Chapter Ten.

Chapter Ten.A Native Fleet.“Yo’s no need for to worry, massa,” sang out Johnnie, severely, as Dick raised his head from his hands and looked along the deck anxiously. For the fact that it was empty, save for the chief and himself and three others, caused him sudden anxiety. “Yo’s get de wind again, and Johnnie see um all right. Wait dar! Back um! Yo black boy ober dar, swing um round so!”He was in the well where the engine lay, and as he gave the orders Dick saw by the light of the furnace that he had shut off steam. Then he waved to the man at the helm, and the launch gently fell across the stream. And there she lay, shrouded in darkness, and hidden from the sight of the pursuers by the bank round the angle of which they were congregated. But whether they could see her or not, the enemy answered James Langdon’s shout with a volley from their muzzle-loaders.“That’s um. Fire away, you debils. See some fun soon. See what Johnnie and his broders do. Listen to um cussin’.”He roared with delight, for, as the reports of the scattered volley subsided the voice of James Langdon again came to the ear.“Wade in!” he called out in the Ashanti tongue. “It is only a stream, my brothers, and in that way we shall have them. They must not escape. They have all the gold with them.”“Yo watch!” said Johnnie, suddenly, as a series of loud splashes told that the enemy were attempting to carry out the movement. “You see fun now, massa. Hi, yo black boys! Fire de rifle.”It was laughable, ridiculous, but very wonderful after all, to see Johnnie there, giving commands in his quaint English, commands which could not be understood by a single one of the miners. And yet this little stoker had a head on his shoulders, and had shown that he was deserving of much trust. For if he did not know the Ashanti tongue, by means of many jerkings of his arms and a huge amount of energy he could explain his plans, and get the men to fall in with them. And now Dick could see that he had made good use of the short time given him at the launch.He had had a clear half-hour, or a little more, perhaps, and in that small space of time he had lit the fire, had stacked the bags of gold, for they could be seen in the cabin, lying snugly under the light of the furnace, and had made his arrangements for defence. He had posted his men a little distance away, under the trees, just where they could cover the enemy with their rifles. They were lying in the boat selected for their transport, and in the bows one of their number cowered over the small brass cannon. He had seen a gun before, that was evident, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. He put an arm out, clutched a bough, and moved the position of the boat ever so little. Then came Johnnie’s excited shout, a spout of flame burst from nine or ten rifles, and then there was a short pause, followed by a flash, by the splutter of powder at the vent, and then by an appalling crash as the gun went off.“Put um helm ober, boy! Now give um little steam. Gently! Backum!”Above the screams of the enemy, the hoarse bellows of those who had escaped the rifle bullets and the buckshot with which the gun had been loaded, for bags of these had been brought as likely to be the proper form of missile, the voice of Johnnie could be heard.“Back um! Now, yo black debil in bow, hook um on. Throw de painter! Make up fast as wax. Now gib um steam. Go ’head. Gib um all she know!”It might have been rehearsed. It was marvellous to think that all this had been arranged by a little fellow from Sierra Leone, employed as the stoker and driver of a steam launch. Dick was dumbfounded. But by now he was past expressing his feelings, and besides, he was so exhausted that he could hardly speak. He saw, however, that the chief command was in excellent hands for the moment, and, like a sensible fellow, he left Johnnie to conduct the flight till he had his strength again. And so he lay flat on the deck, listening to the shouts of the pursuers, getting now farther and farther away, to the husky voice of James Langdon, as he raced through the trees, and to the mutterings of the native at the engine of the launch. Then he smiled, a grim smile of amusement and of exultation, for he had conquered. He had won the fight, an unequal one, to say the least of it, and here he was, thanks to the splendid fellows who supported him, steaming away from the mine without the loss of a single worker, with little to mourn for, and with sufficient gold aboard to pay all wages, and leave a very handsome margin with which to reimburse his employers for the burning of their few spare stores and their stockade. In addition, there would be enough to give a fine profit, and such encouragement that when things had quieted down and James Langdon’s account had been settled, the mine would be worked again, and he, Dick Stapleton, would have certain employment.“De beggar follow. Dey runnin’ down in de trees. Berry well! We stop dat. Yo boys, back dere. Get um guns ready.”“Tell your men to load and fire into the trees when my comrade gives the command,” said Dick, in the Fanti tongue, which all the Ashantis understand. “Now, Johnnie, tell me what you want, and I’ll pass on the order. You will command till we reach the river.”“Tank you, massa,” was the answer, as the little fellow swung round for a moment, showing a smiling mouth and two rows of gleaming teeth. “You watch, and see me gib dem pepper. Me gib dem fellows beans.”He cut the steam off just a little till the launch slowed down, and till the Ashantis on the bank began to overhaul her. Meanwhile all aboard the launch maintained silence. Then again the native stoker shouted a command, and a hot musketry fire was poured into the forest. At the same instant the launch started forward as if she had been hit, and with the boat in tow went racing down the tributary. Nothing could stop her now. Bullets and slugs whizzed overhead, and a few struck the deck and the sides of the towing boat. But they could not arrest the flight, while the pursuers might shout and bawl as they liked. The launch sped on her way, causing the water to flood the muddy banks on either side, and disturbing more than one of the loathsome monsters reclining there. They came to a bend suddenly. She swung round it, dashed for an open reach, and shot out into the stream.“Well done!” cried Dick, rising to his feet, and taking his post as leader again. “Very well done, Johnnie. You are a born commander. Now, put out into midstream and send her ahead. How’s steam, my lad?”“’Nough to bust um, massa. Plenty steam and heap coal.”“Then keep her going while I talk to the chief.”He went right aft, to where the leader of the miners sat beside his comrade, staring to either hand and discussing the flight with his friend. Within six feet of them, at the end of the towing rope, lay the boat, with ten men aboard her, all with rifles in their hands, eagerly scanning the bank from which the last shots had come. Overhead the sky was already distinctly lighter. The forest on either hand had receded all of a sudden, while there were evident signs of coming day.Every face aboard the two boats bore the same expression of contentment, of pride, at the success of their efforts. There was even a sterner look, as if many of the men would have delighted in another brush with the enemy.“Never fear,” said Dick to the chief, “there will be more blows to be struck yet. We have miles of river to traverse, and if the Ashantis are on the war-path, it is more than likely that we shall have to run the gauntlet of a few of them. What do you think, chief?”“We shall meet them on the Prahsu,” was the answer. “There will be more trouble both for us and for the English chief. As for these others who have just attacked us, they are beaten. They may cover their heads and seek women for attack after this. Men will laugh at them. The two hundred who are to follow will surely cut them to pieces if these remain to tell the tale.”“Then we can take it easily now. We can reserve our coal, and prepare for this other meeting, chief. Why should we not run down the stream at night, or at least down that part known as the Prahsu?”“The scheme is a good one,” was the answer, “and for the white chief and his servant it will be as well to act as you say. For us there must be a different arrangement. Has our brother thought of the fate which will come to men of Ashanti should they land on the far bank some miles down this river? There the cowardly Fantis live, and with them we are forever at war. They would kill us most certainly.”Dick had not thought of that before, and the news came as a shock to him. If that were the case, and these miners from Ashanti would be in danger lower down the river, where would they be safe? In Elmina?“Then we shall have to part, I fear,” he said, after some minutes’ thought. “The Fantis swarm lower down the stream, and though some might be friendly, others would soon make an attack upon you. Where can you go?”“There are villages in our own country where we shall be secure, white chief. Already the fighting men will have left, so that our coming will not be noticed, and there will be none strong enough to harm us. Then, as the warriors return, we can leave. When all is quiet we will go to the mine and commence work again, for you will return?”“I should say that we shall do that without a doubt,” answered Dick. “The gold obtained has been abundant, and my employers will come again when the country has grown quiet. Perhaps this trouble will die down rapidly, and we shall be back in a month or two.”“You may, and yet I doubt it, Englishman. This war has been the thought of my countrymen for many years. They long to reach the coast, to have their own town there, where they may obtain supplies and guns. Yes, we know that, for we have listened to their talk. And besides, our brothers are born to fight. In times of peace they have little to do, and so it happens that we are forever quarrelling with those who live near at hand. A few, like ourselves, are trained to mine, and the king keeps us free from interference. We are necessary, for with gold the king buys guns and powder, and in our country it is a law that every nugget found goes to him as tribute. The dust belongs to the diggers, while those who dare to conceal the nuggets, even if they be only as small as the smallest bean, are taken to Kumasi and sacrificed. Thus, as I said, we can return to the villages, and we shall be safe so long as we can keep away from the war parties. For they will know that we come from the mine, and doubtless the king, having declared that he will fight the Fantis and the English, has given orders for all who worked there to be slain or taken captive.”“And how do you propose to avoid these war parties?” asked Dick, anxiously.“In this way. We will steam on till we are clear of these cravens who attacked us, and as the moon grows near we will tie up under the bank. Then, if our white chief agrees, we will serve out the dust, each man taking what is due to him. Then we will dive into the forest, and will make for Kumasi. Trust us to keep away from the fighters.”“While I shall have to run down-stream alone and escape them if I can.”“We would gladly come with you,” said the native, “but it would mean death to us. If the white chief desires it we will come.”“No. I will go alone. You have done splendidly,” said Dick. “You have proved true and more than brave. I shall report that to our employers. We will steam on for a little while, and then we will serve out the wages. Later we shall hope to meet again at the mine.”Little did Dick guess that this river would be dyed in many places with the blood of men ere the country was quiet again, and that the forests and woods would echo to the cheers of British soldiers ere King Koffee, the arrogant and bloodthirsty potentate of Kumasi, would consent to withdraw his fighters. He did not know that even then telegrams were speeding home to England, that the situation at Elmina and at Cape Coast Castle was serious in the extreme, and that nothing but war and rumours of war were in the air. Little did he dream that he was still within the nest of a hornet, almost the only man of his colour still alive so many miles from the coast. How was he to learn that thousands of warriors were on the march, and that the forest paths were teeming with men of Ashanti? It was enough for him to remember the danger from which he had escaped. The memory of it, and of the successful defence and escape, filled him with glee, and he looked forward to the brush which he might have on his way down the Pra with a light heart which defied all thoughts of failure.Two hours later the launch ran in to the bank, and was moored under the trees. Then the books showing the amounts due to the miners were produced, for Dick had had the care of these, and had sent them to the launch in one of the bags. There was a pair of scales also, and very soon the portions were separated, four ounces of gold going to swell each little heap, as a special reward for the manner in which the men had fought. Then each of the heaps was sewn up in a piece of canvas, and secreted upon the person of the owner. The remainder of the dust was stored in the cabin again, and, that done, the launch put out from the bank, and ran to the far side of the river. Then, with many a cheer and shout, the Ashanti gold-miners—excellent fellows all, and very different from their warlike brethren—stepped ashore, and made off into the bush. Dick and Johnnie felt quite lonely when they had gone. They pushed off into the stream and steamed away.“Better leab um boat behind,” said the native, suddenly, after some minutes’ silence. “Suppose hab to run, den boat hold um back. P’raps mean um dead.”It was an excellent idea, showing again that there is wisdom to be found in a native, and that Johnnie, for all his quaint looks and merry ways, was a thinker.“We’ll do so certainly,” said Dick, at once adopting the advice. “Look for a spot where we can hide her, and which we can pick out again should we require her. It must be on this bank, too, so we will keep within easy distance.”It was not until an hour had passed that they hit upon a suitable place. Then, at a nod from the leader, the launch swung in closer to the bank, while Johnnie ran to the stern and drew in the painter. He ran the native craft up alongside the launch, and hopped lightly into her. Then, as Dick put the propeller astern—for the stream ran fairly strong here—the native pushed off, and guided the boat into the shallows. There was a massive tree there—a species of fern, growing to the height of thirty or forty feet perhaps, and dropping its abundant spreading foliage like an umbrella all round till the tips trailed in the water. Johnnie pushed boldly in, and Dick could see the big fronds shaking. Then he edged the launch closer in till her nose dipped under the leaves, and he heard her grate against the side of the native craft.“Got um fast front and back,” sang out the native. “No move um, whateber happen. She fill wid water, and not sink. Tree hold um up nicely. Yes, and no one know um dere. Whole army pass, and neber guess. Golly, massa, de berry place!”“And one to find easily,” answered Dick. “Now, hop along, and let us get off. We’ve plenty of steam, and I think we’ll put her hard at it. The tales of these warriors of King Koffee make me uneasy, and I’m anxious to get down to the coast.”Very soon Johnnie appeared from amidst the leaves, and they pushed off into the stream till they reached the centre. And there they remained throughout the day, reeling the miles off rapidly, for they had the stream to help them.“We’ll keep on without a single halt right down to the sea,” said Dick, as he sat on the edge of the engine-well, eating a meal which the native had just cooked. “We know there will be a moon, and now that the river is broader we shall be able to see easily. We’ll chance sandbanks, and hope that none will come in our path. By to-morrow morning the natives should be left behind, and we should be within reach of friends. Good coffee, Johnnie. You are a capital hand at other thing besides making war!”The native stoker grinned his delight as he turned to face his master.“When me so high me learn to cook,” he said, with a merry laugh, holding his hand out some three feet from the deck. “In my country de women and de children see to de food while de men smoke and sleep, and get strength for de fight.”“A queer way of getting up one’s muscle,” laughed our hero. “Just fancy training for school sports, or a gymnastic competition, in a similar manner! One would be rather soft, and hardly in the best condition.”“Dere where Johnnie learn to fight,” went on the stoker. “Me go out when me not yet a man, and in de first battle me kill an enemy. He rush so”—he clambered from the well, and demonstrated the method of attack with such energy that the launch rolled—“he make stroke at Johnnie’s head, and miss um mark, golly! by de inch. Den me answer. Me hit wid all de strength wid um club, and he go whop! He fall dead on de ground. Den me take um head, and shout de war cry.”He made another attempt to bring the last in reality before his master, and set the forests ringing. Dick clapped a hand over his mouth, and pushed him into the well.“Steady, my lad,” he said. “There may be an Ashanti army within hearing of that call, and then what will happen? Spin your yarn if you wish, but do it quietly. How’s steam?”A little abashed, but yet glowing with the memory of his victory, the native stepped to the gauge and read off the pressure. Then he shovelled a heap of coal from the bunker.“Come night, and not see so well,” he said. “Hab plenty ready to run wid.”About three hours after that, dusk began to fall, and for a little while the fugitives were compelled to lie in close to the bank of the river, for it was densely dark. But the time passed pleasantly enough, for Dick had his pipe alight for the first time since the previous day and as he smoked it, watching the glow of the bowl, and looking across to a similar glow proceeding from the clay gripped between the white teeth of the native, his thoughts returned to the stockade. He went over all the scenes again, his nearness to James Langdon, and the luck he had had then. His successful attempt to reach the stockade, and the desperate fight he had had on the way. And, later, the retreat, with all its numerous incidents. He was still thinking of it when the moon came up in all her splendour, flooding the river till it was almost as light as day. And then, for the first time for many an hour, he looked at himself, and was horrified. His hands were cut and scratched in all directions, as doubtless was his face also. His clothes hung in ribbons about him, while, by the stains upon the breast of his coat and upon his shirt, one would have thought that he had been badly hit. But that he certainly was not; and now he remembered how the wretch who had first attacked him outside the stockade, had fallen under his own sword—fallen against the one who struck the blow.“Time to move,” he said, springing to his feet. “Steady ahead. More. Let her have it.”The native grinned. He wiped his hands with a piece of waste extracted from his pocket, and then opened the throttle. And once he had the launch moving at full speed he leaned back in contentment, watching his master with one eye, while with the other he looked at the smoke curling up from his pipe.An hour later, as they swung round a bend in the river, and came into a long, straight stretch, a cry of amazement escaped them. The water on the left bank was black with native craft, while the hubbub of some thousands of voices came to their ears. But that was as nothing to the shouts which greeted the appearance of the launch when she came into the straight. There was a deafening burst of shouting. Tom-toms and drums were beaten in all directions, while the deep note of many a native war-horn was heard. For crossing the stream was one division of King Koffee’s army,en routefor the Fanti country. And of this division, amounting to some ten thousand men, not more than a tenth were on the water, for there were insufficient boats within a radius of many miles to carry more. The passage was being made by detachments, and the first crossing had just commenced. That there were more of the warriors ashore Dick quickly learned, for if there had been shouting from the men on the water, the noise from the jungle was vastly more pronounced. And then the firing commenced, though the launch was beyond the range of the cheap, Birmingham-made guns owned by the natives. Still, the loud reports issuing from the bush were sufficient to show what was happening, while any doubt that there could possibly have been was set at rest by the manner in which the surface of the river was struck and thrashed by the bullets. They splashed in all directions, bullets ricocheting and screaming, slugs and buck-shot of native manufacture dropping heavily into the water, while the numerous pebbles which were fired sank out of sight at once.Dick smiled grimly, once he had overcome his first feelings of consternation and astonishment. He stretched out from his position at the tiller and caught up a rifle. Another movement and he had three of the weapons at hand, for there was a good supply on board. And while he held the tiller between his knees, he jerked cartridges into the breeches. As for Johnnie, his mouth had opened in one vast expression of astonishment as the natives came into view, and for an instant he had changed colour under the dark pigment of his skin. Then, glancing at his leader, and seeing how he was engaged, the little fellow gripped his pipe the tighter and threw himself upon his shovel. The door of the furnace swung open with a clatter, and Dick heard the grating of the shovel on the narrow iron floor of the engine-well. A flash lit up the stoker’s figure, and Dick caught sight of a roaring fire, quenched a second later with a mass of coal. Then a dense volume of black smoke swept out of the low funnel and went trailing overhead till it merged with the clouds and the trees. He glanced at the pressure gauge, and by the help of the moon saw that it stood at sixty. Johnnie turned to it also and pointed.“Hab plenty more soon, massa,” he said. “Make water bubble and fizz. Boiler go bur-r-r-r-r wid de pressure. Chimney velly hot. Golly! Look at um!”“Time to think about a shot or two,” answered Dick, quietly. “Get a couple of rifles and some cartridges, and load. Keep them handy to the engine. Then go on stoking. By the way, have we a fender aboard?”“Big one forard, sar. Where hab him?”“Right on the bows, rather low down. Slippy, my lad.”They had little time for chatter, and both knew it. The native crawled on his hands and knees along the deck, and swung a large rope fender over the bows, securing it on the very stem of the launch. Then he ran back, and the furnace door swung open again. By now the steam pressure had risen to sixty-four, and the needle was slowly jerking up. The funnel vomited even more inky-black smoke, while flames and small particles of coal flew into the air, the latter raining down on the deck. Meanwhile the natives had not been idle, for after the first shouts of surprise, and the salvo of bullets and slugs, the whole mass of canoes had set off across the river to intercept the launch. The consequent confusion can be well imagined. There were then screams and shouts of anger. Boats became locked together, and Dick saw some of the crews striking at one another in their rage and in their anxiety to get clear of their neighbours, and have a share in the capture.“That gives us a chance,” he said. “If they had started from the outside line there would have been no doubt about the issue. Now it’s touch and go. They may be lined across our way, or they may not. Depends on the crews. As for their firing, I don’t care a rap about it. Those guns don’t carry over-far, and from what I saw at the stockade I should say that at a little more than a hundred yards one would only experience a heavy blow. At fifty the slugs would penetrate. Hullo! I don’t like those beggars.”As he spoke there was greater commotion amidst the canoes, all of which were now under weigh, while those on the outside, the river side of the fleet, had broken clear of their comrades and were pushing for the centre of the stream. This, however, was not what attracted Dick’s attention, and drew the remark from him. It was the sight of two native craft of larger size which suddenly pushed from the shadow of the bank. They were crammed to overflowing, and carried big crews, who knelt in a line along each side. In the centre stood the warriors, shouting and gesticulating, and fighting their way through the mob. Small consideration did they give to those who were in their way. Dick saw the warriors strike at their comrades with the butts of their firelocks, and watched as more than on of the smaller craft was overturned. Then he sat down and took up a rifle.“A shot might help,” he said quietly. “How’s steam?”Johnnie pointed to the indicator and looked proud.“Hab plenty,” he said. “Stoke um more and perhaps um bust. Plenty steam in de biler.”“Then get your rifle, and aim at the rowers in the first of those two boats. Don’t leave her alone. Keep on all the while unless you have to stoke again.”“Not want to. Hab plenty steam and big fire,” answered Johnnie, with a satisfied nod. “Not hab any more coal till half-hour. By den p’raps not hab steamer.”“Perhaps,” answered Dick, with a smile. “We’re going to see to that. Out with your rifle.”Still gripping the tiller between his knees, while he sat on the edge of the well, he took a long and careful aim at the first of the paddlers, the one who set the stroke to the boat, and pressed the trigger when the sights were on him. Instantly there was a howl of rage, and the man dropped back on to the rower behind him, while the whole lot came to a halt. But it was only for a quarter of a minute. One of the warriors who stood close by lifted the body and hove it overboard without ceremony. Then he seized the paddle and thrust it into the water. Crack! Dick’s rifle broke the stillness which had followed the shout, and the man who had just knelt crumpled into a mass, the same disorder following.“Five hundred yards I make it,” said our hero quietly. “Give them a full sight, Johnnie, and aim for the centre of the body. Ah! A good one. I think you hit the side of the boat first, and then the man. They don’t waste time aboard those craft, and human life does not seem to be over-valuable.”By now the launch and the fleet had sensibly decreased the intervening distance, the latter making directly across the river Pra, while the former raced down the centre of the river. It had become more than ever a question of time, and the thought made Dick redouble his efforts. And thanks to his shooting, the progress of the two war boats was greatly delayed, his bullet singling out the leading paddler every time the place was filled, till there was a panic in that part of the vessel. Then suddenly an unexpected thing happened. The two aboard the launch had taken little notice of the firing which still went on from the bank and from a number of the canoes, and which was of greater danger to the enemy than to them, for the range of the enemy’s firearms was inconsiderable. Now, however, a shot attracted their attention. There was a louder report than usual, and a bullet of large size sped from the fleet, and striking the funnel, bored clean through it, the puncture being plainly discernible by the flames and smoke which instantly emerged. Dick started forward, till he was stretched across the after-well, the tip of the tiller in his hand, and almost at once there was a second shot, followed by a heavy thud behind him, and finally by a splash out in the river. He turned to find the tiller loose in his hand, splintered by the missile, the fracture of the shaft having taken place an inch or two in front of the slot cut for it in the rudder. The steering gear was cut adrift, and as he looked at the shaft in his hand the launch went off her course. She shot to the right, away from the enemy, causing a scream of rage to rise from a thousand throats. Then, as suddenly, she swerved to the other side, till those aboard her were almost rolled into the water. She seemed to see the enemy before her, for she took the bit in her teeth, and, with her propeller thrashing the water behind her, went directly towards them, a bow wave splashing up on either hand. And then the tone of the Ashantis changed. Whatever they were, they were men of courage, and not to be frightened by a monster of this sort speeding down upon them. They had, for the most part, never seen a launch before, and those who had, had probably never seen one in full flight. Yet they did not flinch. They stood in their boats, and such a shout of triumph went up that the woods rang and rang again. Then their guns opened with a vengeance, and a perfect storm of missiles hurtled towards the launch. They did not stop her. She did not seem to notice the bullets splashing on either hand and tumbling on her deck. The launch had got out of hand, and as if she were tired of life and roused to desperation by the pressure of steam which she carried, she went on her mad course, rushing down to doom and destruction.

