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

by F. S. Brereton

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.