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

by F. S. Brereton

Kneeling behind a tree he kept a keen watch upon the opposite side, and now that the enemy were exposing themselves, his bullets seldom failed to tell. As for the Jack Tars, they seemed to enjoy the work, for they lay on their faces, calmly ignoring the hail of slugs overhead, and returned the fire of the enemy with wonderful steadiness. At Dick’s words, too, each eased his cutlass in its sheath, and just glanced ahead to make sure that there was nothing to keep him from reaching the open. Nor was it long before the necessity for action on their part was called for. The firing from the opposite side became even fiercer, and by now Dick and the majority of his men had been hit; though, thanks to the wide interval existing between the combatants, few of the missiles penetrated. Then there came the beat of a war-drum, a dull, reverberating sound which seemed to echo through the forest, while Dick caught fleeting glimpses of a group of the enemy, passing amidst the trees, and exhorting their comrades.

“Get ready, my lads,” he sang out, “and don’t forget, give them a couple of volleys and more as they run. When I shout, form up outside and charge. Jack, just watch those beggars and when they cross one of the paths let us fire together.”

They lay behind two plantain trees which happened to be close together, and followed the movements of the group of Ashanti officers whom they had seen on the opposite side of the clearing. Within a few seconds they saw them emerge into one of the numerous roads cut through the forest. Both fired together, and gave a shout as they saw one of the enemy, a big man, gaudily dressed and feathered, fall to the ground. A moment later they were throwing cartridges into their rifles as rapidly as was possible, and were emptying their weapons at a speed which showed what need there was for action. For hardly had the tall leader on the far side given a shriek and fallen, when the deep boom of the war-drum became deafening, as if the man who wielded the stick were beating out his indignation and hatred. Shouts of fury filled the air, and as if the drum were the signal, some two hundred of the dusky enemy started from the trees and commenced to rush across the clearing. Very fierce and forbidding they looked as they came, for they had discarded their muskets, or had slung them behind their shoulders, and now they were armed with Ashanti swords, or with formidable-looking knives.

“Steady, men!” shouted Dick, at once. “We have plenty of time to knock a few over. Fire as fast as you can and wait for the signal.”

The forest resounded to the crack of the rifles, and to the shouts of the natives. Not a sound came from the bluejackets save that given out from their weapons. They maintained a grim silence, and stretched there on their faces, kept up a withering fire, directing their shots with marvellous coolness. But there was a stern, ugly glint in their eyes, and the hands that wielded the rifles gripped very tightly. Then Dick gave a shout, and in a moment all were on their feet.

“Drop your rifles,” he commanded. “Now line up. My men, we are not to be frightened by a lot of bellowing natives.”

“Afraid. Not us!” came the reply from one of the salts. “Jest fancy hooking it because of these fellers. We’ll get aboard and sink ’em, boys.”

There was a roar as the men heard the words, while the swish of cutlasses being drawn from their scabbards could be heard. Then Dick gave another shout, and placing himself beside Jack Emmett at the head of the little party he started forward, his teeth clenched, and his mind made up to beat back this attack and conquer.

“Charge!” he bellowed. “Charge into the middle of them.”

There was now no longer need for silence, and the cheer which the men gave showed that their spirit was not lacking. Closely following their young leaders they raced forward in a compact body, heading for the very centre of the enemy. And it was clear at once that their sudden appearance and their warlike intentions gave food for thought to the enemy. The mad rush of the Ashantis came to a sudden end, the mass halting to stare at these few enemies. A few turned tail immediately and fled, while some of the natives hung in the background, uncertain how to act. Then one of their number gave a shout and they came on again, but this time with less determination. A few seconds later the combatants met, the sailors throwing themselves upon the Ashantis with deafening cheers, cutting and slashing at them fiercely, while one of them, happening to miss his aim, and to strike the ground with his weapon, whereby it was jerked from his hand, took to his fists in true nautical style, and struck right and left amongst the enemy. Still, it was a critical moment for Dick and his party, and only their dash and bravery saved them. The contest hung in the balance for a minute or more, while the natives stabbed desperately at the sailors, some of them doubling up and attempting to dash in below the cutlass. But the result was always the same. There was a thud, and the weapon fell with unerring aim, stretching the man on the ground. Or if that was not the case, Jack’s knee would rise of a sudden, and the native would receive a blow on the head which stunned him instantly. Amidst all the clamour came the sharp crack of the revolvers held by the two young leaders.