“Yo’s no need for to worry, massa,” sang out Johnnie, severely, as Dick raised his head from his hands and looked along the deck anxiously. For the fact that it was empty, save for the chief and himself and three others, caused him sudden anxiety. “Yo’s get de wind again, and Johnnie see um all right. Wait dar! Back um! Yo black boy ober dar, swing um round so!”

He was in the well where the engine lay, and as he gave the orders Dick saw by the light of the furnace that he had shut off steam. Then he waved to the man at the helm, and the launch gently fell across the stream. And there she lay, shrouded in darkness, and hidden from the sight of the pursuers by the bank round the angle of which they were congregated. But whether they could see her or not, the enemy answered James Langdon’s shout with a volley from their muzzle-loaders.

“That’s um. Fire away, you debils. See some fun soon. See what Johnnie and his broders do. Listen to um cussin’.”

He roared with delight, for, as the reports of the scattered volley subsided the voice of James Langdon again came to the ear.

“Wade in!” he called out in the Ashanti tongue. “It is only a stream, my brothers, and in that way we shall have them. They must not escape. They have all the gold with them.”

“Yo watch!” said Johnnie, suddenly, as a series of loud splashes told that the enemy were attempting to carry out the movement. “You see fun now, massa. Hi, yo black boys! Fire de rifle.”

It was laughable, ridiculous, but very wonderful after all, to see Johnnie there, giving commands in his quaint English, commands which could not be understood by a single one of the miners. And yet this little stoker had a head on his shoulders, and had shown that he was deserving of much trust. For if he did not know the Ashanti tongue, by means of many jerkings of his arms and a huge amount of energy he could explain his plans, and get the men to fall in with them. And now Dick could see that he had made good use of the short time given him at the launch.

He had had a clear half-hour, or a little more, perhaps, and in that small space of time he had lit the fire, had stacked the bags of gold, for they could be seen in the cabin, lying snugly under the light of the furnace, and had made his arrangements for defence. He had posted his men a little distance away, under the trees, just where they could cover the enemy with their rifles. They were lying in the boat selected for their transport, and in the bows one of their number cowered over the small brass cannon. He had seen a gun before, that was evident, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. He put an arm out, clutched a bough, and moved the position of the boat ever so little. Then came Johnnie’s excited shout, a spout of flame burst from nine or ten rifles, and then there was a short pause, followed by a flash, by the splutter of powder at the vent, and then by an appalling crash as the gun went off.

“Put um helm ober, boy! Now give um little steam. Gently! Backum!”

Above the screams of the enemy, the hoarse bellows of those who had escaped the rifle bullets and the buckshot with which the gun had been loaded, for bags of these had been brought as likely to be the proper form of missile, the voice of Johnnie could be heard.

“Back um! Now, yo black debil in bow, hook um on. Throw de painter! Make up fast as wax. Now gib um steam. Go ’head. Gib um all she know!”

It might have been rehearsed. It was marvellous to think that all this had been arranged by a little fellow from Sierra Leone, employed as the stoker and driver of a steam launch. Dick was dumbfounded. But by now he was past expressing his feelings, and besides, he was so exhausted that he could hardly speak. He saw, however, that the chief command was in excellent hands for the moment, and, like a sensible fellow, he left Johnnie to conduct the flight till he had his strength again. And so he lay flat on the deck, listening to the shouts of the pursuers, getting now farther and farther away, to the husky voice of James Langdon, as he raced through the trees, and to the mutterings of the native at the engine of the launch. Then he smiled, a grim smile of amusement and of exultation, for he had conquered. He had won the fight, an unequal one, to say the least of it, and here he was, thanks to the splendid fellows who supported him, steaming away from the mine without the loss of a single worker, with little to mourn for, and with sufficient gold aboard to pay all wages, and leave a very handsome margin with which to reimburse his employers for the burning of their few spare stores and their stockade. In addition, there would be enough to give a fine profit, and such encouragement that when things had quieted down and James Langdon’s account had been settled, the mine would be worked again, and he, Dick Stapleton, would have certain employment.

“De beggar follow. Dey runnin’ down in de trees. Berry well! We stop dat. Yo boys, back dere. Get um guns ready.”

