With Wolseley to Kumasi Part 26

"More than likely," was our hero's answer, for he had been in this part of the country long enough to have learned all that was known of the Ashantis and their ferocity. He knew that it was said that thousands were slain in cold blood every year in this horrible den called k.u.masi, and that the death of a king's son necessitated the slaying of at least two thousand wretched girls, children and men, to satiate the hideous Moloch reigning over the fetish house at the capital. And no doubt this poor fellow was one. d.i.c.k nodded to him and smiled, and at the sign of friends.h.i.+p the man rose and crept towards him till he crouched at his feet. Then he did a strange thing. He fumbled with his twitching fingers in the ma.s.ses of his hair, and finally produced a discoloured piece of linen.

"For the white chief," he said; "I have risked my life to bring it to you. These Ashanti men would have killed me as I came, and if they had captured me--"

The very thought of what might have followed unnerved the man, who was still suffering from the effects of his desperate efforts to escape.

His teeth shook while his limbs trembled. Then he seized our hero by the hand and clung to it as if his life now depended upon doing so.

"Who are you?" asked d.i.c.k, using the Ashanti tongue. "Where do you come from, and why have you been pursued?"

"Look at the letter, chief. See the figures there and I will talk. I am an a.s.sim. I hate these cruel Ashantis."

The native watched with eager eyes as the strip of discoloured linen was unfolded, and started back as if in terror as the white youth suddenly rose from the roof of the deck cabin to his feet and glared at the strip. It was an important missive, evidently, for he grew red with excitement, and gave a prolonged whistle of astonishment. Then he called in loud tones to Jack to come to his side. There was a tone of profound astonishment and relief in his voice, and he waved the strip of linen above his head.

"News!" he shouted. "News at last! Look at the signature. Poor beggar! How he must be suffering!"

"Who? Who's the poor beggar? Is it one of the captives about whom there has been such a row? You know whom I mean. The Europeans for whom King Koffee demanded a ransom."

"Yes; it is his latest prisoner," was d.i.c.k's answer. "Look here."

He spread out the tattered piece of dirty linen upon the roof of the cabin and showed it to his friend. It looked as though it might at one time have formed a portion of a white linen handkerchief, or perhaps it was a strip torn from a man's s.h.i.+rt. In any case it had been pressed into the service of the writer of the missive for lack of other and better material; and the ink with which the letters were scrawled was in all probability derived from the diluted juice of some berry growing in the forest. They straggled across the strip, some large and some very small, all more or less blotched and blurred, while many unmistakably pointed to the fact that a pointed twig or some such primitive implement had done service for a pen.

"From Meinheer Van Somering," said d.i.c.k, impressively. "Poor beggar!

He is one of the owners of the mine, as I have already told you, and it was he who was attacked with Mr Pepson on their way down to the coast.

The agent whose place I took was killed at the first volley, while Meinheer capsized the boat. The last that Mr Pepson saw of him was as he plunged into the river. We thought him drowned, and he is, or was, a captive. Listen, and I will read."

He spread the strip out once more, smoothing the many creases, and having again run his eye over the letters commenced to read.

"'For the love of Gott, help me, mein friends. I have made the escape from these terrible Ashanti men. I have come to the creek where was the mine, and, alas! there is no boat. All are gone. With me is one friend, a native, who make the escape also. He say he can find boat down the stream and make for the coast. He will try. Brave man! If he live, then he return with mein friend, and make the rescue. Mein word!

how I wait for him. Christian Van Somering.'"

It was a pathetic missive, scrawled as it was on this dirty strip of linen, and d.i.c.k's eyes filled with tears at the thought of the miserable condition of Meinheer. His face a.s.sumed an expression of determination, and he swung round upon the native with a question. So sudden and unexpected was the movement, that the man cringed to the deck again, and placed his hands over his head as if to ward off a blow.

"Have no fear," said our hero, in the Ashanti tongue. "Tell me all about this matter; how you came to meet the white man, and how you made your escape. Where is he living now?"

It was pitiable to watch the relief depicted upon the face of the fugitive as he heard the words. He knelt upon the deck and looked about him as though he could hardly believe his ears. He might have been a culprit who expected discovery at any moment, and who suddenly found that suspicion had pa.s.sed over his head and had settled upon some other individual. He sighed, stood up, and then began to answer.

"It is a long tale, but I can tell it shortly," he said. "I was in the village when the enemy came upon us, and with many others was taken prisoner. Here is the mark of the wound which I received as I endeavoured to escape. I was taken towards k.u.masi, the place where slaves are killed in the house of execution, and I knew that death was before me. Like many another I longed to effect an escape, and it happened that I succeeded with the help of the white chief. Yes, chief, he was a prisoner also, being dragged towards k.u.masi, and it was he who, as we lay side by side one night, bit through the las.h.i.+ngs which secured my arms and legs. Then I set him free and we stole away to this place where the white chief had once been. None suspected that we were there, and we had hoped to find another white chief at the mine, and boats in which to make down the river. But there was no stockade. The place had been burned, and the boats were gone."

"How long ago is this?" demanded d.i.c.k. "When did you meet the white chief?"

The native counted the days off on his fingers and thought for a moment.

Then he stretched out his hands and lifted his ten fingers into the air four times in succession.

"It is so many days, perhaps more," he said. "I cannot say. The days were so much alike. We lived in terror of our lives, for the enemy were on the river and about the mine. We hid in the forest, living on yams and plantains. Then the chief fell sick, and for a little while I thought he would die. But he recovered, and bade me go down the river with this sc.r.a.p of linen. He lies there near the creek, chief."

"Yes, but that does not explain how you managed to make this journey,"

interposed our hero. "How did you obtain the boat?"

