ROAD-MAKER AND BUILDER
King Prempeh was the first celebrity to receive the attention of B.-P.
In his capital of Kumassi, which being interpreted is "the
death-place," this miserable barbarian had been practising the most
odious cruelties for many years, ignoring British remonstrances, and
failing, like another African potentate, to keep his word to
successive British Governments. Among the Ashantis at this time (1895)
the blood-lust had got complete dominion, and the sacrifice of human
life in the capital of their kingdom was so appalling that England was
at last obliged to buckle on her armour. To quote B.-P. in a
characteristic utterance: "To the Ashanti an execution was as
attractive an entertainment as is a bull-fight to a Spaniard, or a
football match to an Englishman." Even the most coddled schoolboy
will appreciate the force of this comparison.
To give a general idea of these cruelties we will quote a vivid
passage from Baden-Powell's book, _The Downfall of Prempeh_: "Any
great public function was seized on as an excuse for human sacrifices.
There was the annual yam custom, or harvest festival, at which large
numbers of victims were often offered to the gods. The late king went
every quarter to pay his devotions to the shades of his ancestors at
Bantama, and this demanded the deaths of twenty men over the great
bowl on each occasion. On the death of any great personage, two of the
household slaves were at once killed on the threshold of the door, in
order to attend their master immediately in his new life, and his
grave was afterwards lined with the bodies of more slaves, who were to
form his retinue in the next world. It was thought better if, during
the burial, one of the attendant mourners could be stunned by a club
and dropped, still breathing, into the grave before it was filled
in.... Indeed, if the king desired an execution at any time, he did
not look far for an excuse. It is even said that on one occasion he
preferred a richer colour in the red stucco on the walls of the
palace, and that for this purpose the blood of four hundred virgins
was used."
The expedition to bring Mr. Prempeh to his senses was under the
command of Sir Francis Scott, and Baden-Powell received the pink
flimsy bearing the magic words, "You are selected to proceed on active
service," with a gush of elation, which, he tells us, a flimsy of
another kind and of a more tangible value would fail to evoke. Of
course he was keen to go. The expedition suggested romance, and it
assured experience. To plunge into the Gold Coast Hinterland is to
find oneself in a world different from anything the imagination can
conceive; civilisation is left an infinite number of miles behind, and
the Londoner is brought face to face with what Thoreau calls the wild
unhandselled globe. The message was received by Baden-Powell on the
14th of November 1895, and on the 13th of December he was walking
through the streets of Cape Coast Castle, and had noted how well
trodden was the grave of the writer L.E.L., who lies buried in the
courtyard of the castle.
It was the business of B.-P. to raise a force of natives, and to
proceed with this little army as soon as possible in front of the
expedition, acting as a covering force. That is to say, the work of
these undrilled, stupid, and not over-brave natives was scouting, a
duty which while it is the most fascinating part of a soldier's life
is also one of the most difficult. This then was an undertaking of
which many a man might have felt shy, but Baden-Powell (the army is
full of Baden-Powells) went at it cheerfully enough. On the arid
desert outside the castle, which is called the parade ground, B.-P.
and Captain Graham, D.S.O., taught these negroes, under a blazing sun,
the rudiments of soldiering. In one part of their drill a few simple
whistle-signals were substituted for the usual words of command, such
as "Halt" and "Rally," and a red fez was served out to the Levy (which
in the end amounted to 860 men) as a British uniform. The glory of
this "kit," however, was somewhat obscured by a commissariat load
which each warrior carried on his head; but there was no heart under
those shiny ebon skins which did not beat quicker for the possession
of the red fez. The Levy, of course, had its band--a few men who made
a tremendous din on elephant-hide drums, and a few more who produced
two heart-breaking notes on elephants' hollowed tusks garnished with
human jaw-bones. At the head of this force B.-P. and Captain Graham
set out on their journey from Cape Coast to Kumassi, a distance of
nearly 150 miles, on the 21st of December.