“Tell your men to load and fire into the trees when my comrade gives the command,” said Dick, in the Fanti tongue, which all the Ashantis understand. “Now, Johnnie, tell me what you want, and I’ll pass on the order. You will command till we reach the river.”

“Tank you, massa,” was the answer, as the little fellow swung round for a moment, showing a smiling mouth and two rows of gleaming teeth. “You watch, and see me gib dem pepper. Me gib dem fellows beans.”

He cut the steam off just a little till the launch slowed down, and till the Ashantis on the bank began to overhaul her. Meanwhile all aboard the launch maintained silence. Then again the native stoker shouted a command, and a hot musketry fire was poured into the forest. At the same instant the launch started forward as if she had been hit, and with the boat in tow went racing down the tributary. Nothing could stop her now. Bullets and slugs whizzed overhead, and a few struck the deck and the sides of the towing boat. But they could not arrest the flight, while the pursuers might shout and bawl as they liked. The launch sped on her way, causing the water to flood the muddy banks on either side, and disturbing more than one of the loathsome monsters reclining there. They came to a bend suddenly. She swung round it, dashed for an open reach, and shot out into the stream.

“Well done!” cried Dick, rising to his feet, and taking his post as leader again. “Very well done, Johnnie. You are a born commander. Now, put out into midstream and send her ahead. How’s steam, my lad?”

“’Nough to bust um, massa. Plenty steam and heap coal.”

“Then keep her going while I talk to the chief.”

He went right aft, to where the leader of the miners sat beside his comrade, staring to either hand and discussing the flight with his friend. Within six feet of them, at the end of the towing rope, lay the boat, with ten men aboard her, all with rifles in their hands, eagerly scanning the bank from which the last shots had come. Overhead the sky was already distinctly lighter. The forest on either hand had receded all of a sudden, while there were evident signs of coming day.

Every face aboard the two boats bore the same expression of contentment, of pride, at the success of their efforts. There was even a sterner look, as if many of the men would have delighted in another brush with the enemy.

“Never fear,” said Dick to the chief, “there will be more blows to be struck yet. We have miles of river to traverse, and if the Ashantis are on the war-path, it is more than likely that we shall have to run the gauntlet of a few of them. What do you think, chief?”

“We shall meet them on the Prahsu,” was the answer. “There will be more trouble both for us and for the English chief. As for these others who have just attacked us, they are beaten. They may cover their heads and seek women for attack after this. Men will laugh at them. The two hundred who are to follow will surely cut them to pieces if these remain to tell the tale.”

“Then we can take it easily now. We can reserve our coal, and prepare for this other meeting, chief. Why should we not run down the stream at night, or at least down that part known as the Prahsu?”

“The scheme is a good one,” was the answer, “and for the white chief and his servant it will be as well to act as you say. For us there must be a different arrangement. Has our brother thought of the fate which will come to men of Ashanti should they land on the far bank some miles down this river? There the cowardly Fantis live, and with them we are forever at war. They would kill us most certainly.”

Dick had not thought of that before, and the news came as a shock to him. If that were the case, and these miners from Ashanti would be in danger lower down the river, where would they be safe? In Elmina?

“Then we shall have to part, I fear,” he said, after some minutes’ thought. “The Fantis swarm lower down the stream, and though some might be friendly, others would soon make an attack upon you. Where can you go?”

“There are villages in our own country where we shall be secure, white chief. Already the fighting men will have left, so that our coming will not be noticed, and there will be none strong enough to harm us. Then, as the warriors return, we can leave. When all is quiet we will go to the mine and commence work again, for you will return?”

“I should say that we shall do that without a doubt,” answered Dick. “The gold obtained has been abundant, and my employers will come again when the country has grown quiet. Perhaps this trouble will die down rapidly, and we shall be back in a month or two.”

“You may, and yet I doubt it, Englishman. This war has been the thought of my countrymen for many years. They long to reach the coast, to have their own town there, where they may obtain supplies and guns. Yes, we know that, for we have listened to their talk. And besides, our brothers are born to fight. In times of peace they have little to do, and so it happens that we are forever quarrelling with those who live near at hand. A few, like ourselves, are trained to mine, and the king keeps us free from interference. We are necessary, for with gold the king buys guns and powder, and in our country it is a law that every nugget found goes to him as tribute. The dust belongs to the diggers, while those who dare to conceal the nuggets, even if they be only as small as the smallest bean, are taken to Kumasi and sacrificed. Thus, as I said, we can return to the villages, and we shall be safe so long as we can keep away from the war parties. For they will know that we come from the mine, and doubtless the king, having declared that he will fight the Fantis and the English, has given orders for all who worked there to be slain or taken captive.”

“And how do you propose to avoid these war parties?” asked Dick, anxiously.

“In this way. We will steam on till we are clear of these cravens who attacked us, and as the moon grows near we will tie up under the bank. Then, if our white chief agrees, we will serve out the dust, each man taking what is due to him. Then we will dive into the forest, and will make for Kumasi. Trust us to keep away from the fighters.”

“While I shall have to run down-stream alone and escape them if I can.”

“We would gladly come with you,” said the native, “but it would mean death to us. If the white chief desires it we will come.”

“No. I will go alone. You have done splendidly,” said Dick. “You have proved true and more than brave. I shall report that to our employers. We will steam on for a little while, and then we will serve out the wages. Later we shall hope to meet again at the mine.”

Little did Dick guess that this river would be dyed in many places with the blood of men ere the country was quiet again, and that the forests and woods would echo to the cheers of British soldiers ere King Koffee, the arrogant and bloodthirsty potentate of Kumasi, would consent to withdraw his fighters. He did not know that even then telegrams were speeding home to England, that the situation at Elmina and at Cape Coast Castle was serious in the extreme, and that nothing but war and rumours of war were in the air. Little did he dream that he was still within the nest of a hornet, almost the only man of his colour still alive so many miles from the coast. How was he to learn that thousands of warriors were on the march, and that the forest paths were teeming with men of Ashanti? It was enough for him to remember the danger from which he had escaped. The memory of it, and of the successful defence and escape, filled him with glee, and he looked forward to the brush which he might have on his way down the Pra with a light heart which defied all thoughts of failure.

Two hours later the launch ran in to the bank, and was moored under the trees. Then the books showing the amounts due to the miners were produced, for Dick had had the care of these, and had sent them to the launch in one of the bags. There was a pair of scales also, and very soon the portions were separated, four ounces of gold going to swell each little heap, as a special reward for the manner in which the men had fought. Then each of the heaps was sewn up in a piece of canvas, and secreted upon the person of the owner. The remainder of the dust was stored in the cabin again, and, that done, the launch put out from the bank, and ran to the far side of the river. Then, with many a cheer and shout, the Ashanti gold-miners—excellent fellows all, and very different from their warlike brethren—stepped ashore, and made off into the bush. Dick and Johnnie felt quite lonely when they had gone. They pushed off into the stream and steamed away.

“Better leab um boat behind,” said the native, suddenly, after some minutes’ silence. “Suppose hab to run, den boat hold um back. P’raps mean um dead.”

It was an excellent idea, showing again that there is wisdom to be found in a native, and that Johnnie, for all his quaint looks and merry ways, was a thinker.

“We’ll do so certainly,” said Dick, at once adopting the advice. “Look for a spot where we can hide her, and which we can pick out again should we require her. It must be on this bank, too, so we will keep within easy distance.”

It was not until an hour had passed that they hit upon a suitable place. Then, at a nod from the leader, the launch swung in closer to the bank, while Johnnie ran to the stern and drew in the painter. He ran the native craft up alongside the launch, and hopped lightly into her. Then, as Dick put the propeller astern—for the stream ran fairly strong here—the native pushed off, and guided the boat into the shallows. There was a massive tree there—a species of fern, growing to the height of thirty or forty feet perhaps, and dropping its abundant spreading foliage like an umbrella all round till the tips trailed in the water. Johnnie pushed boldly in, and Dick could see the big fronds shaking. Then he edged the launch closer in till her nose dipped under the leaves, and he heard her grate against the side of the native craft.

“Got um fast front and back,” sang out the native. “No move um, whateber happen. She fill wid water, and not sink. Tree hold um up nicely. Yes, and no one know um dere. Whole army pass, and neber guess. Golly, massa, de berry place!”

“And one to find easily,” answered Dick. “Now, hop along, and let us get off. We’ve plenty of steam, and I think we’ll put her hard at it. The tales of these warriors of King Koffee make me uneasy, and I’m anxious to get down to the coast.”

Very soon Johnnie appeared from amidst the leaves, and they pushed off into the stream till they reached the centre. And there they remained throughout the day, reeling the miles off rapidly, for they had the stream to help them.

“We’ll keep on without a single halt right down to the sea,” said Dick, as he sat on the edge of the engine-well, eating a meal which the native had just cooked. “We know there will be a moon, and now that the river is broader we shall be able to see easily. We’ll chance sandbanks, and hope that none will come in our path. By to-morrow morning the natives should be left behind, and we should be within reach of friends. Good coffee, Johnnie. You are a capital hand at other thing besides making war!”

The native stoker grinned his delight as he turned to face his master.

“When me so high me learn to cook,” he said, with a merry laugh, holding his hand out some three feet from the deck. “In my country de women and de children see to de food while de men smoke and sleep, and get strength for de fight.”

