Moderately tall and broad, with well-tanned skin and pleasant features,
Dick Stapleton looked a gentleman and a decent fellow as he lolled on an
old box which lay on the beach at Cape Coast Castle. He was dressed in
white ducks from head to foot, while a big solar topee covered his head.
His collar was thrown wide open, a light scarf being tied loosely round
the neck, while his whole appearance gave one the impression that he was
decidedly at ease. And yet he was not happy. A week had passed since
the robbery, and in that time he had given full particulars to an
apathetic police force. He had offered a reward for the recovery of the
treasure, and he had wondered how and where he was to live.
"There are the two houses," he had said over and over again to himself.
"One is the store, and has perhaps fifty pounds worth of goods in it.
The other, the living-house, is of greater value. But they are useless
to me, for without capital I cannot run the store, while without means I
cannot live in the house. And I haven't, so far, been able to come
across a tenant. I've five pounds in cash, and when that goes I'm
penniless."
He began to throw pebbles aimlessly, vaguely wondering what he could do
to lighten his difficulties.
"It is plain that there is no work for me here," he said at length.
"Practically every white man between this and Elmina is an official of
some sort, while the natives don't count. Of course there are the
merchants and the storekeepers, but then I am neither the one nor the
other now. Father even never made much more than a bare living, thanks,
perhaps, to that robber. Ah, if I had had the means to organise an
expedition I would have followed him; but then where should I have
obtained an escort? These Fantis, fine fellows though they look, are
really cowards, so I am told."
He watched one of the ebony natives lounging in the shade some little
distance away, and noted his tall and well-proportioned figure. Then he
turned to others, who sat with their toes dipping in the water, and
their knees submerged every now and again as a big wave thundered on the
sand. They were the kroomen, who were accustomed to play between shore
and ship, and bring off passengers and baggage.
"They will have work soon," thought Dick, as his eye lit upon a steamer
approaching. "But they know that it will be an hour yet before she is
at her moorings off the coast. She's a big vessel. One of the regular
callers."
For a little while he gazed at the ship, wondering who were aboard, and
which of the white officials who had gone away on leave some time
before, fagged and debilitated by the trying climate, would return, and
come ashore fresh and cheery, with that ruddy complexion common to
Europeans and to natives of the British Isles.
"Lucky beggars," he thought. "They will have everything dear before
them. They will take up the old work as if they had merely been for a
day's shooting up-country, and their friends whom they relieve will take
their bunks and sail away. It would be a fine thing for me if I could
get a billet under the Government."
He lay there for a long time reflecting, and as he did so the ship came
rapidly closer. When a mile from the sandy coast she dropped her
anchor, and those ashore could easily see the splash as it entered the
water. Then she lay to, with her broadside facing the land, rolling and
heaving with monotonous regularity. Dick watched the bustle aboard
listlessly, for it was no unusual sight for dwellers on the Gold Coast,
the White Man's Grave. Time and again he wondered whether there might
be some one aboard to whom he could offer the store and the house, or
some one who would befriend him and perhaps obtain some post for him
which would enable him to work for a living. For as the reader will
have learned, Dick was in difficulties. He had come out some months
before at his father's urgent call, and had barely had time to look into
the business of the store when his father died. Then came the theft of
the gold, and here was our hero stranded indeed, with little experience,
and with very few years behind him. No wonder that he was dismayed.
That as his fingers closed on the five golden sovereigns in his pocket
his mind went time and again to the future, wondering what would happen
when those golden coins had perforce been changed into silver, and the
silver had dwindled away.
"If it had been in London," he said, "I should have soon found work of
some sort, or I would have eagerly taken the Queen's shilling and
enlisted. Here there is no work, at least not for a white man, and
there is no supervising or overseeing job that I can get. Lastly, there
is no recruiting station."
He had but stated the facts. For the past week he had been the round of
the town, and had even gone, cap in hand, to the Governor.
"We're sorry for you, Stapleton," the hitter's secretary had said, as he
shook Dick's hand, "but we have nothing to offer. We can't even take
over your property, nor promise to look after it while you may be away.