Soon after leaving the coast the little expedition plunged into the
bush, and then amid the giant ferns and palms began to appear "the
solemn, shady miles of forest giants, whose upper parts gleam far
above the dense undergrowth in white pillars against the grey-blue
sky." The Levy had now reached the regular forest, the beautiful,
awe-inspiring, but, alas, evil-smelling forest. Here it was found by
Baden-Powell that, in addition to scouting, his force would have to
play the arduous part of road-makers, and, therefore, whenever he came
upon a village such tools as felling-axes, hatchets, spades, and picks
were requisitioned. But it was no easy task teaching the negroes to
perform this labour. The man who was given a felling-axe immediately
set about scraping up weeds, while the grinning warrior armed with a
spade incontinently hacked at a hoary tree with Gladstonian ardour.
"The stupid inertness of the puzzled negro," says B.-P., "is duller
than that of an ox; a dog would grasp your meaning in one-half the
time." But B.-P. did not despair of his men, neither did he ill-treat
them. For three days he worked hard at tree-felling himself, and he
only desisted from this labour on the discovery that the sight of his
hunting-crop brought more trees to the ground than all his strokes
with the axe. This hunting-crop was called "Volapük," because every
tribe understood its meaning, and during the march Baden-Powell found
it of inestimable value. "But, though often shown," he says, "it was
never used." The men might be stupid, they might be idle, but B.-P.
can get work out of the worst men without bullying and without
continual punishments.
It is men like Baden-Powell who exercise the greatest power over the
negro's mind. When he condemns them for cruelty or stupidity he is
quick to protest against the assumption that he is "a regular nigger
hater." Here is the secret: "I have met lots of good friends among
them--especially among the Zulus. But, however good they may be, they
must, as a people, be ruled with a hand of iron in a velvet glove; and
if they writhe under it, and don't understand the force of it, it is
of no use to add more padding--you must take off the glove for a
moment and show them the hand. They will then understand and obey."
British rule is only imperilled when men in authority discard the
velvet glove altogether, or--what is probably worse still--wear only
the velvet glove, much padded, over their flaccid hands.
Just as he encourages Tommy Atkins to learn scouting and the more
intelligent parts of soldiering, so he encouraged these negroes,
duller than oxen, and made them useful pioneers. Here is his own
simple record of the way he got to the hearts of the Levy: "How they
enjoy the palaver in which I tell them that 'they are the eyes to the
body of the snake which is crawling up the bush-path from the coast,
and coiling for its spring! The eyes are hungry, but they will soon
have meat; and the main body of white men, armed with the best of
weapons, will help them win the day, and get their country back again,
to enjoy in peace for ever.' Then I show them my own little repeating
rifle, and firing one shot after another, slowly at first, then faster
and faster, till the fourteen rounds roll off in a roar, I quite bring
down the house. They crowd round, jabbering and yelling, every man
bent on shaking hands with the performer."
But Baden-Powell, while humane and nothing of a bully, knows the value
of strictness, as we have shown, and he admits that sometimes it is
even necessary to shoot one's own men in order to maintain discipline.
He is, however, careful to remark that an extreme step of this kind
"should be the result only of deliberate and fair consideration of the
case." "Strict justice," he adds, "goes a very long way towards
bringing natives under discipline."
By these methods B.-P. won the confidence of his troops, and under him
these rough tribesmen, half-devil and half-child, manfully fought
their way through the jungle of forest, cheered by his encouragement,
awed by "Volapük," and gradually growing to respect the dauntless
courage of the white man who managed them so nicely. A description of
an average day's work will give you an idea of Baden-Powell's task,
and the way in which his negroes worked.