“A queer way of getting up one’s muscle,” laughed our hero. “Just fancy training for school sports, or a gymnastic competition, in a similar manner! One would be rather soft, and hardly in the best condition.”

“Dere where Johnnie learn to fight,” went on the stoker. “Me go out when me not yet a man, and in de first battle me kill an enemy. He rush so”—he clambered from the well, and demonstrated the method of attack with such energy that the launch rolled—“he make stroke at Johnnie’s head, and miss um mark, golly! by de inch. Den me answer. Me hit wid all de strength wid um club, and he go whop! He fall dead on de ground. Den me take um head, and shout de war cry.”

He made another attempt to bring the last in reality before his master, and set the forests ringing. Dick clapped a hand over his mouth, and pushed him into the well.

“Steady, my lad,” he said. “There may be an Ashanti army within hearing of that call, and then what will happen? Spin your yarn if you wish, but do it quietly. How’s steam?”

A little abashed, but yet glowing with the memory of his victory, the native stepped to the gauge and read off the pressure. Then he shovelled a heap of coal from the bunker.

“Come night, and not see so well,” he said. “Hab plenty ready to run wid.”

About three hours after that, dusk began to fall, and for a little while the fugitives were compelled to lie in close to the bank of the river, for it was densely dark. But the time passed pleasantly enough, for Dick had his pipe alight for the first time since the previous day and as he smoked it, watching the glow of the bowl, and looking across to a similar glow proceeding from the clay gripped between the white teeth of the native, his thoughts returned to the stockade. He went over all the scenes again, his nearness to James Langdon, and the luck he had had then. His successful attempt to reach the stockade, and the desperate fight he had had on the way. And, later, the retreat, with all its numerous incidents. He was still thinking of it when the moon came up in all her splendour, flooding the river till it was almost as light as day. And then, for the first time for many an hour, he looked at himself, and was horrified. His hands were cut and scratched in all directions, as doubtless was his face also. His clothes hung in ribbons about him, while, by the stains upon the breast of his coat and upon his shirt, one would have thought that he had been badly hit. But that he certainly was not; and now he remembered how the wretch who had first attacked him outside the stockade, had fallen under his own sword—fallen against the one who struck the blow.

“Time to move,” he said, springing to his feet. “Steady ahead. More. Let her have it.”

The native grinned. He wiped his hands with a piece of waste extracted from his pocket, and then opened the throttle. And once he had the launch moving at full speed he leaned back in contentment, watching his master with one eye, while with the other he looked at the smoke curling up from his pipe.

An hour later, as they swung round a bend in the river, and came into a long, straight stretch, a cry of amazement escaped them. The water on the left bank was black with native craft, while the hubbub of some thousands of voices came to their ears. But that was as nothing to the shouts which greeted the appearance of the launch when she came into the straight. There was a deafening burst of shouting. Tom-toms and drums were beaten in all directions, while the deep note of many a native war-horn was heard. For crossing the stream was one division of King Koffee’s army,en routefor the Fanti country. And of this division, amounting to some ten thousand men, not more than a tenth were on the water, for there were insufficient boats within a radius of many miles to carry more. The passage was being made by detachments, and the first crossing had just commenced. That there were more of the warriors ashore Dick quickly learned, for if there had been shouting from the men on the water, the noise from the jungle was vastly more pronounced. And then the firing commenced, though the launch was beyond the range of the cheap, Birmingham-made guns owned by the natives. Still, the loud reports issuing from the bush were sufficient to show what was happening, while any doubt that there could possibly have been was set at rest by the manner in which the surface of the river was struck and thrashed by the bullets. They splashed in all directions, bullets ricocheting and screaming, slugs and buck-shot of native manufacture dropping heavily into the water, while the numerous pebbles which were fired sank out of sight at once.

Dick smiled grimly, once he had overcome his first feelings of consternation and astonishment. He stretched out from his position at the tiller and caught up a rifle. Another movement and he had three of the weapons at hand, for there was a good supply on board. And while he held the tiller between his knees, he jerked cartridges into the breeches. As for Johnnie, his mouth had opened in one vast expression of astonishment as the natives came into view, and for an instant he had changed colour under the dark pigment of his skin. Then, glancing at his leader, and seeing how he was engaged, the little fellow gripped his pipe the tighter and threw himself upon his shovel. The door of the furnace swung open with a clatter, and Dick heard the grating of the shovel on the narrow iron floor of the engine-well. A flash lit up the stoker’s figure, and Dick caught sight of a roaring fire, quenched a second later with a mass of coal. Then a dense volume of black smoke swept out of the low funnel and went trailing overhead till it merged with the clouds and the trees. He glanced at the pressure gauge, and by the help of the moon saw that it stood at sixty. Johnnie turned to it also and pointed.

“Hab plenty more soon, massa,” he said. “Make water bubble and fizz. Boiler go bur-r-r-r-r wid de pressure. Chimney velly hot. Golly! Look at um!”

“Time to think about a shot or two,” answered Dick, quietly. “Get a couple of rifles and some cartridges, and load. Keep them handy to the engine. Then go on stoking. By the way, have we a fender aboard?”

“Big one forard, sar. Where hab him?”

“Right on the bows, rather low down. Slippy, my lad.”

They had little time for chatter, and both knew it. The native crawled on his hands and knees along the deck, and swung a large rope fender over the bows, securing it on the very stem of the launch. Then he ran back, and the furnace door swung open again. By now the steam pressure had risen to sixty-four, and the needle was slowly jerking up. The funnel vomited even more inky-black smoke, while flames and small particles of coal flew into the air, the latter raining down on the deck. Meanwhile the natives had not been idle, for after the first shouts of surprise, and the salvo of bullets and slugs, the whole mass of canoes had set off across the river to intercept the launch. The consequent confusion can be well imagined. There were then screams and shouts of anger. Boats became locked together, and Dick saw some of the crews striking at one another in their rage and in their anxiety to get clear of their neighbours, and have a share in the capture.

“That gives us a chance,” he said. “If they had started from the outside line there would have been no doubt about the issue. Now it’s touch and go. They may be lined across our way, or they may not. Depends on the crews. As for their firing, I don’t care a rap about it. Those guns don’t carry over-far, and from what I saw at the stockade I should say that at a little more than a hundred yards one would only experience a heavy blow. At fifty the slugs would penetrate. Hullo! I don’t like those beggars.”

As he spoke there was greater commotion amidst the canoes, all of which were now under weigh, while those on the outside, the river side of the fleet, had broken clear of their comrades and were pushing for the centre of the stream. This, however, was not what attracted Dick’s attention, and drew the remark from him. It was the sight of two native craft of larger size which suddenly pushed from the shadow of the bank. They were crammed to overflowing, and carried big crews, who knelt in a line along each side. In the centre stood the warriors, shouting and gesticulating, and fighting their way through the mob. Small consideration did they give to those who were in their way. Dick saw the warriors strike at their comrades with the butts of their firelocks, and watched as more than on of the smaller craft was overturned. Then he sat down and took up a rifle.

“A shot might help,” he said quietly. “How’s steam?”

Johnnie pointed to the indicator and looked proud.

“Hab plenty,” he said. “Stoke um more and perhaps um bust. Plenty steam in de biler.”

“Then get your rifle, and aim at the rowers in the first of those two boats. Don’t leave her alone. Keep on all the while unless you have to stoke again.”

“Not want to. Hab plenty steam and big fire,” answered Johnnie, with a satisfied nod. “Not hab any more coal till half-hour. By den p’raps not hab steamer.”

“Perhaps,” answered Dick, with a smile. “We’re going to see to that. Out with your rifle.”

Still gripping the tiller between his knees, while he sat on the edge of the well, he took a long and careful aim at the first of the paddlers, the one who set the stroke to the boat, and pressed the trigger when the sights were on him. Instantly there was a howl of rage, and the man dropped back on to the rower behind him, while the whole lot came to a halt. But it was only for a quarter of a minute. One of the warriors who stood close by lifted the body and hove it overboard without ceremony. Then he seized the paddle and thrust it into the water. Crack! Dick’s rifle broke the stillness which had followed the shout, and the man who had just knelt crumpled into a mass, the same disorder following.

“Five hundred yards I make it,” said our hero quietly. “Give them a full sight, Johnnie, and aim for the centre of the body. Ah! A good one. I think you hit the side of the boat first, and then the man. They don’t waste time aboard those craft, and human life does not seem to be over-valuable.”

