and his shirt. There it was out of the way and out of sight, while he found that he could lay hold of it instantly. In fact, it was an excellent position, for whether in a boat or ashore, the weapon, placed where it was, did not strike against objects when he sat down or moved rapidly. A little later the bend in this stagnant creek came into view, and there was the place where the boats had been secured when he was at the mine. He could see the dark surface of the sluggish stream as it issued from the jungle, and though he peered amidst the trees there was not a man or beast to be seen.

“In a few minutes it will be lighter,” said the native. “Then we will land and search. Perhaps the chief will stay here on the bank while I go in search of my friend.”

Dick thought for a moment. Would it be wise to land, and perhaps have a dozen or more of the enemy upon him? Would it not be wiser to stay aboard and lie off in the stream? That would give him an enormous advantage in case of attack. But suppose Meinheer were near at hand, and he were seen and followed; he would require help. “You shall go ashore first,” he said to the native. “I will wait here, and when you report that all is clear near the landing stage, I will come.”

For a moment it seemed as though the man hardly liked the order, for he looked at his companion doubtfully, and fidgeted. Then he thrust his paddle into the water and shot the boat close to the side.

“In a few moments,” he said. “I shall quickly decide whether there are enemies about.”

He leaped to the bank, giving the boat a push out into the stream, and at once disappeared in the dense jungle. For a little while the crash of twigs and dead boughs told that he was moving, but finally the sounds died down. Once our hero thought he heard the far-off cry of a bird, but he was not sure, and presently his suspicions of danger were set aside by the recurrence of the sounds of some one moving and by the sudden appearance of the native on the bank.

“All is clear,” the man called out. “The forest is empty. Even the white chief is nowhere at hand. But we shall find him soon. It is safe for the chief to land.”

Satisfied now that his suspicions had been groundless, and yet with the ever-present feeling that there might be, and probably was, some danger to be anticipated, Dick drove his paddle into the water, and sent the nose of the boat into the bank. The native caught the rope and dragged at it, while his master leaped ashore, rifle in hand. Then, together, they pulled the boat half way up on the bank, and made the painter fast to a tree. Not till then did Dick observe a figure creeping towards him through the jungle. He gave a startled cry, and lifted his rifle to his shoulder. Then a second figure came into view, and just as he was in the act of pulling his trigger a dozen natives rushed forward from different directions, while the very man whom he had rescued down the river, and who had brought the note from the Dutchman, leaped on his back, and flung his hands over his face. Then commenced a desperate struggle, for Dick realised in a flash that he was the victim of a ruse; that he had been hoodwinked and decoyed to this place. At the thought his usually placid temper broke its bounds, and in an instant he became furious with rage, while his strength, which at all times was of no mean order, became doubled. With a snarl he dropped the rifle, and ere the men charging down upon him could come to close quarters, he had gripped the wrists of the ruffian who had leaped on his back, and torn the hands from his face. Then he swung the man round, and picking him up as if he were a child, flung him with furious energy against a huge cotton tree growing just beside him.

By then the others were at hand, and the contest was continued with desperate earnestness. Dick knew that he was cornered, and across his mind the results of capture passed vividly. In a flash he saw himself a prisoner, led to Kumasi, there to be slaughtered. It was a terrible prospect, and the thought of it increased his desperation. His teeth closed tightly together, not a sound escaped his lips in response to the shouts of the enemy. Then his hand flew to his sword; but he had no time to draw it, for one of the enemy, a tall, lanky Ashanti, was already upon him, rushing into close quarters, and wielding an enormous stake. The weapon was already in the air when Dick saw his danger, and he had barely time to leap aside. Then his instinct caused him to make use of nature’s weapons, and in a trice his right fist flew out and struck the native full on the forehead, sending him staggering back against the tree at the foot of which lay the body of the native who had acted as decoy. There was a third close at hand by now, but nothing daunted the solitary white man sprang at the stake which had dropped to the ground and seized it. Then the conflict went on with renewed energy on his part. With sweeping blows he held the enemy at bay, and as the more venturesome rushed in, the stake went up with a whirl, there was a crash, and another man fell to the ground.

