"A boat! a native boat!" shouted Jack, who was keenly alert. "And with
only one occupant in it. Look how he's paddling!"
"For his life, I should say," chimed in Dick. "Ah, there goes a gun;
and see where the bullet splashed. The man who fired must have been
hidden in the forest. I don't think the poor beggar stands a chance,
unless he steers right across to the far side of the river."
"And if he did, sir, he'd be had sure enough," sang out one of the
sailors. "I can see a boat creeping along in the shadow. Shall we try
a shot, sir?"
For a little while there was no answer. It was difficult to say whether
this man--for there was undoubtedly only one in the flying craft--was an
enemy or a friend. If he were an Ashanti, then he was certainly the
former. But then were those who pursued him friendly natives, living
under the nominal protection of the British, therefore opposed to the
Ashantis?
"He's in trouble, of that there is no doubt," said Dick, suddenly, as
the native boat, propelled by the frantic strokes of its single occupant
and helped by the current, swept down towards them. "And he has some
scores of enemies pursuing him. What if he is carrying news to us?
Perhaps he is coming down with important information. Get your rifles
ready, and if that other boat pushes out into the river get her range
and wait for the word. Ah, he's seen us. Did you see him wave his
paddle?"
For a moment the unhappy wretch who was coming down the stream in such
desperate haste lifted his paddle and waved it overhead with an
eagerness there was no mistaking. Then he plunged it into the water
again, and plied it for his life. That he was threatened with death if
captured there could be little doubt, for the unseen foes who manned the
far bank thrashed the water about him with their slugs, while the
silence and peace of the river was disturbed by the loud boom of their
muzzle-loaders, and by their excited shouts. In a moment Dick made up
his mind to help the fugitive, whoever he might be, and at a word the
sailors lay down and commenced to fire at the bushes from which came the
puffs of smoke. Meanwhile Jack Emmett kept the launch steadily in
mid-stream, Johnnie supplying her with a small amount of steam, which
was sufficient to keep her under way and prevent her being swept back by
the current. As for the men who had appeared, lurking in the shadows in
their boat, a single shot sufficed to send them back round the bend of
the river.
"Perhaps they have had a taste of our rifles before," thought Dick, as
he watched the boat and saw the splash of the shot where it struck the
water close beside them. "Anyway, they have retreated fast enough, and
I fancy the fire from the shore is dying down. Steady, men! I think we
have done enough. Our fusillade has stopped their advance and that
fellow in the boat is getting out of their range. Look at him!"
It was indeed a sight to behold, for if the fugitive had shown eagerness
before, he now displayed the utmost delight and excitement. He shouted
to the launch, and waved his paddle again. Then he turned, and noticing
that the slugs which were still fired at him now fell far astern, he
laughed, and standing up, shook a defiant fist. Then once more he threw
himself on his knees, and dug his paddle into the stream, sending his
light craft ahead till the water was churned into froth at her bows. A
few minutes later he came level with the launch, when he threw himself
down in the bottom of his boat, and lay there exhausted and out of
breath with the struggle.
"Pull him aboard and let him lie under the awning," said Dick. "Make
his boat fast, and then we'll push along up the river. Keep well under
cover, for we may have some trouble. That's the way, Jack. Keep in the
very centre, for it is so wide here that we need have little fear should
they fire, while we can reach either bank with our weapons."
Obedient to a nod from his master, Johnnie opened the throttle a little,
till the launch attained a good pace. Meanwhile the sailors had rapidly
transferred the fugitive from his boat to the deck of the steamer, and
had made his craft fast right aft. Only then did Dick notice that the
native was not an Ashanti, while a half-healed wound on one thigh, now
bleeding afresh after his exertions, or perhaps because of a second
injury, showed that he had little cause to thank those from whom he
fled. As for the latter, an occasional shot from the bank told that
some were still there, though their slugs were quite harmless at that
distance, and, indeed, failed to reach the launch. But even these soon
ceased to trouble, particularly when the sailors directed their rifles
at the flashes, and sent in a withering volley. Of the other boat
nothing was seen, and in all probability she had long since been hidden.
"They must have rounded the bend and then dragged her into the forest,"
said Dick. "I think we might steam on another mile, and then talk to
this fellow. He's not an Ashanti, Jack."
