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

by F. S. Brereton

“It may be a recall to the men on the crest,” he whispered. “Chief, it is time for you and your comrade to move.”

“We go. In a few minutes you shall hear from us, white chief.”

Dick turned to see the two brave Ashantis passing out of the stockade. In a moment they were gone, and, like their comrades, they made not a sound. He and Johnnie were left alone to listen to the firing and the shouts outside, and to strain their ears for some noise, a shout perhaps, the firing of a rifle, to tell them that the chiefs had been discovered. But no signal came from the direction of the crest, they had no intimation of the fate which had befallen the plucky two, till of a sudden a figure rose at their feet, causing both to start back.

“I am sent by my leader,” said a voice. “The crest is clear. There were two of the enemy there. They are dead.”

Dick could hardly believe his ears, and the news took a load from his mind. If all was clear on the crest, then it was time to set the others moving. He swung round and addressed Johnnie.

“You stay here till the bags are gone, then follow,” he said. “I am going to join our comrades in front.”

When the black stoker looked again his master was gone, and with a sigh and a shiver of apprehension he sat down beside the lamp, and waited there in silence, for he and the Ashanti chief could not understand one another. As for our hero, he crept forward till the shots on either hand told him that he was amongst the men. Then he sought one of them and whispered in his ear, with the result that the miner passed to left and right, giving his comrades the message, with orders to pass it on. It was wonderful with what intelligence these Ashantis carried out their part of the work. They began to fall back slowly, firing at the flashes of the enemy’s rifles, till they were within fifty yards of the stockade.

“Now begin to hold your fire,” said Dick, and in a minute the shots lessened. Another five minutes and the men were slinking back to the stockade, while our hero raced to and fro, firing his rifle repeatedly, so as to make the enemy think that the whole garrison was there. He fired, in fact, till his weapon was almost too hot to hold, and actually blistered his fingers. And then, when he judged that all must be clear of the stockade, and at the crest by now, he threw down his rifle and ran. Dashing into the stockade, he hardly paused as he snatched up the lamp, and went on pellmell for the hut. Leaping the train of powder, he ran to the far corner of the building, and knelt beside the “devil.” A jerk threw the lantern open, and in a second he had the candle in his hand. There was no time for hesitation, and at once he held the flame to the devil till it smoked and a few grains fizzled. But it did not fire at once. A little more heat was required, for he had over-damped the powder, and in his overstrung condition the extra time entailed in providing that heat was maddening. At any time the enemy might suspect. They might even then be within the stockade. He would then—Ah! It had fired. The devil was well alight, throwing out its pungent fumes, till they gripped Dick’s throat. He could move. The act was accomplished. The place was as good as fired.

He rose to his feet, stamped on the candle, and stole to the door. He would have been out in the open in another second had not something suddenly caused him to throw himself full length on the floor, where he lay in deep shadow, while just in front of him a few feeble rays from the spluttering devil passed through the door and showed him two figures. One was the half-caste, while beside him, bending low as they crept across the compound, was a native, the glint from his enormous blade coming to Dick’s eyes.

“A ruse! We have lost the birds,” he heard the half-caste growl huskily, as if his anger were choking him. “But they are close. I know they are near us. Hah! Look there, chief. Afire. Look! a fire!”