It was not to be such a one-sided contest after all, and in a little while, when he had cleared the natives farther back, Dick hoped to be able to rush for the boat, launch it, and push it from the bank. Then would come the time for his revolver, and he promised himself that he would make good use of it. But he had greater trouble to contend with, for the crash of broken boughs in the forest told him that others were near at hand. Indeed, hardly had he realised the fact that the enemy were about to receive reinforcements, when a number of dusky figures appeared, while a man stepped from behind a huge cotton tree. It was the half-caste, James Langdon, saturnine in appearance, looking thin and wan after his long residence with the Ashantis, and showing on his ugly features the same crafty cunning look as had first aroused our hero’s suspicion and dislike. He, too, bore a stake in his hand and held it poised above his head. With careful eye he aimed it at the young fellow fighting by the bank of the river; then, with a sudden movement he threw it as if it were a spear, and with such deadly aim that it struck the object on the temple.

Dick fell like a log. Had he been an ox that had been struck a true blow with the pole-axe he could not have fallen more swiftly. One instant he stood there, breathing hard, and whirling his club, defiant and by no means conquered, and the next he lay an inert mass at the feet of the rascal who had decoyed him up the river.

“A fine shot!” shouted the half-caste. “On to him, and make his hands and feet fast. Now a pole, and we will carry him. Later, when he has recovered, he shall drag his own body to Kumasi for the sacrifice.”

He stood by with every sign of satisfaction as the natives obeyed his orders, and smiled his cruel smile as the last of the lashings were completed. By this time a pole had been slashed from the underwood, and with a refinement of cruelty for which this race are known, the Ashantis thrust the pole between Dick’s feet and hands, which were held together by the lashings, and prepared to carry him away suspended in that fashion.

“We will look at these comrades of ours,” said James Langdon, as they turned to depart. “Ah, our friend, the white fool, struck true and well. The man is stunned. It will be hours before he recovers. Who will wait with him?”

“And risk the coming of this man’s friends? None of us,” came the answer. “Let him lie, and if he escapes, then he is fortunate. Besides, he has comrades to keep him company.”

He pointed to three others who had been struck down by the stake, and at once the half-caste bent over them.

“They are all hit badly, but will regain their senses, I think,” he said calmly. “Well, let them lie there and recover while we push on. What of this one, though?”

“Dead!” replied the man who had answered his first question. “I saw him thrown against the tree, and heard the crash. His back is broken and also his head. He will never recover.”

“Then fling him into the river and let us be going. After all, he played for a stake, and would have had the bulk of the reward for this fool’s capture. But he bungled it. His fingers should have gripped the neck, for then they could not have been so easily grasped. It is a lesson to us all. Fling him in and pick up your burden.”

None of the men seemed to think that there was anything remarkably inhuman in their action, for to these Ashantis human life was very cheap indeed, and kindness and mercy almost unknown qualities. While a man was alive and possessed of full strength he was a comrade to be respected, for he could take care of himself. Dead, however, or badly injured, he was a nuisance, a positive burden, to be rid of at the first moment; to be robbed and deserted, or to be flung into the nearest stream like a dog. Without a thought, therefore, they picked up the man who had played his part so well and flung him with a loud splash into the stagnant stream. Then, without a second look at their unconscious fellows, they turned, picked up the pole, and went off through the forest in the wake of James Langdon.

When Dick regained his senses an hour later his first feeling was one of extreme anguish in both hands and feet, and very soon the pain caused his scattered wits to return, and led him to discover the cause of his trouble. He was suffering tortures, so much so that the agony swamped all thought of his miserable condition as a captive. He struggled, and begged to be set down.

“Cut his legs adrift, then,” said James Langdon, brutally. “Now place him on his feet and make a creeper fast to his hands. Better still, lash them behind his back instead of in front; then two of you can hold the end of the creeper.”

They threw their prisoner on the ground and cut both lashings. Then they swung him over on to his face and tied his hands behind, making a long creeper fast to the lashing. A moment later they picked him up and placed him on his feet. He staggered and fell at once, his limbs doubling up beneath him.

“He won’t stand, then!” cried the half-caste, his cruel nature delighted at the sight of so much suffering, and at the plight in which he saw the son of his old employer. “Set him up again and hold him there. I will thrash him till he changes his tune and agrees to make good use of his legs.”

There was no haste about this ruffian. He drew a sheath knife and went in search of a knotted vine, returning with it, still plying his blade and paring off the small branches attached to it. Then he took his post behind his prisoner.

“Raise him, and stand well aside,” he cried, with a gay laugh. “Now we will see how long it takes us to persuade him.”