"I stole it. At night I crept through the forest close to the water, till I came to the camp of the enemy. Then I searched and found a boat.

After that I fled, and the chief knows what happened. He saved my life."

It was a simple tale of escape, and there was nothing wonderful about it. The incidents of it escaped the minds of the hearers at once, for their thoughts were turned to Meinheer Van Somering, lying there in the forest, struck down with the all-prevailing fever, no doubt.

"Of course we shall go up-stream and take him back to the coast," said d.i.c.k, promptly. "But first we must find out something about the enemy.

It would never do to be caught in a trap. Tell me about the Ashantis,"

he went on, addressing the native. "Where are their camps?"

"There are two on the river," was the answer. "From the first I stole the boat, and the second, which is lower down, discovered me as the dawn came."

"Then they would certainly discover us," said Jack, when d.i.c.k had explained matters to him. "We should find ourselves in a regular hive, and that would not be very pleasant. Mind, d.i.c.k, I don't want to discourage this idea of rescue; still, we must think of the men. Could we run up in the launch without being seen and followed?"

A vigorous shake of d.i.c.k's head was the answer. "We should be discovered as sure as eggs. Then they would put a fleet of boats on the river and follow. Their guns would attract the attention of their comrades higher up, and, well--I couldn't expect such good fortune again as befell Johnnie and myself on a former occasion. Frankly, to run the launch up under, such circ.u.mstances would be madness."

There was silence for some minutes amongst the group gathered about the cabin, the throb of the miniature engine alone breaking the silence of the river. A difficult question had to be settled, and the longer the two young Englishmen stared at the strange missive written, or scratched rather, upon the dirty strip of linen, the greater did the difficulty become. It was clear to both that, however big the stake, however important the life to be rescued, they had no right to risk the safety of the whole of the launch's crew, and there would be risk if they went.

More than that, the attempt to ascend, with the certain information that there were two camps on the banks of the river, would be madness, and deserving of the utmost censure.

"Ask him if he thinks we could rush through, and how far it is,"

suggested Jack, suddenly.

"It would mean death. There are thousands of the enemy," was the answer. "As to the place, it is not very far. I stole the boat last night and by dawn I reached this part. For some hours the stream carried me, for I would not risk the use of the paddle."

"Twenty miles at least," muttered d.i.c.k, staring out across the water.

"And too far to risk a rush. There is no moon to-night, d.i.c.k, and that would be against us, for if we steamed up, it would be at full speed, and we should come back at the same pace also. Well, for that we want light. There may be banks here and there. The risk of collision would be great. In short, I'm dead against it. Don't think I'm funking; I'm not. We are here to gather information, and, of course, we would effect a rescue if possible. We are not authorised to act rashly, and endanger the whole expedition by making an attempt which is foredoomed to failure. In short, we are supposed to possess common sense and courage, and in the decision of this question it appears to me that it requires more courage to say, 'no, it can't be done; we must leave the poor beggar,' than it does to stoke our fires and steam up the river at full speed."

There was no doubt that Jack Emmett had placed the facts of the matter in a nutsh.e.l.l, and that it pained him to say what he had said. d.i.c.k knew him well enough now to be sure that his companion had, sufficient dash and daring for this or any other expedition, and he knew well, too, that if he, the leader of this little party, gave the word, the movement would be commenced without a murmur, and every effort made to carry it through to a satisfactory conclusion. But had he the right to give such an order? Might he risk the lives of all for one, and that one not an Englishman? Could he leave him to his fate, knowing that he only lay some twenty miles away?

"Impossible! I would rather risk anything," he said aloud. "You are right, Jack," he exclaimed, turning to his friend. "I am not justified in asking the men to join in such a dash--hair-brained attempt it would be called. Besides, this expedition is sent here for a purpose, and that is to gather news of the utmost importance. That is our aim and object in coming here, and we must keep it prominently before us. There is just one saving clause."

"That is?" demanded Jack, breathlessly.

"That I have a subaltern, as I may call you. If I am shot, or fall ill, the launch need not return, as once before happened to us, on my account, I grieve to state. The launch would remain and carry out the work."

"Quite so. But I don't follow. I hope you won't be shot. If you are, then, of course, I shall command, and it will be a case of the fortune of war."

He might have been a Frenchman by his manner of shrugging his shoulders.

His handsome, open face showed clearly that he disliked this conversation wherein the possible fate of his friend and commander was discussed.

"Certainly," came d.i.c.k's answer, given in the coolest tones. "As leader, I give orders. I find on going into this matter, that it would be unwise to risk the lives of the crew and ourselves in attempting a rescue. But, at the same time, I cannot leave an old friend to a ghastly fate."

"Then you will go?"

"Yes; I will go alone with this native. He came down the river at night, and what he has done I can do. I will return with him, and we will bring my friend away. You will command in my absence, and will remain as near as possible, so as to pick us up. It's all very clear and simple."

"By George! clear and simple! You can't mean it?"

A nod of the head was his only answer, as the two young fellows stared at each other, d.i.c.k looking very calm and determined, and Jack decidedly taken aback. As for the crew, who perforce, owing to the limited s.p.a.ce aboard the launch, had been interested listeners to the whole conversation, they had been itching to throw in a word to encourage the order for a dash, for nothing would have pleased these gallant fellows more. But they were intelligent men, and they, too, when the matter was thrashed out before them, could understand the grave risk attached to such an attempt, and the fact that it was not legitimate to undertake it. They could appreciate a brave decision, too, and as their young leader quietly announced his intentions, they set up a cheer, which brought the blood to his cheeks. Jack gripped him by the hand, while Johnnie started from his stoking well, and came a pace nearer.

"Then yo want me," he said eagerly. "Johnnie know de forest, know dese debil Ashanti, and hab no fear. He fight plenty Ashanti."