“For the niggers and their wives,” said the staff officer, with a laugh. “That is the way in which we shall pay our way in some parts, though I fancy it will hardly take us to Kumasi.”
There was a grim smile on his face as he said the words, and he looked closely at Dick.
“What is your opinion?” he asked.
“All depends on the force we have, and on the methods we employ, and the strategy adopted by the enemy,” answered Dick. “If King Koffee leads his troops against us and shows up in the open, he will be smashed to pieces. Our rifles would beat down his gun fire, while our shells and gatlings would send his men running. But it will be different.”
“You have seen for yourself? You have been up-country, they tell me.”
“A little. The forest extends for something like two hundred miles, and we shall have no choice but to fight through it. Whether we go by river or road to Prahsu, there we shall have to take to the bush, and it will be difficult work. A man can creep close to one and stab, while rifles are almost useless. Then there’s the climate. But we ought to get to Kumasi if we have the troops.”
“What I think and hope. But come along. Here’s the office.”
A few moments later Dick was ushered into the large, airy room in which the Staff held their meetings, and at once stood at attention, his hat in his hand. By now he had become used to official matters and people, and therefore he felt no nervousness when he discovered that there were four officers present, all of senior rank, while two at least were high up in the service. Instantly Dick’s eye was riveted on the figure of one of these officers, moderately tall and exceedingly soldierly in appearance.
“Sir Garnet,” said the other, motioning to him. “Mr Dick Stapleton, of whom you have heard.”
Dick bowed at the name and stood, awaiting the wishes of those who had summoned him.