Could the prisoner have freed his hands at that moment and managed to reach his tormentor, he would have taken such a grip of his throat that James Langdon’s villainy would have been summarily ended for all time. Dick felt the cruel sting of the lashes as they fell upon his back, across his face, and on his legs and shoulders. But his indignation and rage at such cowardly and dastardly treatment helped to ease the pain. He clenched his fingers, closed his lips firmly, and when he could fixed his gaze upon the ruffian who belaboured him. Then, gradually, as the man tired and his blows lost power, and as the circulation returned to the prisoner’s legs, he gained sufficient strength to stand, and then to hobble.

“See what a good healer I am,” laughed the half-caste. “Others would have rubbed his legs and feet. I use my whip to his back, and the sulky dog is roused. He finds that it will be as well to walk and do as he is bid.”

“And he will find it in him to punish such an act when the time comes,” gasped Dick. “I do not threaten, James Langdon, thief and ruffian. I give you due warning. When the time comes, I will shoot you as if you were a wild beast, without notice and without mercy. Vermin such as you are do not deserve ordinary treatment.”

For a few seconds the half-caste was taken aback, for at heart he was an arrant coward, and the mere mention of what might happen to him was sufficient to shake his nerve. But he had the game in his own hands now, he flattered himself. This time the youth at whose door he laid all his troubles, the need which drove him to live this life in the jungle, the fever which racked him, and a hundred other evils, was securely bound, a prisoner, from whom no danger was to be apprehended. His words were harmless. He was as helpless as a new-born babe.

“When the time comes I shall be prepared,” he said, with a laugh which he vainly endeavoured to make easy and light. “For the present we will advance, and leave threats and chatter till later. Advance, and beat the dog if he shows signs of lagging.”

Had the Ashanti warriors who helped in the capture and who now formed the escort had even hearts of stone they would have pitied their prisoner. The very fact that he had made a very gallant and determined fight for freedom would have aroused their enthusiasm and respect. But these men of Kumasi had long since had all such feelings driven from their breasts. The constant succession of cruelties of the most frightful nature perpetrated at Kumasi had hardened them to all human feeling and misery. They had, every one of them, from the time when they were mere children, been daily witnesses of executions, of unmeaning and ferocious tortures, and of endless bloodshed. Mercy they had never encountered. There was but one punishment for prisoners and evil-doers alike, for the thief, the murderer, and those whose cruel fate had caused them to be born in slavery. The executioners stretched out their greedy and remorseless hands for all, and who could say when their turn would come? Was it remarkable, therefore, that these men marched on before and behind their prisoner, belabouring him when his steps flagged, and shouting oaths at him? And so, in this sorry plight, his feet tingling still, while his hands felt as if the skin would burst, so tight were the lashings, Dick was hurried on through the dark and sombre forest out to the clearing and to the site where had stood the mine stockade. There, as the procession halted, he threw himself on the ground in an exhausted condition, wishing almost that he might die. His thirst was now unbearable, while his head throbbed and ached from the blow he had received. No wonder, too, if he were apathetic, if his fate were now a matter of little concern to him; for his present miseries overshadowed all else.

“Give him some water, and put him in the shade,” ordered the half-caste. “Two of you stand over him with your guns, and if he moves thrash him with the vine. We will teach him how to behave while he is in our hands.”

He glared at his prisoner, who took not the slightest notice of him. But as soon as the water was brought Dick drank it greedily, for he was parched. Then he lay down, his hands still secured behind his back, and very soon, utterly wearied by his night’s work, and by his struggle with the enemy, he fell fast asleep, enjoying a dreamless rest which was of the greatest service to him.

What would have been the feelings of those gallant souls away down the river had they known of the treachery to which their young leader had fallen a victim! Had they but guessed that the fleeing native was only part of a clever plan, laboriously thought out by the half-caste robber whose thefts had driven him to take to the forests, and who, like so many of those who have wronged the man whose salt they have eaten, had turned all his hate and vengeance upon that man or his representative! But how could they guess? It had all been so real. The native boat appearing at dawn, with a shouting mob in full pursuit, as if the light had only then enabled them to discover the runaway. Their shots, falling recklessly about the boat, and the desperate haste of the native himself, his wound and his apparent exhaustion, had all aided in misleading the crew of the launch. They never imagined that their presence in the river had been instantly detected, and that when they lay to for the night, their exact whereabouts had come to the ears of James Langdon and his roving band of free-booters. But that was what had happened.