“Mind,” he said, lifting a warning finger, as he stood in the light, “you each take a bag and go. You leave the lamp burning, remember that. I shall want it to fire the train.”
It was time to move. By now the moon had sunk completely, and dense darkness reigned over the surrounding forest and the neighbourhood of the stockade. Our hero looked closely at his men. There was an air of suppressed excitement about them, but he could see no trace of fear. Indeed, these miners had already proved that they possessed courage, and though they were not like their countrymen, for ever practised in the arts of war, yet they had fair knowledge, as their behaviour had already shown. Each carried a rifle in his hand, while a bag of cartridges dangled across his shoulder. In addition, the short sword which every Ashanti man wears, hung from the waist, ready for hand-to-hand fighting. They sat on the ground in a circle, talking in whispers and waiting for the signal.
“Time to move,” said Dick, easily. “Open the gates, chief.”
Silently and stealthily, as if they were so many ghosts, the party issued from the stockade, and soon our hero, the two chiefs, and Johnnie, were alone.
“Five minutes after the first shot is fired you will move,” said their young leader. “It will take three more to reach the crest, and then—”
“It shall be cleared,” whispered the chief, with determination in his voice. “My comrade and I have sworn that we will slay all who lie there. Trust to us to do the deed without a sound, and to return in time. We will make sure that none are left to spy upon us.”
Five minutes passed slowly, and still there was no sound. Though the four peered from the stockade, intent upon piercing the darkness, and observing the movements of their comrades, there was nothing to be seen. The ground outside might as well have been untenanted. It was trying work waiting there for the sound of a shot. The seconds were like minutes, so slowly did they seem to go. Dick could hear his own heart thudding, could hear the deep breathing of the chiefs, while ever and anon the weak rays of the lamp showed him the white of Johnnie’s eyes, as he turned them towards the sky. Ah! It was a shout which broke the trying silence.
A shout of alarm, coming from the lips of one of the enemy. And quickly following upon it came the sharp report of a rifle and a human scream, the cry of some unhappy native who had been hit. After that there was a medley of calls and loud reports. Shouts and cries of rage and excitement came from the enemy, rifles flashed and roared, while the muzzle-loaders of the Ashanti attackers bellowed as they sent their load of slugs towards the stockade. The air above the enclosure sang with missiles of every description. Angular pieces of lead and iron, bullets of excellent formation, ironstone pebbles and pieces of broken rock, hissed over the hut and stockade in answer to the fire of the defenders.
“Excellent!” said Dick, as he stared from the gateway. “They are doing well. If I were not aware of the movement being carried out, I should say that the garrison was making a sortie, or an attempt to break out, and that they were trying to find the weakest spot in the ring thrown round them. Listen to the calls of the enemy, and hark! there goes a whistle.”
Above all the sound came the shrill signal, perhaps blown by James Langdon himself.