By now the launch and the fleet had sensibly decreased the intervening distance, the latter making directly across the river Pra, while the former raced down the centre of the river. It had become more than ever a question of time, and the thought made Dick redouble his efforts. And thanks to his shooting, the progress of the two war boats was greatly delayed, his bullet singling out the leading paddler every time the place was filled, till there was a panic in that part of the vessel. Then suddenly an unexpected thing happened. The two aboard the launch had taken little notice of the firing which still went on from the bank and from a number of the canoes, and which was of greater danger to the enemy than to them, for the range of the enemy’s firearms was inconsiderable. Now, however, a shot attracted their attention. There was a louder report than usual, and a bullet of large size sped from the fleet, and striking the funnel, bored clean through it, the puncture being plainly discernible by the flames and smoke which instantly emerged. Dick started forward, till he was stretched across the after-well, the tip of the tiller in his hand, and almost at once there was a second shot, followed by a heavy thud behind him, and finally by a splash out in the river. He turned to find the tiller loose in his hand, splintered by the missile, the fracture of the shaft having taken place an inch or two in front of the slot cut for it in the rudder. The steering gear was cut adrift, and as he looked at the shaft in his hand the launch went off her course. She shot to the right, away from the enemy, causing a scream of rage to rise from a thousand throats. Then, as suddenly, she swerved to the other side, till those aboard her were almost rolled into the water. She seemed to see the enemy before her, for she took the bit in her teeth, and, with her propeller thrashing the water behind her, went directly towards them, a bow wave splashing up on either hand. And then the tone of the Ashantis changed. Whatever they were, they were men of courage, and not to be frightened by a monster of this sort speeding down upon them. They had, for the most part, never seen a launch before, and those who had, had probably never seen one in full flight. Yet they did not flinch. They stood in their boats, and such a shout of triumph went up that the woods rang and rang again. Then their guns opened with a vengeance, and a perfect storm of missiles hurtled towards the launch. They did not stop her. She did not seem to notice the bullets splashing on either hand and tumbling on her deck. The launch had got out of hand, and as if she were tired of life and roused to desperation by the pressure of steam which she carried, she went on her mad course, rushing down to doom and destruction.