"And he's no friend of theirs, either," sang out Jack, from his post at
the tiller. "He looks thin and ill-used, and may very well have been
one of the wretched beggars you have told me about who are kept
prisoners at Kumasi, till some uncle or grandmother of King Koffee's
dies, when hundreds of captives are sacrificed."
"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 Kumasi,
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. Dick nodded to him and smiled, and at the sign of
friendship 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 masses 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 Dick, 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 Assim. 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 Dick'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 shirt. 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 Dick, 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 Dick's eyes filled with tears at the thought of the miserable
condition of Meinheer. His face assumed 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 passed 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 Kumasi, 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 Kumasi, and it was he who,
as we lay side by side one night, bit through the lashings 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 Dick. "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 scrap 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
Dick, 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 Dick had
explained matters to him. "We should find ourselves in a regular hive,
and that would not be very pleasant. Mind, Dick, 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 Dick'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 circumstances 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 Dick, staring out across the water.
"And too far to risk a rush. There is no moon to-night, Dick, 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 nutshell, and that it pained him to say what he had said. Dick
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 Dick'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, Dick looking very calm and determined, and Jack decidedly
taken aback. As for the crew, who perforce, owing to the limited space
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."
"I want no one, thank you," came the answer. "I will accompany this
native, and I shall hope to be back here two nights from this. 'Bout
ship, Jack. We must make these beggars think that we are turning tail.
Now, I'll ask this fellow a question. Come here, my man. Will you
direct me to the white chief to-night, and return here with him?"
A smile broke out on the wan face of the native, and he showed his
teeth.
"I will go gladly," he said. "To the white chief my life is due, and I
will repay the debt. Let there be no fear for our safety. These
enemies will not expect us, and during the night we shall easily pull up
to the creek. In two days, perhaps, we shall return."
All was now bustle and movement aboard the launch, for many preparations
for the coming attempt had to be made. Meanwhile, seeing that he could
not persuade his comrade not to make the journey, Jack Emmett went to
the helm and sent the launch back to her course, down the centre of the
river. And there he held her, sitting motionless and thoughtful at the
tiller, while Dick and his men prepared the native boat. Two rifles and
an abundant store of ammunition were placed in her, and to these were
added a cooking-pot, some tinned provisions, and a keg of water. That
done, and some miles having been covered since they turned towards the
sea, the launch was run in toward the bank and anchored, while all threw
themselves down beneath the awning to sleep. As evening came, they
partook of a meal, and once the night had fallen, they pulled in their
anchor and stood up the centre of the river again, their course guided
by the faint streak which intervened between the two black lines of
forest on either side. A shield of sacking surrounded the top of the
funnel, while precautions were taken to hide all trace of light from the
fire. In fact, the launch might have been a ghost, so silent and
invisible was she.
"Stop her. Bring that boat forward, please."
It was Dick's voice, cool and collected as before.
"Now hold her while we embark. Good-bye, Jack. Good-bye, men. Keep a
watch for us to-morrow night. Shove her off."
A dozen hands stretched out to grip his in the darkness, and a dozen
voices, gruff and deep, and sunk to a whisper, bade him good luck and
good-bye. A push then sent the boat clear of the launch, and within a
few seconds she was under way, the dip of the paddles being just
distinguishable. That sound soon ceased, and as the crew of the launch
stared disconsolately after their leader, they could neither hear nor
see a trace of the boat.
"Good luck to the lad," growled one of the sailors. "Blest if he ain't
the pluckiest gentleman as ever I see."
"And if them fellers gets 'im and does for our young orfficer, I tell
yer they'll 'ave ter pay, do yer 'ear?" growled another. "Strike me!
but we'll give 'em something for interferin'!"
"Silence there, for'ard. 'Bout launch! Steady there with the tiller,
and hold your tongues, my lads."
This time it was Jack Emmett's voice, strangely altered. At once there
was silence. But the men could think and mutter to themselves, and as
they slowly steamed down the dark river that black night, each and all,
from their new commander downward, registered a vow that if Dick
Stapleton did not soon return, they would find the cause and probe the
mystery to the bottom.