Early in the morning, while the thick white mist is still hanging
athwart the forest, a drummer is kicked out of bed by a white foot and
bidden to sound "Reveillé." Then there is a din of elephant-tusk horns
and the clatter of the elephant-hide drums. The camp is astir, and it
all seems as if the men are as smart and as disciplined as their
brother warriors in Aldershot or Shorncliffe. But the negroes have
only risen thus readily in order to light their fires and settle down
to a lusty breakfast of plantains. After his tub, his quinine and tea,
Baden-Powell sends for King Matikoli and demands to know why his three
hundred Krobo are not on parade. His Majesty smiles and explains to
the white chief that he is suffering from rheumatism in the shoulder,
and therefore he, and consequently his tribe, cannot march that day.
Baden-Powell, with his contradictory smile, solemnly produces a
Cockle's pill (Colonel Burnaby's _vade mecum_), hands it to the
monarch, and remarks that if his tribe are not on the march in five
minutes he will be fined an entire shilling. "The luxury," exclaims
B.-P., "of fining a real, live king to the extent of one shilling."
The king goes away for five minutes, and then returns with the
intelligence that if the white chief will provide his men with some
salt to eat with their "chop" (food) he really thinks they will be
able to march that day. B.-P. expresses a feverish desire to oblige
His Majesty, and proceeds with great alacrity to cut a beautifully
lithe and whippy cane. In an instant that tribe is marching forward
with their commissariat loads upon their heads. But there are others
still to be dealt with. The captains of one tribe are discussing the
situation, and would like Baden-Powell to hear their views.
Baden-Powell treats them as Lord Salisbury, say, would no doubt like
to treat the deputations that sometimes come to give him the benefit
of their opinions; he looks to his repeating rifle, talks about
fourteen corpses blocking the way of retirement, and _hey presto!_ the
other tribe is swinging down the forest-path laughing, singing, and
chattering, like children released from school.
On they march through the heavy forest, a long twisting line of men,
until the halt is made at mid-day for two hours' chop and parade.
Then tools are served out and every company is set to work. One
clears the bush, another cuts stockade posts, a third cuts palm-leaf
wattle, a fourth digs stockade holes, and a fifth is set to keep guard
over the camp and prevent men from hiding in huts. By sunset some
seven or eight acres are cleared of bush, large palm-thatched sheds
are to be seen in long regular lines, while in the centre stands a
fort with its earth rampart bound up by stockade and wattle, and
having in its interior two huts, one for hospital and one for
storehouse. Besides this the natives bridged innumerable streams and
dug and drained roads wherever necessary.
This work can only be seen in its true perspective when the character
of the country is borne in mind. For nearly all of its 150 miles the
road from Cape Coast to Kumassi leads through heavy primeval forest.
"The thick foliage of the trees, interlaced high overhead, causes a
deep, dank gloom, through which the sun seldom penetrates. The path
winds among the tree stems and bush, now through mud and morass, now
over steep ascent or deep ravine." And, in addition to the
difficulties of locomotion, there was the haunting menace of the
heavy dews and mists which come at night laden with the poison of
malaria.
But all these difficulties were met with cheerful courage, and though
Captain Graham and two other officers subsequently attached to the
covering force were incapacitated by fever, the Native Levy fought its
way to Kumassi, and won the admiration of all military authorities. It
was at Kumassi on 17th January, and though no actual fighting had
taken place, the march may be reckoned an achievement of which all
Englishmen can be proud.
One incident of the march will have a romantic attraction for those
who have sons and brothers doing the Empire's work in distant lands.
As the Native Levy with its two white officers journeyed through the
bush they came now and then upon bridges over streams and causeways
over swamps, all in course of construction at the hands of natives
under the direction of a few ever-travelling, hard-worked white
superintendents. "Here we meet one gaunt and yellow. Surely we have
seen that eye and brow before, although the beard and solar topee do
much to disguise the man. His necktie of faded 'Old Carthusian'
colours makes suspicion a certainty, and once again old
school-fellows are flung together for an hour to talk in an African
swamp of old times in English playing-fields." For an hour in an
African swamp! and then on again through the never-ending dark green
aisles towards the savages smitten with the blood-lust in "the
death-place."