The best thing for you to do will be to get back to the Old Country, and
try your luck there. You think of enlisting, do you? Well, it's a fine
profession, is soldiering, and you are the lad to do well. Perhaps you
might even find your way out here again, for let me tell you something.
That rogue, King Koffee, is stirring his Ashantee tribesmen up for war.
He is itching for a fight, and means to force one. So you might pay us
a visit. By the way, are you really in earnest?"
"About the army, sir?" asked Dick.
"Yes, about enlisting. So many young fellows threaten to take the step,
but fail for want of pluck when the critical moment comes. You see,
there are not so many gentlemen rankers, and whatever others say,
there's no doubt that the life is a rough one, and particularly so to
the son of a gentleman. That's barrack life, of course. Out on active
service it's different, for then officers and men live practically the
same life, and put up with the same hardships."
"I know it's not all a feather bed, sir," replied Dick, respectfully.
"But I'm stranded. I can't be kicking my heels out here in idleness,
and I see few prospects of selling the store and the property. So I
shall take what I can get for the goods now on hand and get a passage to
England. If I can I shall work my way back, for it would be as well to
learn to rough it from the first."
"And perhaps I could help you," was the answer. "Look here, Stapleton,
we're sorry for you. It was very hard luck losing your money in that
way, and if you are really keen on returning home with a view to
entering the army, I'll get you a post aboard a steamer. A word from
the Governor would influence the captain, and as you say, it is better
to rough it now, and get a little practice, before joining the ranks.
There, too, I can do something, I imagine. Come again when you have
thoroughly made up your mind, and I will see what can be done."
Dick had to be satisfied with that, and as he lay there on the sand he
had firmly come to a decision, and resolved to ask for a post aboard the
steamer then lying in the roads, and return in her to England.
"But first I'll see whether there is any one there who wants a store or
a house," he said. "They'll be coming soon. I see the surf-boats are
on the way, and the rope gangway has been lowered."
He watched as some passengers clambered down the gangway, their white
drill clothing showing crisply against the dark background of the ship,
while others, less capable of the somewhat difficult feat of descending
a swaying ladder, were lowered in a chair slung from the yard. Then his
eye lazily followed as the kroo boys thrust their long paddles into the
sea, and shot the big craft from the vessel's side. A second took its
place at the gangway, and another load of passengers, all in gleaming
white clothes as before, descended or were slung into the boat, and were
rowed away. After that he could see the baggage being lowered down till
other boats, which had now gone alongside, were well filled.
"There's Brown, who went home six months ago, just before I came out,"
said Dick, suddenly, as the first boat drew near the outer margin of the
surf. "I remember he brought a message to me from father. How well
he's looking. When I saw him last he was a skeleton."
He rose to his feet and strolled down to the edge of the sandy beach,
where he waited to greet his friend. There were one or two others whom
he recognised, and they waved to him. But for a little while passengers
and friends ashore were completely divided, for a wide belt of raging
surf stretched between them. On the outer fringe of this the surf-boat
lay to, the kroo boys standing along the sides with the tips of their
paddles just dipping in the water. They made no movement save every now
and again when a big swelling breaker caused them to roll, and
threatened to carry the boat into the surf. Then there was a word from
the headman, the paddles dipped deeply, and the boat swung back from the
surf.
"It wants doing to-day," said an officer, who had now taken his place
beside Dick. "There's no wind to speak of, but there's quite a heavy
surf. I always like watching those kroo boatmen. Clever beggars,
Stapleton, and full of pluck when engaged in a job of this sort. Ah,
they are off."
A shout came over the water, and at once all the paddles were plunged
deep into the sea. The boat, helped by a breaker, sprang forward into
the surf, and then being caught up by an enormous rolling billow, she
shot forward on its crest, being lifted many feet into the air, till, in
fact, those aboard her seemed to be far above those on the beach. But
in a moment she dropped down again, and for a few seconds was out of
sight.