Chapter Eleven.Running the Gauntlet.“That stoking bar, Johnnie! Quick! For your life!”Dick could not wait to explain, for the situation was one which demanded instant action. When he had recovered from his amazement at the result of the unlucky shot from the forest, and had seen that the tiller was broken, he had no time to reflect that but for the movement which he had made a moment before he would have been killed by the very bullet which had wrought the mischief. Action, instant and effectual, was required, and his eye had at once sought for a substitute. Suddenly he remembered the iron bar used for stoking the fire, and as he shouted for it he prepared to place it in position. With a bound he was on the deck right aft, and kicking the butt of the fractured shaft from behind, shot it out of its socket. Then he gripped the rudder post and twisted it with all his strength, contriving to head the launch for the centre of the stream. Two or three seconds later the native was beside him, and as Dick held the post the bar was pushed into the socket.“Hab um now! Get over oder side plenty quick. Put um over, massa.”Dick did so, with a heave which again caused the launch to roll till water spurted through her scuppers, while the two aboard crouched on the deck and held on for their lives. Then he set her on a new course, turning her head diagonally across the stream.“Get to the rifle,” he said sharply. “And first lay mine here so that I can grip them. That’s right. Crouch in your engine well so as to avoid the bullets. Do you hear? Go!”Johnnie’s eyes had asked a question. He had as good as said to his master when the caution to sit in the engine well had been given, “And what massa do? He not crouch. Plenty ob cover for Johnnie, but what about massa?” But Dick brushed aside his question with one word, and proceeded to fix the bar between his knees, as he had done with the wooden tiller.“Let ’em shoot at it again,” he said, “and I guess the bullet won’t do much harm. In any case it was a fluke, and not a bad attempt to pot me. Hah! That got one fellow. I shall have to play with these men.”As he ran the launch across towards the far bank, slanting her down stream all the while, he had seen that the fleet of canoes was now spread out across the river, and though there were fewer of their boats on the far side, and a narrow opening still remained there, yet the path to the sea was barred. He therefore steered for the far side. But a plan to get free was forming in his brain, and he watched for a chance to carry it out, his eye riveted on the two war canoes.“It’s those fellows I want to dodge,” he said. “I wonder how we should fare if we ran into one of them.”He was thinking of charging one, and measured the size of the stout launch against that of each one of the native craft.“We’re about the same length,” he said, “and as to weight it’s a toss-up. She’s crammed with men, and we’ve engines and a boiler aboard. There’s nothing in it. All depends on how we hit her. All right!”There was something ominous in those last two words. They meant much, and the quiet way in which the helmsman of the launch looked round, the set expression of his face, showed that he meant to choose well and make the most of his opportunities.“We’ve steam to drive us, and plenty of it,” he thought. “That gives us an advantage.”Once more he put up his rifle, and for three or four minutes peppered the enemy. But on this occasion he directed his shots to the boats at the far side of the river, now very close at hand.On the part of the enemy there had been a wild endeavour to close in as the launch, with her tiller shot away, ran down towards the near bank, and this rush had resulted in some of the craft being upset. Then, as Dick fitted the iron bar and steered away again, a still madder rush was made for the far side. And in this the two war canoes were hardly as successful as they had been. They were too much hampered by their comrades, and so it happened that they were separated widely from one another, one only being well on its way across the stream. The second had barely reached the middle, and as he fired Dick turned his eye to it every now and again.“We shall have our chance,” he thought. “She’s got away, and as she paddles faster than the smaller fry, she’s leaving an opening behind her. I’ll give her a minute more, and then—”“See that boat?” he called out to Johnnie. “Well, watch. I shall swing round in a few seconds and steer in behind her. Let her crew know that you have a rifle. Keep at it without ceasing, even after we’ve passed, for I have to work the tiller. Ready? Over she goes!”He might have been running his launch in a regatta race, so calm was he. There was a smile on his face, for Dick had long got over the sensation of fear which the sight of the enemy had at first caused him. The difficulty with the tiller had roused him, and now, for the life of him, he could only look upon the whole adventure as a race, a race, it is true, which meant life or death for him, but one nevertheless which stirred his blood and brought all the sporting instincts of the Englishman within him to the surface.“A close thing. Any one’s game!” he said, as he swung the tiller over, and turned the launch on her heel, spinning her round till the water on either side was white with foam. “Now for it!”The little vessel had obeyed the movement of her new tiller with remarkable celerity. She might have been a torpedo boat by the way in which she behaved. She felt the pull of her rudder, and as if she were a living thing she spun round in a sharp curve, the weight of her engines and deck hamper causing her to roll heavily. Then she righted as she ran, and her nose sought for the narrow opening left in the very centre of the fleet. It was a most exciting moment. The air trembled with shouting, while if there had been a hail of bullets before, there was a torrent now, aimed with all the carelessness of the native, some overhead, some astern, and some even into the middle of comrades. And to these one rifle responded—that of the native stoker. He lay in the engine well, his head nicely clear, and his snider spat out a stinging rain which caused many an enemy to fall in his boat, or overbalance and slip into the river. But though he jerked the cartridges from the breech as rapidly as possible, he could make little impression on the crew of the war vessel. At the first movement of the launch there had been a shout, and as if by magic each one of the paddlers got to his feet and changing round knelt again. Then the paddles dipped and the big craft came surging back.“She’ll be across our track!” sang out Dick. “Get below, Johnnie. Keep down! look out for those who manage to get aboard the launch.”At once the native slipped completely into his engine well, where he lay, rifle in hand. As for our hero he could not afford to take cover just yet, for he had to direct the course of the launch. And magnificently he stuck to his post. A slug struck him on the point of the knee as he sat, and caused him anguish. A second, fired at the same close range, thudded against his ribs and dropped to the deck, while another from the same discharge carried away his hat. But he stuck grimly to the tiller. His eye was glued on the war vessel, and he watched her like a cat. She was just beginning to cross his track, but the angle at which she moved would bring the two boats almost alongside one another, and then—“They would hang on and be aboard before we could look round. No, thank you. We’ll try some other plan.”The muscles in his steering arm were like steel bands. There was a look of determination on his face. He moved the arm with a sudden jerk, and sent the launch over when she was within thirty feet of the enemy. A second later he was bearing down upon her broadside. Then, indeed, there were shouts. The natives saw their danger and paddled furiously in the vain endeavour to alter their position. But they had no chance, for the steersman aboard the launch, conscious of the superiority which steam gave him, countered every move instantly. It was a matter of seconds. He was within five feet of them, going full speed. The natives saw now that they had no chance of coming alongside, and Dick watched them drop their rifles, draw their swords and crush to the centre of the boat. He moved the tiller again, ever so little, and bore right down upon the huddling group. Then he dived into his well and sat on the boards, one hand still gripping the tiller, while the fingers of the other sought for his revolver.Crash! The launch shuddered, and stopped on her way. But she had weight behind her, and her frame was of sound construction. Also she was running at full pace, and her propeller never ceased to grip the water. She moved again, rose at the bows for a second or so, and then subsided again, to the accompaniment of shouts and the sounds of splintering wood. Dick heard the scraping as the native boat passed beneath the keel, and there was a gentle thud as the propeller blade struck a portion of the wreck.“Right over her! What luck!”That was all he could say, for other matters engaged his attention. Of the huddled group in the centre of the native boat half a dozen had managed to gain the launch, while their comrades were already far behind struggling in the water. And these men who had been able to reach her had not all contrived to get aboard. Two reached the deck of the steam craft at once, while the remainder clung to her side, and were now clambering up, no easy task considering the speed of the vessel. A rifle cracked and one of the men aboard fell on his face. Then Dick saw Johnnie lift his weapon again and aim. He pressed the trigger as the man leaped to one side. As he opened the breech and stretched out for another cartridge, the native ran at him waving his short sword above his head. Dick’s arm went up from the well, he rested the muzzle of his weapon on the edge, and took a rapid aim. A moment later the Ashanti fell headlong across the boiler, while his sword clattered on the iron floor of the miniature stokehold.“Soon settle um hash!” shouted Johnnie, as he leaped to the deck and ran forward, armed with his shovel. “Hah! off yo’s go. To de riber wid you.”He leaned over the side, and one by one he beat the Ashantis into the water. Then he returned to his engine, and our hero heard the furnace door open once more.“Steady,” he called out with a laugh, which showed the relief he felt. “Go easy, my lad, for we are out of the wood, and must husband coal. How’s the store?”“Plenty black stone, sar. Steam from here to Cape Coast Castle, I tink. Golly! Um hot!”He groped in the pocket of his greasy jacket and produced a piece of waste with which he mopped his face. Then he turned his attention to the enemy and put up his rifle. Dick followed suit, and together the shots rang out.“That’s where the big gun is,” said Dick, as he fired at the second of the two large boats, from which had come the bellow of the large piece which had accounted for the fracture of the tiller. “That fellow has got hold of an elephant gun, I think, and he is making good shooting. Whereabouts is he?”“You watch, Massa Dick. You see dat man near far end of boat? Dat de feller. You watch um while me pot. See um go splash into de water.”There was a malicious gleam in Johnnie’s eye, for a second or so before the hopes of escape which filled the minds of the fugitives had been suddenly upset by the boom of the heavy piece owned by the enemy, and by the hum of a bullet along the deck of the launch. There was a steady arm holding the gun, and had they but known it this native was one of King Koffee’s chief marksmen, an old hunter from the interior, who held a high place in the army mainly because of his prowess with the rifle in question. And the boat in which he sat, or knelt, was not so far behind that he was out of range, or even nearly so. Indeed, barely a minute had passed since the launch had overrun the first of the big war boats, and had sent her to the bottom. It was only a few seconds since Johnnie had plied his shovel to such good effect, and the enemy were still at close quarters. Nor were they minded to permit these audacious strangers to escape so easily. A yell, a discordant shriek of indignation had gone up as the launch dashed into and splintered the native craft, and that had been followed by a babel of shouts, by the clash of many a war drum, and the blowing of horns, while instantly the whole fleet had swung round and had followed, their guns pouring slugs after the launch. Dick could see them clearly, the paddlers plying their blades with terrific energy, and the fighting men standing or kneeling, ramming charges into their muzzle-loaders in desperate haste. Then had come that boom followed by the hum of the big bullet.“Dat de man,” said Johnnie, as he held his rifle to his shoulder. “He just ’bout to stand and fire um gun. See um drop de villain.”At once our hero’s rifle went to his shoulder, and, having waited to hear the snap of his comrade’s, and note that he had failed to hit the mark, he pressed his trigger gently, holding his weapon as rigidly as the trembling of the launch would allow. Instantly there was an answering report from the native boat, and he felt the breath of the shot as it raged past his cheek and flew on ahead. Then the man who had fired staggered, drew himself up and, holding his huge weapon above his head, toppled and fell like a stone into the river.“Got um! By gum! but dat a fine shot! Johnnie’s no good. Bad. Velly bad. Hear um shout. No more pills ob dat size come after us.”“It was a lucky shot and may save our lives. The beggar meant potting us, and there is no doubt that he was a fine shot, and knew his weapon. If one of his bullets had hit either of us I imagine that we should have been killed instantly. It must have been like a young cannon firing a very big charge, for did you see how the recoil shook him?”The stoker nodded emphatically. “Not like shoot such gun often,” he said. “Make shoulder sore. But what massa do now? Stop here and fire, so as make dem sorry dey get in de way?”“No, thank you,” was the dry answer. “I have seen enough of these Ashantis to last me for a long time. A more fierce and cruel lot of beggars I never saw before, and you don’t catch me waiting to fight with an army. We might burst a steam-pipe or break a connecting-rod and then where should we be? Look at that beggar lying over the boiler, and think whether you would like to become a prisoner.”