The Ashantis did not show fight, and King Prempeh, sucking a huge nut,
surrounded by court-criers and fly-catchers, with three dwarfs dancing
in front of his throne, consented humbly and meekly to receive the
soldiers of the Queen. After Sir Francis Scott had presented Prempeh
with his ultimatum the meeting broke up for the night, but the "Wolf
that never Sleeps" was on the look-out with his Native Levy for a
possible surprise, or for His Majesty's escape. You can imagine how
"Sherlock Holmes," as Burnham the American scout calls our hero,
enjoyed that work. In the quiet night, under the white stars, a
council was being held in the savage king's palace, and B.-P.
"shadowed" that regal hut with eyes and ears alive. At three o'clock
in the morning a white light streamed out of the palace doorway, and
through the clinging mist went a string of white-robed figures, one
of them the queen-mother. This little company passed within twenty
yards of B.-P., and it was followed stealthily by him until the
queen's residence, not hitherto known, was marked down. Then the
watchers returned to their ambush outside the palace, and caught a
councillor who was stealing away in the night. Almost immediately
after this gentleman had been made prisoner two fast-footed men came
upon the scene. They evidently suspected something, for they suddenly
pulled up and stood listening intently. One of them was within arm's
length of Baden-Powell. Quietly B.-P. stood up. The man did not move.
A moment's pause, and then, quick as a flash of lightning,
Baden-Powell had gripped him, and had, moreover, got hold of the gun
he was carrying. Then the patrol came up, the Ashanti was pinned, and,
as B.-P. concludes the narrative, "a handsome knife in a leopard-skin
scabbard was added to our spoil."
After the palace had been searched and the whole of the fetish village
had been burned to the ground, Prempeh, with B.-P. to look after him,
set out for Cape Coast Castle. The bitterness to a soldier of that
return journey, without a shot having been fired, can hardly be
imagined by a civilian, and would certainly be strongly reprehended by
those who regard the justest war with horror and aversion. The
soldiers had set out on that dreadful march through swamp, and bush,
and forest, to fight and bring to the dust a cruel bloodthirsty nation
of savages, contemptuously described by Baden-Powell as "the bully
tribe" of the Gold Coast Hinterland. Instead of finding the bully as
willing to fight as Cuff was willing to face dear old Dobbin, B.-P.
found a cowering, cringing enemy, willing to lick the dust and abase
himself in any manner the ingenious white man might suggest. So it was
with no feelings of elation that the man who had received the pink
flimsy ordering him on active service, who had raised and organised
the Native Levy, who had cut a road through the bush and forest,
draining roads and bridging streams,--turned his back on Kumassi, and
marched King Prempeh to the Cape coast. This march of 150 miles was
accomplished in seven days. Of this expedition B.-P. recalls "ten
minutes' genuine fun,"--that was when a doctor was cutting out from
under his toe-nail the eggs of an insect called the jigger, rude
enough to make a nest of B.-P.'s big toe. It is such incidents as
these that live in the soldier's mind after a hard campaign.
During the whole of these tiresome operations B.-P. of course was hard
at work sketching and keeping his diary. He added to his wonderful
store of experiences, and had the rare delight of seeing the King of
Bekwai "oblige with a few steps"--specially in his honour. But the
story of his work--and it is the same with all the quiet work done by
servants of the Queen in every part of the Empire--attracted little
public notice, and the man-in-the-street had no more idea of B.-P.'s
service than the man-in-the-moon. At that time, indeed, few people
outside official circles had ever heard of his name, and certainly no
stationer would have been mad enough to stick B.-P.'s photograph in
his window. Whether Baden-Powell, when he awakes to it, will prefer
his present fame to the happy obscurity of those distant days, is a
subject for speculation. I could say definitely, if I chose, which
condition is preferred by the proud mother of as gallant a son as ever
rode horse into the African desert.