"Looks as though the following wave would cover her," said the officer,
as he watched keenly for another sight of the boat. "Those beggars are
paddling as if for their lives."
At that instant the surf-boat had again come to view, and as the officer
had remarked, the kroo boys were plying their paddles with tremendous
energy. They looked over their shoulders with some apprehension, and
then at the repeated shouts of their leader they dug their blades into
the boiling surf and struggled to push the craft towards the shore. But
in spite of their exertions the surf-boat seemed to be receding. She
appeared to be slowly gliding backward down the far side of the billow
which had just passed, falling, in fact, towards the gulf which lay
between it and the monstrous wave which followed.
"They're done," cried the officer.
"They'll manage it, I think," said Dick, quietly. "But it's touch and
go."
And that it proved to be. The men aboard shouted, and drove their
paddles with fierce energy, while the spray licked about them, and the
following wave seemed to surround them. The passengers, seeing their
danger, behaved like sensible beings. They sat still and clutched their
seats, while they looked backward apprehensively. Suddenly the boat
began to move forward. The efforts of the paddlers were having the
desired effect. It slowly gathered way, though the following wave, with
its green curling crest now erected high above the craft, seemed to be
about to fall upon it and swamp the passengers. Another shout, another
fierce struggle, and the boat shot forward, the crest of the wave
doubled up, caved in at that point, subsided into the seething boil
about it, and then glided under the surf-boat, lifting it swiftly into
the air. How it moved! It might have been shot from a gun. And the
kroo men had reversed their paddles. They were now doing their utmost
to restrain the boat, to keep her from being dashed on the shore. It
was a magnificent struggle. The curling wave, a huge mass of foam and
water, burst with a thunderous boom on the sand, and breaking into a
million cascades, shot its torrents up on to the beach. The boat fell
as suddenly till its keel was close to the sand, when it leapt forward
again and finally came with a bump to the ground. At once the kroo boys
leapt over the side, waist-deep in the receding water. They were almost
dragged from their feet, but they clutched the boat, and putting their
united strength to the task, ran her a few feet higher up, till, when
the water subsided, she was left almost high and dry.
"Bravo!" shouted the officer and Dick together. "It was a narrow
squeak. Ah, how are you, Preston?" went on the former as he recognised
a friend, while our hero turned to the young fellow whom he had last
seen in England.
By now a number of other residents had arrived, and there was an
animated meeting, the passengers leaping out and shaking hands. Amid
all the excitement, the hand-gripping, the questions as to friends at
home, and as to matters on the Gold Coast, no one took notice of the
following boats save Dick, who had greeted his friend and left him to
pass on to others. He watched, therefore, as the second craft
approached, and stared at the occupants as the stout vessel lay off the
breakers waiting for the propitious moment to arrive when it would be
wise to push forward.
There were five passengers in all, three of them officers returning to
duty, and two others, of whom one seemed to be a man of some fifty years
of age, thin and almost cadaverous, while the last by all appearances
was a very stout, short man, who found the heat trying, for he fanned
his face with an enormous topee, then mopped his brows with an
exceedingly red bandana handkerchief, and finally, with a start of
surprise, stood up and stared back at the oncoming waves with every
appearance of dismay. Dick heard him shout, and a moment later the
tall, thin man had swept him to his seat again with an adroit movement
of the arm.
"A stranger, evidently," thought Dick. "He has never been in the surf
before. The other man knows the ropes well, while the officers I
recognise as old residents. Ah, they've started. The little fat beggar
doesn't like it."
The stout man evidently felt some tremors, for he clutched at the side,
pushing his head in between two of the kroo men, till his companion,
seeing that he was in the way, dragged him back and spoke sharply to
him. After that he remained as if rooted to his seat, staring at the
wave which followed, and shuddering as the boat was lifted to the summit
of a crest, and again as she as quickly slid back into the abyss behind.