“No, tanks, massa,” grinned Johnnie, casting his eye at the native. “But s’pose we move ’um. Him berry fine feller, but though him dead him not like de heat. Golly! Make ’um hop to put de finger dere, on de biler. Him cook nicely if we leab um.”Things had occurred so rapidly that neither had given a thought to this matter before, but now that they had killed the most dangerous of their enemies, and the battle with the army of Ashanti had developed into a chase between a steam launch, with ample power, and a fleet of unwieldy boats, they had time to look about them, and to observe their own condition. As the stoker had said, the native who had fallen to Dick’s revolver-shot lay across the boiler, and it was more than hot there, for out in this tropical country there was no great need for lagging (a covering of asbestos and wood, often held in position by sheet iron, and commonly applied to boilers in this country to help to retain their heat, and so make steaming easier), and this launch boiler was exposed to the air and weather. In consequence, the unhappy wretch who had fallen was literally cooking, and Dick was thankful when his dusky companion caught the body by one arm, and dragging it to the side hove it overboard. Johnnie had little sentiment. An enemy was an enemy, whether dead or alive, and he made no secret of his delight that here was another native who had fallen to their weapons.“Good-bye yo,” he shouted, as the body splashed into the river and sank from sight. “Yo foolish man come aboard dis vessel. Not hab invite to do so, and not wanted, not’t all. So jest yo go’ ’way ’gain. Yo hab self to tank for all dis trouble.”He turned to Dick with a laugh, which was not lessened when he saw the serious expression on his master’s face. For Dick had his own ideas as to how an enemy should be treated, whether dead or alive, and had the task been his he would have endeavoured to do the work decorously. But he had to admit to himself that one of these Ashantis, when dead, was a repulsive-looking object, and that Johnnie was probably justified.“What does he care?” he asked himself. “He has, no doubt, still a large share of his savage nature left, and he knows that these men would cut him to pieces when alive if they could capture him. So he treats them, dead or alive, with the same ferocity. Well, we’ve cleared decks, and I’m not sorry. As for those beggars behind, they might just as well stop and save their powder; they cannot hurt us more.”There was little doubt on this point, for since the native with the big elephant gun had toppled overboard, hardly a shot had reached the launch, though showers of slugs cut up the water in the rear. It was the turn of those aboard the launch to smile and enjoy the situation. As they ran down the stream, with the throttle now half closed, for steam might be wanted for another emergency, they could look back at the fast-receding fleet of boats and take full stock of them. Also they could watch the dusky figures bounding through the bush, some still abreast of the launch or even farther down the stream. They could jeer at the frantic shouts, could wave back jubilantly to the angry signals of the enemy, and they could afford to mock at the men who tore through the jungle, firing aimlessly into the water.“Good as firework!” laughed the light-hearted Johnnie. “Moon not so bright now, me tink, and de gun go pop! pop! wid a splosh of fire. Fine sight, massa! Make de heart young and gay.”“Because we have something to be thankful for. But don’t you make any mistake about the action, my lad; it was a close thing, a precious close piece of business, and if it hadn’t been for that gap, why, where should we be? That reminds me. How are we for’ard? What’s the damage?”The native leaped from his well and went scrambling along the deck, the movement giving cause for an increased outburst of shouting and beating of the drums; for the enemy still watched the retreating launch like cats, hoping against hope that she would stop, that their fetish, to which they sacrificed victims innumerable during the year, would step in in time to arrest the flight and hand over the white man. Presently Johnnie came back with a piece of wood in his hand.“All dat remain,” he said, with a laugh. “De bow hit right into boat, and brake um. Dis stick to de fender. Noding hurt. Launch same as before, only bullet mark eberywhere, I ’spect.”“Then we’ll look to ourselves. What damages, Johnnie?”“Golly! I forget um. Tink soon be killed by dem debils and den no matter. But feel um now. Look dar! Johnnie kill dat man if he catch um! What he want to fire so to spoil de beauty? Johnnie’s wife not like dat ’tall!”Here was a genuine grievance, and the native made the most of it as he showed Dick his wound. For a slug had struck him on the cheek, just below the orbit, and had lacerated the flesh, so that there was every prospect of much scarring; while the bleeding, as in all face wounds, had been excessive, and his coat and breast were covered with blood.“An honourable wound,” said Dick, with a chuckle, for this little native amused him vastly, and considering his want of good looks, it was rather amazing to hear him talking of lost beauty. “Honourable scars, Johnnie. You will be able to point to that wound and say to your wife and friends, ‘Johnnie get that when he fight whole Ashanti army. Yes, he hab one man only wid him. He fight army alone and kill plenty. Den he wave de hand and leab.’ How’s that, Johnnie?”They sat opposite one another now, the enemy almost forgotten, and they laughed till Dick had to hold his sides. For the expression on the stoker’s face as Dick took note of his grievance was ludicrous. He looked surprised and grieved at first, and then utterly indignant. Then, as our hero proceeded with the tale, he saw his point, and commenced to smile.“Yo make um ache, massa,” he cried. “Yes, Johnnie say all dat. He forget. Dis wound show him to be brave man. He fight whole army, alone. He kill heap. He glad dat man hit um here. Dat man friend of him for life!”It was natural that the two should make the most of the matter and enjoy it to their heart’s content, for the reader must recollect that a few minutes before death stared them in the face, that for a quarter of an hour the odds against their escape had been desperate, and that during all that time they had been working with hand and brain and fighting at full pressure. And as if the danger had been a stone hung about their necks by a cord, it had dropped now that the cord was cut. They had burst their way through the band swung across the river, and they had killed the most dangerous of their enemies. The relief was immense, and they showed it by giddy laughter, by gripping hands, and by shouting and gesticulating.“You stuck to me like a good ’un,” said Dick, in grateful tones. “Had you funked we should have been taken. I will report to Mr Pepson.”“And massa save Johnnie. Look at man me jest throw to de fishes. He kill me sure as egg if massa not fire. Fine shot. Big sportman, massa; and Johnnie say so to all de town when him back. But what part you hit? Look! Blood here and dere, and dere. Eberywhere!”He held up his hands in consternation, for our hero was indeed in a sorry plight. He had been little better than a scarecrow after his dash through the bush, and his escape from the stockade, and the few hours aboard the launch had not improved matters. He was as black as a sweep, for the soot from the funnel had played upon him as the launch bounded forward, while the perspiration had helped it to adhere. Then he had been struck in no fewer than six places by the slugs of the enemy, and in each case his tattered clothes told the tale. Not that the bleeding had been severe. On the contrary, none of the slugs had penetrated far, and in three of the wounds there was merely a large red bruise, now getting more discoloured. The skin had not been broken, and where there had been penetration it had been so slight that the missiles had fallen out into his clothing. Still one cannot stop a slug without feeling the effect, and Dick felt as if he had been playing a very hard and rough game of football. He limped owing to the wound on his knee. When he breathed he suffered considerable pain, for he had had a hard rap over the ribs, while his shoulders were so stiff from a wound just below the neck that he might well have fallen in the scrum and had half a dozen lusty fellows tumbling on him.“All’s well that ends well,” he cried cheerily. “And that reminds me that I’m hungry again. I have come to the conclusion that fighting is hungry work. What stores are there, my lad?”“Find plenty, sar. Massa say tree week ago, ‘yo go down to launch and put dis and dat aboard. Den s’pose nigger come ’long, all right for us. Get to launch and steam ’way. Hab grub to fill de tumock.’ Johnnie plenty hungry, too.”“Then off you go and lay a spread. I’m ravenous.”Thanks to the fact that the engine well and the one aft from which the steersman guided the launch were close together, the two comrades, for they were that on this occasion if on no other, were able to see to the management of the launch and enjoy a meal at the same time. The attack they made upon the food which Johnnie brought from the cabin was almost as fierce as that which James Langdon had made upon the stockade. They washed the repast down with good hot coffee, which Johnnie made at the furnace door, drawing water from the river. Then they lounged in the easiest position and smoked, the stoker his short clay, which one so often sees gripped between the shining teeth of negro stokers, and Dick his briar, at peace for the time being with all the world, content with the good fortune which had befallen him.“I’ve a good report to hand in,” Dick said to himself, as he reflected. “The mine has been disturbed, but that was not my fault, and from what I have heard and seen since, I fancy those at the coast will not be surprised at the news. I rather expect that they will hardly hope to see me again, for these Ashantis seem to have gone out to war rather suddenly some little time ago. But the mines are good for the future, the wages are paid, and the men will return when the time comes, and in addition I have a valuable cargo of gold dust and nuggets. Good! The gains are gold dust, and one steam launch saved. The losses are a stockade and two native boats, one destroyed and sunk up the creek to keep the Ashantis from using her, and the other hidden, useless to us for the time being.”It was pleasant to think of his success, and he passed the hours till dawn came, wondering what would happen at his meeting with his employers. And as the moon waned the dawn spread over the sky, at first a mere rose pink blush, the promise of a fine day. Then the sun got up and peeped at the wanderers out of the river mist, till it looked like another moon. Three hours later the increasing width of the river warned them that they were now approaching the mouth, and presently they were amidst the sandbanks and upheavals of mud which form its delta. Dick still clasped the iron make-shift tiller in his hand, and looked wearily for the central passage, while Johnnie now and again stoked his furnace and looked mechanically to the indicator and the water-gauge. For they were both utterly done up and weary. They had been awake and active for many hours, and the flight and the fight with the natives had helped to exhaust them. It was therefore with little show of excitement that Dick nodded ahead and pointed to a ship lying off the mouth of the river.“British war vessel,” he said sleepily. “What’s she doing here?”“Tink she make signal to us, sar,” said Johnnie after some minutes. “She wave de flag and send dem aloft.”“And there goes a gun. Looks as though she wanted to speak us. If she’d give us a bed, where we could rest without caring about the launch and our store of gold, I’d be thankful. I’d be asleep in a jiffy if it weren’t for the thought that I’ve a big store aboard, and that it might be stolen. Hullo! It must be a signal for us.”They were still some little distance from the war vessel, which lay to, at anchor off the coast, rolling with the swell. And as there was no one else about and no other vessel, it seemed more than probable that the flags were meant for the man in command of the launch. But how was Dick to tell when he knew nothing of the signalling code? However, his doubts were soon set at rest, for a figure in white suddenly leaped on to the rail of the vessel, and held a big speaking trumpet to his lips.“Launch ahoy! Launch ahoy!”Dick waved his grimy hand.“Come alongside at once. The Commodore wants to see you. Where are you from? Have you seen any of the enemy?”“Enemy! Then they did know of the trouble at the coast. Perhaps they had already had a brush with the Ashantis.”Dick stood up in the well and waved again. Then he steered the launch towards the gangway, while Johnnie, awakening to the fact that he was about to run alongside a man-o’-war, with all its sparkle and polish, managed for a few seconds to summon sufficient energy to look to his engine. He rubbed with energy at the metal work till the launch was almost alongside.“Stand ready,” cried Dick, sleepily. “Hook on. Steady. Back her. Stop her!”They were hanging to the broad gangway of the war vessel, while a sea of faces looked down upon them. A British tar, bearded and full of strength, stood in his white ducks at the foot of the ladder, his bare feet splashed in the water, while he stared at the strangers in amazement. Up above Dick caught a fleeting glance of a sentry, all in white, marching to and fro under the awning, and looking as though he would have given much for the privilege of leaving his beat for one glance over the side. Then his eye focussed itself sleepily on two officers leaning over the rail, both with medal ribbons upon their white coats, while one carried his speaking trumpet.“Where from?” he asked politely. “We’ve recently had a brush with the natives. Can you give us news?”“They’ve been in the thick of it,” suddenly exclaimed the other. “Look at the young fellow. He’s covered with blood, and the boat’s cut to pieces; the sides are in ribbons. Why, it must be young Stapleton, about whose safety there has been such a commotion.”“And the fellow’s done, done altogether,” said the other. “Who are you, sir?”“Dick Stapleton, sir. Just got through from up country. We met a whole army, about to cross the Prahsu. We got through with some difficulty, as they were already afloat. We’re dead beat, sir, but I can’t sleep till my store of gold is looked to. It’s worth something. Can you help?”Dick was weary and done up. He had realised that long ago, but the need for effort had kept both pluckily at their posts. Now, however, with the all-protecting arm of the British Navy to watch over them, the desire for sleep was irresistible. Their eyes were more than half closed. And they winked suspiciously when they attempted to look at any one object for long.“Sergeant of the guard! Put a couple of men aboard at once,” came the order. “Mr Hilden, oblige by going down to the launch and making an inventory. Glad to see you, Mr Stapleton. We’ll talk later. Meanwhile come aboard and leave the gold. It shall be well taken care of. Help him up, my man, and bring him along under the awnings.”A friendly and firm arm helped Dick from the launch, while another tar took Johnnie in charge. Our hero was almost carried to the deck above and was straightway popped into a hammock. Then some one held a glass to his lips. He drank, and at once fell asleep. He had earned a rest and determined to enjoy it.

