By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War

by G. A. Henty

With the usual tumult of drumming and yells the Dahomans rushed to the assault. The fire from the walls did not check the onset in the slightest, and with yells of anticipated victory they swarmed over the breach. A cry of astonishment broke from them as they saw the formidable defense within, the fire of whose defenders was concentrated upon them. Then, with scarce a pause, they leaped down and strove to remove the obstructions. Regardless of the fire poured upon them they hewed away at the sharp stakes, or strove to pull them up with their hands. The riflemen on the walls directed their fire now exclusively upon the leaders of the column, the breech loaders doing immense execution, and soon the Dahomans in their efforts to advance had to climb over lines of dead in their front. For half an hour the struggle continued, and then the Dahomans lost heart and retired, leaving fifteen hundred of their number piled deep in the space between the breach and the stockade.

“This is horrible work,” Frank said when he rejoined Mr. Goodenough.

“Horrible, Frank; but there is at least the consolation that by this fearful slaughter of their bravest warriors we are crippling the power of Dahomey as a curse and a scourge to its neighbors. After this crushing repulse the Abeokutans may hope that many years will elapse before they are again attacked by their savage neighbors, and the lessons which they have now learned in defense will enable them to make as good a stand on another occasion as they have done now.”

“Do you think the attack will be renewed?”

“I should hardly think so. The flower of their army must have fallen, and the Amazon guard must have almost ceased to exist. I told you, Frank, you would soon get over your repugnance to firing at women.”

“I did not think anything about women,” Frank said. “We seemed to be fighting a body of demons with their wild screams and yells. Indeed, I could scarce distinguish the men from the women.”

A strong guard was placed at night at the stockade, and Mr. Goodenough and Frank lay down close at hand in case the assault should be renewed. At daybreak the sound of a cannon caused them to start to their feet.

“They are not satisfied yet,” Mr. Goodenough exclaimed, hurrying to the wall. In the night the Dahomans had either with sacks or earth raised their cannon some six feet, so that they were able to fire over the mound caused by the fallen wall at the stockade behind it, at which they were now directing their fire.

“Now for the sacks,” Mr. Goodenough said. Running down, he directed the sacks laden with earth, to whose necks ropes had been attached, to be brought up. Five hundred willing hands seized them, and they were lowered in front of the center of the stockade, which was alone exposed to the enemy's fire, until they hung two deep over the whole face. As fast as one bag was injured by a shot it was drawn up and another lowered to its place. In the meantime the rifles from the walls had again opened fire, and as the gunners were now more exposed their shots did considerable execution. Seeing the uselessness of their efforts the Dahomans gradually slackened their fire.

When night came Mr. Goodenough gathered two hundred of the best troops of Abeokuta. He caused plugs to be made corresponding to the size of the various cannonballs which were picked up within the stockade, which varied from six to eighteen pounders.