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

by F. S. Brereton

“To add to our trouble, there is no gold to be had,” he almost shouted. “The dogs carried their day’s takings to the stockade, where the remainder is stacked, I suppose. There are weeks of profit there, comrades; and we have heard that they have done well. Shall we retire now till our friends come to help us, or shall we make a second attempt? In a day we can have a hundred men to aid us, and then there will be no doubt of success.”

“While the booty will be the smaller, for the reason that it must be divided,” added one of the natives.

“Which is better than losing more lives,” exclaimed James Langdon. “Besides, there will be plenty of booty for us all, for you know what is happening. We are on the way to Elmina. Your king is going to drive these white men out of the country, and that means plenty of loot for every man of us. But I will leave it to you. We will attack again now, for there are fifty of us, or we will make a ring round them, and hold them tight till our friends come. We have them safely, in any case.”

Dick listened with all his ears. At the mention of reinforcements his heart sank into his boots, while the news that war with Britain had broken out came as a shock to him. True, there had been grave rumours of trouble before he and the expedition had left the coast. But it was expected that the difficulty would be settled amicably. If there was war, he was cut off from his friends. In all probability the enemy were already between him and the coast, and, in any case, they would make for the river. It was a serious situation, and had he been in any other place, and not beset by foes, Dick would then and there have sat down and thought deeply, for, young and inexperienced though he was, his wits had been sharpened by the responsibility thrown upon him. He was naturally a shrewd young fellow; but till he came to Africa he had never been called upon to settle questions of great moment. He had hardly given a command in his life, save to the boys in his company in the cadet corps at school, and there, there had been no difficulty about the matter. Here, in the heart of the Ashanti forest, it was all so different. And yet Dick did not fall short of the estimate his employers had formed of him. Long before they had departed from the mine they had approved, time and again, their appointment of him as their agent.

“He is born for command,” Mr Pepson had said. “He is quiet, and inclined to be cool. He will not be hurried. I’ve watched him. Rather than give a hasty decision he will slip away for a time, and then one sees him smoking his pipe and evidently cogitating. That’s the sort of lad I can rely on. Ready, if there is need to act in haste, but given to reflection, weighing his words, and venturing no opinion unless he has considered beforehand. As to courage—well, that he has, we know.”

Meinheer Van Somering had invariably replied that Dick was indeed brave, and who could realise the fact if he—a Dutchman—did not do so?

But under the present circumstances who could give thought to any question? Dick was crouching beneath the archway of roots within easy reach of a band of cutthroats who had made an attack upon his stockade. And in their midst was the ruffian who had systematically robbed his father, and who had wound up his crimes by robbing Dick, and then making a murderous attack upon the expedition. Would James Langdon spare him if he happened to discover his whereabouts? Would he cause the forest to be searched if he suspected that hidden within it was the youth whom he had wronged, and against whom he was so embittered? If Dick had had any doubts, the next few words of the miscreant relieved his mind of them, and set the perspiration again pouring from his forehead.

“Yes,” said the half-caste, reflecting. “Our course is clear. We have failed to rush them, thanks to this white man and his precautions. I felt that he would be suspicious of a second attack, and would be ready for us. Then we will surround the stockade, for what hope have we of rushing the place? They are armed with sniders, my comrades, and can fire three shots to our one. Then they are under perfect cover, while we are exposed in the open. No, no, it would be foolish to attack again. It would be wasting lives. We will sit down and wait for our friends, and when they come, ah! then there will be a different tale. These miners shall hand over their gold, and this white man—what shall we do with him? Think of your brothers who are slain!”

“We shall be able to deal with him,” answered one of the natives. “We can send him back to Kumasi, and there he will be slain as a sacrifice. Yes, it will be good to appease our juju with the blood of a white man.”

Dick had heard of the frightful rites perpetrated at Kumasi. He knew that these Ashantis were a warlike race, who were forever battling with their neighbours, and the tale had come to the coast, a tale the truth of which had been proved time and again, of a hideous bowl, of an executioner’s heavy knife, and of the manner in which the captives were killed. He shuddered when he imagined that he was so near to such a fate. That within a little while he might be in the town of Kumasi, and while thousands looked on, hooting and shouting for joy, and James Langdon mocked at him, eagerly watching for a sign that his captive quailed, while the executioner made ready, might be dragged to that awful bowl, forced to his knees, and have his head struck off at a blow, while his life’s blood was caught in the receptacle. Yes, he had heard the details. It was said that many thousand wretched captives uttered their last sigh in this vile town of Kumasi every year, and that King Koffee and his warriors sought constantly to increase the number. No wonder that he shuddered, that he crouched still lower, while his hands became clammy with fear. The thought unmanned him. These natives, with their leader, looked like ogres waiting to take his life, and he, all alone there, was so helpless. But a sudden movement brought the manhood that was within him to the fore again. A native fidgeted. Then he strolled from the band, and noticing the tree, came and sat down with his back leaning against it. Dick could hear his breathing. His own heart, as it thudded against his ribs, sounded even louder, and to him, in the extremity of his danger, it seemed that discovery was an accomplished fact. He gripped the rifle till the cords in his wrists stood out clearly. Then he directed the muzzle at the man’s neck, while his finger went to the trigger.