With Wolseley to Kumasi: A Tale of the First Ashanti War. Brereton Frederick Sadleir
by dense bush. To get to it we ascend the river Pra till we reach a point on a level with the mines. Then we strike into the jungle. We shall take with us a few sets of hand winding gear, for at present the natives lower themselves into the shafts by their own efforts. The gear we have brought is simple, but it will answer well and save labour. Then we are taking guns and ammunition, rockets, grenades, and a small brass cannon. In addition there will be picks and spades, and iron boxes, in which the gold will be packed. As to conveyances, there is a large launch for our own use, and she will tow a couple of narrow native craft, and more if necessary. Once we have settled there, she will return with us, and will make periodical trips from the mines as soon as you have taken charge. She will be close to your hand, and if you meet with trouble you will know that there is a means of flight, and a way by which you can reach the coast. Now let us see to our personal outfit, for remember, we may be months away, and we are going into parts which try the best of clothing.”
They took their way into the town, for they had been chatting on the beach, where many of the stores for their expedition had been accumulated. Then they went by the road which led to the house which Dick’s father had erected, and which had now passed into the keeping of the two partners. There they found a native tailor, with his wares already spread out on the verandah.
“He is a humble and patient individual,” said Mr Pepson, with a smile, “and he will have carried out my orders to the letter. These natives cannot always cut garments, and for bush work, as for any other, it is essential that one’s clothes should fit easily and well, for otherwise in this hot climate they are apt to chafe. That being the case, I have for years made it a practice to get a stock of clothes when in England, and then allow a native to copy. You understand, he picks a suit to pieces, and makes use of the bits as patterns. He has a couple of suits here for us both. Yours is a copy of one which we found in your room. Come along. Give it a trial.”
This slender, cadaverous-looking Englishman from Sierra Leone seemed to be able to think of everything. Time and again Dick had cause to wonder at his thoughtfulness, his care for others, and particularly for our hero; and long ago he had ceased to do more than murmur his thanks, for Mr Pepson would arrest him at once with a warning finger and a friendly smile.
“What!” he would exclaim, “am I not to be allowed to do something for the comfort of one who saved my life, and that, too, of our stout friend, Meinheer Van Somering? The world is indeed an ungrateful place if one is to receive such an act with only passing thanks, to reward it with a nod and a few polite words, and then in the rush which surrounds us to forget the deed and the one who gallantly performed it. Surely there is as much pleasure in remembering a brave act and a good friend as in anything. I hold that a gentleman never forgets his debts of gratitude, for they are indeed debts of honour, which can never be settled too completely.”
And Dick would become silent, though now and again he would lamely protest that he had done nothing at all.
“That is your modesty, Dick,” would be the answer. “I may say the same. I have done nothing more than any business man would do. You are to be my agent. I have a big stake in these mines, and I wish all to go well. Consequently, to avoid future loss, I equip my agent with the best and see to his welfare.”
There was no arguing with such a man. He would smile that dry smile of his and would turn away. But Dick did not forget. If Mr Pepson was grateful, so also was he, for he was indeed in clover. He saw work before him, hard work, too; for he had been given to understand that the post of agent would be no sinecure. Then he was now a partner with Mr Pepson and the Dutchman in the store which his father had had for so many years. It had reopened already with a flourish. A manager had been appointed, and there were prospects of reviving the business, so that Dick might look forward to an income. Then he had been credited with a good sum, which Mr Pepson had insisted was the value of the partnership, while a further sum was to be paid every year in the way of rent for the residence. And now, as if that were not enough, here was a complete outfit. Dick donned the clothes which the native had prepared, and stepped into the centre of the verandah for Mr Pepson’s approval.
“You will do well,” said the latter, when he had surveyed him critically. “The stuff is some which I imported specially. It is a dark cloth, as you observe, and, while being thin and light, it is strong, and to a certain extent waterproof. It will stand the thorns in the jungle, and better perhaps, should we meet with trouble, you will find that it does not make the wearer conspicuous. There is a green shade in it, and that will be difficult to detect against the foliage. Now the hat. That will do, too. It is made of the same material, and is just the thing for the jungle. A topee would be in the way, and besides, the sun does not penetrate very much, and, indeed, is often not to be seen. You will carry a topee in your kit for open spaces.”
Three days later all was in readiness, and Dick found himself dressed in preparation for an early start. As he looked in his glass that morning, an hour before the sun rose above the steaming jungle and bush, he saw there a young fellow of medium height, dressed in a loose-fitting knickerbocker suit, with wide-awake hat to match. A leather belt was about his waist, and slung to it was a revolver, while on the other hip he carried a short sword, with a keen cutting edge on one side, the reverse being fashioned like a saw, for they would have dense jungle to pass through, and such an implement was necessary. Beneath the loose coat he wore a light flannel shirt and turn-down collar, open at the neck. A pair of gaiters covered his calves, while his feet were clad in strong shooting boots. Altogether he looked a likely young fellow, and his smooth features and firm chin, disclosing a creditable amount of determination and obvious courage for one so young, set off his general appearance and led one to believe that the mining partners had not made such a bad choice after all.
“It’s we who have made the mistake,” said the Governor that morning to his secretary, as he bade farewell to the expedition. “We knew the lad was in difficulties and wanted a job, but we thought him too young. We let him kick his heels till he was miserable. We looked on while he was robbed and ruined, and we should have helped him to slip from the country had it not been for that plucky dash of his. I tell you, there are bad times coming. I could have found him useful as a police officer. We want a likely fellow, who can speak this Fanti tongue, to keep an eye open for the doings of the Elmina natives. This fellow would have done well. But there! we’ve lost him. It’s always the way with those in authority. We hesitate. We know that our choice must be sanctioned by some man in office away at home, a man, mind you, who has never seen the object of our choice. That’s red tape. It kills initiative. It has lost us a good fellow, and these men, Pepson and the Dutchman, have been too smart for us. They have jumped at him, and they’ve a real good fellow.”
There was quite a commotion in Cape Coast Castle that morning. Many turned out to see the last of the expedition, and there was a cheer as the party embarked on a surf-boat, and put out to the steam launch lying just off the beach.
“Good luck! and watch the Ashantees,” shouted one of the Government officials.
“Bring back plenty of gold,” called out another.
“Good-bye and good luck!”
The words of encouragement and a last cheer came to them as they boarded the launch. There was a sharp order from Mr Pepson, then the engines revolved, the propeller thrashed the water, and they were off, Dick and his friend watching the receding figures on the shore, while the sprightly Van Somering climbed to the highest point of the narrow deck and there held himself with head erect so that all might view him and admire.
“A great swell he is, too,” laughed Mr Pepson, as he and Dick turned from the shore. “His appearance alone should mean our security from attack.”
And our hero was fain to agree. For the fat little Dutchman had exceeded any former attempt. True, he was dressed in the same loose clothing, made of the selfsame material as worn by his comrades. But his vanity had added embellishments to it. His shirt was red, a red which dazzled the eye, while the belt which surrounded his ample waist was some five inches in width – strong enough, in fact, to bear the weight of two such Dutchmen, while it carried in front an enormous revolver and a dagger of like proportions, all of which made it appear as if Meinheer Van Somering were a man of pugnacious disposition, and therefore to be avoided.
An hour later, a little