A shriek escaped him as the craft slowly receded, while the harder the
paddles worked and their leader shouted, the more did the terror of the
unaccustomed situation seem to fill this little stranger. A moment
later a shout from Dick and a chorus of yells attracted the attention of
those ashore. They turned to find the boat gone. She had been
completely engulfed by the following wave, and for a minute nothing but
seething water could be seen. Then a black arm shot up, and later the
whole of the kroo rowers bobbed to the surface like corks, and knowing
what was wanted, merely struggled to keep their heads above the surface
while the water swept them ashore. Then the three officers appeared,
and rapidly followed the example set them.
"Two are missing," shouted Dick, "the fat little man and the thin one."
"Then one at least has gone for good," replied one of the passengers who
had just come ashore. "The Dutchman couldn't swim if you paid him. The
other could, no doubt. Hullo! What's happening, Stapleton?"
"I'm going in," said Dick, quietly, as he tore at his coat and kicked
his shoes off. "Look; there's one, and he's helpless!"
He had no time for more, but coolly nodding to the group, ran into the
water, and as a wave crashed into seething foam at his feet he dived
into the mass and disappeared. A minute later he was in the trough
beyond, and the wave which followed merely lifted him high in the air.
There was a warning shout from the shore, and a dozen fingers pointed to
his right. But did did not see them. Nor did he even hear, for the
roar of the surf was so great. But he happened to catch sight of an
arm, which was instantly submerged.
"That is one," he said to himself. "I'll get him if I dive."
Dick had learned to be wary, and knew that it is as dangerous to
approach a drowning man from behind as from the front when he is still
full of vigour. He dived, struck out beneath the water, touched
something, and struggled to the surface, clutching the tail of a coat.
He pulled at it, and slowly the fat face of the stout little passenger
appeared, and close to his that of the thin man, the one with cadaverous
cheeks. Then a pair of arms came into sight, and Dick gathered that the
stout stranger had gripped at the nearest person and had dragged him
down with him, making escape impossible, making it even out of the
question for the taller man to struggle for existence.
"Better get them ashore like this," he thought, with wonderful coolness
considering the danger. "There's a wave coming. I'll copy the kroo
boys and wait for it. Then I'll try to get all three of us flung on the
beach."
He took a firm hold of the collar of the stout man, who was apparently
unconscious, for his eyes were tightly closed, though his arms still
retained their grip. But the hold which Dick had obtained enabled him
to keep the fat stranger's lips just clear of the water, while it also
raised the other man's face. Then Dick lifted his free arm for a
second. Those ashore saw the movement and shouted, while three or four
of them ran down into the sea. A wave was coming. Dick could see it in
spite of the blowing spray which whisked across the water. He took a
deep breath and gripped the coat with both hands. The curling crest of
a green wave shut out the horizon. There was a crash in his ears. The
torrent caught him and almost tore his grip from the collar. Then he
felt that he was moving. He and the weight to which he clung shot
towards the shore, a foot or more of water covering them. Then there
was a second crash, loud shouts from those on the beach, and
afterwards--
"Hullo! Does it hurt? Broke just above the elbow and we had such a
job. No. Lie down, sir! You are not to move. Lie down, I say! You
are safe out of the water."
Dick collapsed flat on his back and stared indignantly at the individual
who had dared to give the order. He was a trim, dapper Englishman, with
a small beard, and as he returned our hero's gaze he showed every sign
of being a man who meant what he said, and would have no nonsense. He
was minus his coat, and his sleeves were rolled to the shoulder.
"That's an order," he laughed. "Remember that, youngster. An order.
See that you obey it."
He shook his fist, laughed merrily, and proceeded to unroll his sleeves
and don his coat.
They were in a large, airy room, and when Dick turned his head, he could
catch, through the widely opened windows, a view of the sea, of the ship
which had just reached the roads, and a small section of the sandy
beach. No one was stirring. The sun was right overhead, and the
shadows short and barely perceptible. The atmosphere quivered with the
heat. Even the birds and the insects seemed to have succumbed. An
unnatural quiet reigned over that portion of the Gold Coast, and only
the surf thundered and roared. But that was partly imagination. Dick
could not shake off the impression that he was even then swallowed in
that huge mass of water, and that he could still hear, was deafened,
indeed, by the crash of the billows. He looked again down at the sands.
