Part 31 (1/2)
”We have marched it time and again,” said one. ”As slaves we have accompanied the Ashanti armies, and we can find the road even in the dark. But we must be careful. There are thousands of men about, and if we met them we should be killed.”
”Then you will want weapons. Pick up the knives and tuck them in your waist cloths. Now lead the way. Better still. We will cut a vine and hold on to it. Then there will be no straggling.”
A little later the three set out, the leader setting the direction along the path without a moment's hesitation.
”It will lead us to the main war road,” he explained, ”and after that all will be easy. There is but one way to the Pra, for the forest is too thick for many paths to be cut. Follow, white chief, and I will take you to the river.”
All that night the trio kept on through the forest, their way made easy by the path cut and kept free of undergrowth with constant labour. Now and again they would call a halt, for the two captives whom d.i.c.k had rescued were still very feeble, and their feet and ankles were greatly swollen. But it is wonderful what an amount of ill-treatment a native can put up with at times, and how marvellously they recover from the most serious of wounds. True, they have as a rule little stamina, and sickness cuts them down by the hundred. But perhaps because of the life they lead these natives of Africa often show less sensitiveness to pain than do Europeans, and therefore can put up with injuries which with the majority of white men would prove quickly fatal. And so, in spite of the hours that these men had been dangling, they were able to march, for the wounds in the cheeks were of small consequence. When day dawned many miles intervened between themselves and k.u.masi.
”We will seek for a hiding place and rest,” said d.i.c.k, as the light beneath the trees grew stronger. ”As the afternoon comes we can push on again. Let us gather some fruit and have a meal.”
Late on the following afternoon three weary men, one a white youth dressed in tattered clothing which showed signs of much travelling, tottered across the bridge which the engineers had erected across the Prahsu, and made for the hutted camp of the British. On all sides men were bustling to and fro. Natives were carrying bales and boxes on their heads, sailors and soldiers were lolling about the open camp fires, smoking their pipes and yarning, while at the far side of the bridge was a kilted sentry, striding to and fro. He stared at the new-comers, brought his rifle from the slope, and dropped the bayonet level with d.i.c.k's chest.
”Not so fast, me lad,” he said gaily. ”Where from? Whom do you want to see? 'Alt, or there's going to be trouble.”
That brought them up suddenly and set d.i.c.k laughing.
”A fine welcome after two months' absence,” he said. ”Sentry, I want to see the Chief of the Staff, and after that Mr Emmett. As for where I've come from, k.u.masi is the answer. Now, how long have you been here?”
”My business, young feller,” was the reply, when the sentry had recovered from his astonishment at being answered in his own tongue, for d.i.c.k might have been of any nationality. ”Yer want the chief, do yer?
'Ere, Corporal McVittie, take these fellers to the sergeant of the guard.”
A little later our hero, with his two black companions, was being marched under escort in amongst the huts, and was finally brought to a halt opposite a collection of tents devoted to the use of the leaders of the expedition. There were British officers standing or sitting in front of many of these, while the dress of some showed that they belonged to the Royal Navy. At one end of the line a Welsh Fusilier paced his solitary beat, while a blue-jacket, burly and heavily bearded, did sentry duty at the other end. And it was this latter individual who first recognised the new-comer.
”What's this!” he gasped, stepping a little way from his beat. ”'Ere, sergeant, split me! but that 'ere's Mr Stapleton! Mr d.i.c.k Stapleton!
Do yer 'ear me?”
His face flushed red with indignation at the sight presented to him, but discipline was discipline, and already he had said too much. However, before the sergeant of the guard could answer, a number of officers emerged from a tent close by and faced the white youth and natives under escort. There was a loud exclamation of surprise, and in a moment d.i.c.k was gripping the hand of the Chief of the Staff, while close to him was Jack Emmett, bronzed with the sun, eagerly waiting for his share in the greeting.
”Bless my life! d.i.c.k Stapleton, reported as missing on the river!
Where on earth have you come from? And looking so wan and thin, too!”
”From k.u.masi, sir. I was taken prisoner, and escaped two nights ago. I brought these two a.s.sims along with me. They had been tied up in the forest to see how long they could live without food and water, I suppose so that the enemy might have some augury of their fortunes. They know the ground perfectly, sir. You asked for that information, and here it is.”
There was a commotion in the camp for more than an hour, and as the night fell, and the men gathered about their huge log fires, every tongue wagged on one story alone. But the noise was greatest where the bluejackets had their quarters, for there reclined the crew of the launch which had returned so disconsolately from their quest up the river. As for d.i.c.k, he had been feted by the officers, and ever since had been engaged with the members of the staff, to whom he gave all his news of k.u.masi, and drew sketches of the road leading to the town.
”You have our congratulations,” said the Chief, as he rose to bid him good night, ”and I may say that you have done us inestimable service, so much so that, though it is not the usual custom, and is, indeed, an exceptional occurrence, we shall send your name home in our despatches.
And now for to-morrow, when we advance. You, with your two natives, will be well in our front with the remaining scouts under Lord Gifford and others. When you come to k.u.masi you may find it necessary to fall back on us for support.”
”And if the Ashantis are in the same condition of panic, may I advance, sir?” asked d.i.c.k, quietly. ”I have every reason for asking the question, for I know roughly the whereabouts of the captives, and if I can get in at an early hour, I may be able to save them.”
”You shall have more men. You shall have your old crew, my lad. I know well that you will lead them discreetly. Save these prisoners for us, and you will have completed some very fine work. There. Off you go, Mr Stapleton. I would willingly keep you and listen to all you have to say, but I see that you are very tired. And besides, we are off at c.o.c.k-crow tomorrow.”
Once more he shook hands with our hero and nodded adieu. Then he stepped across to the tent occupied by Sir Garnet, and told him of the remarkable occurrence.
”A really gallant and modest lad, General,” he said, feelingly. ”I could not be prouder of him had he been my own son.”
When morning dawned on the following day the hutted town was all bustle and hurry, and very soon the bridge over the river resounded to the tramp of many feet, for the punitive army was on the march. The last stage of this short and historic campaign had commenced.
CHAPTER TWENTY.