Chapter Thirteen.
On Special Service.
“Here is the letter, sir, which the Commodore gave me to carry to the Governor,” said Dick, as he and Mr Pepson took up the conversation of the previous day. “He offered me a post with the expedition which will be sent to Kumasi, and I declined it until I had seen my employers. What are your wishes in the matter?”
“That you should go,” was the prompt reply. “My inclination at first when I returned here was to go back to England at once, for I began to hate this country. But I thought of you, and I stayed on the chance of your turning up. Now I think of Meinheer. I give you full permission to take this post, with the agreement that you still remain my agent, and draw your salary. That will be a retaining fee, for when the war is over I shall want you again. There, you are free to go, and I am sure you will do much for our cause.”
That afternoon Dick appeared at Government House, a familiar place to him, and handed his letter to the Governor, who was delighted to see him.
“Of course we shall be glad to have you,” he said, “and I will send along an official appointment this evening, stating your pay and allowance. For the present there is nothing for you to do, save perhaps to ascertain from the natives what is the present whereabouts of the Ashantis. When Sir Garnet Wolseley arrives he will no doubt have work for you. You look thin and pale. Take a rest, my boy. A white man cannot work for so long out here in the forest without feeling the effects of the climate.”
But Dick Stapleton was young and inclined at times to be foolhardy. He had the objection to remaining still common to every lad of his age. He loathed molly-coddling, and though at times he felt feverish, his stubborn nature would not let him give in, lest he should be thought to be shamming. And so, within a few days of his arrival back at the coast, he was exploring the mouth of the Pra once more, with Johnnie as stoker, and a crew of ten bluejackets from the Rattlesnake, all intent upon a brush with the enemy.
“Pending the arrival of Sir Garnet and the troops, you will do your utmost to obtain tidings of the enemy,” said the Commodore, as he bade farewell to our hero. “And above all, Dick, no meetings with armies, if you please. You have as complete a selection of stores aboard as we could think of, and your crew are all picked men. Make the Rattlesnake your headquarters, returning here with news whenever you can.”
And so Dick set off, in command of an expedition for the first time, and a proud man he felt, too, as he sat at the tiller, with his eye on his fine crew. But he had only ascended a very few miles of the river Pra when he met with an enemy even more dangerous than the Ashantis. One morning, as he sprawled on the deck to eat his breakfast, he was seized with a curious sensation.