A solitary Fanti boy languidly sauntered across the view. There was a
boat drawn up clear of the breakers, and another lay off the ship, a
mile from the shore. Was it all a dream, then?
"I say," he suddenly remarked, and he felt surprised that his voice
should sound so low and weak. "Er, I say, if you please, where am I,
and what has been happening?"
"Happening?" exclaimed his companion, with elevated eyebrows. "Oh,
nothing at all. You acted like a madman, they tell me. You dived into
the surf, and, as a result, the surf threw you back as if it objected to
you. It threw you hard, too, and wet sand is heavy stuff to fall on.
You've a broken arm, and may thank your stars that that is all. It
ought, by rights, to have been a broken neck and hardly a whole bone in
your body. Where are you? Why, at the Governor's, of course. In
clover, my boy."
The jovial individual laughed as he spoke, and came close to the bed.
"You've been an ass," he said bluntly, and with a laugh. "Seriously, my
lad, you've done a fine thing. You went into the surf and brought out
those two drowning men. It was a fine thing to do, but risky. My word,
I think so!"
He took Dick's hand and squeezed it, while the bantering smile left his
lips.
"A nigger is at home sometimes in the surf," he explained; "but when you
know the coast as I do, you will realise that to get into those breakers
means death to most white men. You want to be a fish in the first
place, and you need to be made of cast iron in the second. I'm not
joking. I've seen many a surf-boat splintered into bits as she bumped
on the beach. Men are thrown ashore in the same way, and they get
broken. Your arm is fractured, and a nice little business it has been
to get it put up properly. The Dutchman is still unconscious, and I
fancy he swallowed a deal of salt water. Mr Pepson, the other
individual whom you saved, is quite recovered. He's one of those
fellows who is as hard as nails. But there, that'll do. I'm talking
too much. Lie down quietly and try to sleep like a good fellow."
So it was real after all. He had not dreamed it. He had gone into the
surf, and the Dutchman was saved.
"And who's this Mr Pepson?" thought Dick. "And this fellow here must
be the doctor. One of the army surgeons, I suppose. Fancy being at the
Governor's house. Phew! That ought to get me the billet aboard the
ship." Suddenly he recollected that his fractured arm would make hard
work out of the question for a time, and he groaned at the thought.
"Pain?" asked the surgeon. "No? Then worry? What's wrong?"
Dick told him in a few words.
"Then don't bother your head," was the answer. "The Governor is not
likely to turn you out while you are helpless, and the time to be
worrying will be when you are well. You've friends now, lad. You were
no one before--that is, you were one amongst many. Now you have brought
your name into prominence. We don't have men fished out of the surf
every day of the year."
He spoke the truth, too, and Dick soon realised that his gallant action
had brought him much honour and many friends. The Governor came that
very afternoon to congratulate him, while the members of the household,
the ladies of the Governor's party, fussed about their guest. Officers
called to see the plucky youngster, while, such is the reward of
popularity, two of the traders on the coast made offers for Dick's
houses and the good-will of the stores. It was amazing, and if our
hero's head had hummed before with the memory of his buffeting in the
surf, it hummed still louder now. He was in a glow. The clothes on his
bed seemed like lead. The place stifled him. He longed to be able to
get out, to shake off the excitement.
"An attack of fever," said the surgeon that evening, as he came to the
room and found Dick wandering slightly. "The shock, hard times for the
last few weeks, and thoughtless exposure to the sun, are probable
causes. That's what many of the youngsters do. They think that because
an older hand can at a pinch work during the heat of the day and in the
sun, they can do the same. They can't. They haven't the stamina of
older men. Here's an example. He'll be in bed for another week."
And in bed Dick was for more than that time. At last, when the fever
had left him, he was allowed to get into a chair, where for a few days
he remained till his strength was partially restored. Another week and
he emerged into the open. And here at length he made the acquaintance
of the men he had rescued from the surf.