“Ah,” the general said, “the English have great ships and great guns. They can fight on the seaside and round their forts, but they cannot drag their guns through the forests and swamps.”
“No,” Frank agreed. “It would not be possible to drag heavy artillery.”
“No,” Ammon Quatia repeated exultingly. “When they are beyond the shelter of their ships they are no good whatever. We will kill them all.”
The wet season had now set in, in earnest, and the suffering of the Ashantis were very great. Accustomed as many of them were to high lying lands free of trees, the miasma from the swamps was well nigh as fatal to them as it would be to Europeans. Thousands died, and many of the rest were worn by fever to mere shadows.
“Do you think,” Ammon Quatia said to Frank one day, “that it is possible to blow up a whole town with powder?”
“It would be possible if there were powder enough,” Frank said, wondering what could be the motive of the question.
“They say that the English have put powder in holes all over Cape Coast, and my people are afraid to go. The guns of the fort could not shoot over the whole town, and there are few white soldiers there; but my men fear to be blown up in the air.”
“Yes,” Frank said gravely. “The danger might be great. It is better that the Ashantis should keep away from the town. But if the fever goes on as at present the army will melt away.”
“Ten thousand more men are coming down when the rains are over. The king says that something must be done. There is talk in the English forts that more white troops are coming out from England. If this is so I shall not attack the towns, but shall wait for them to come into the woods for me. Then you will see.”
“Do they say there are many troops?” Frank asked anxiously.