“That stoking bar, Johnnie! Quick! For your life!”

Dick could not wait to explain, for the situation was one which demanded instant action. When he had recovered from his amazement at the result of the unlucky shot from the forest, and had seen that the tiller was broken, he had no time to reflect that but for the movement which he had made a moment before he would have been killed by the very bullet which had wrought the mischief. Action, instant and effectual, was required, and his eye had at once sought for a substitute. Suddenly he remembered the iron bar used for stoking the fire, and as he shouted for it he prepared to place it in position. With a bound he was on the deck right aft, and kicking the butt of the fractured shaft from behind, shot it out of its socket. Then he gripped the rudder post and twisted it with all his strength, contriving to head the launch for the centre of the stream. Two or three seconds later the native was beside him, and as Dick held the post the bar was pushed into the socket.

“Hab um now! Get over oder side plenty quick. Put um over, massa.”

Dick did so, with a heave which again caused the launch to roll till water spurted through her scuppers, while the two aboard crouched on the deck and held on for their lives. Then he set her on a new course, turning her head diagonally across the stream.

“Get to the rifle,” he said sharply. “And first lay mine here so that I can grip them. That’s right. Crouch in your engine well so as to avoid the bullets. Do you hear? Go!”

Johnnie’s eyes had asked a question. He had as good as said to his master when the caution to sit in the engine well had been given, “And what massa do? He not crouch. Plenty ob cover for Johnnie, but what about massa?” But Dick brushed aside his question with one word, and proceeded to fix the bar between his knees, as he had done with the wooden tiller.

“Let ’em shoot at it again,” he said, “and I guess the bullet won’t do much harm. In any case it was a fluke, and not a bad attempt to pot me. Hah! That got one fellow. I shall have to play with these men.”

As he ran the launch across towards the far bank, slanting her down stream all the while, he had seen that the fleet of canoes was now spread out across the river, and though there were fewer of their boats on the far side, and a narrow opening still remained there, yet the path to the sea was barred. He therefore steered for the far side. But a plan to get free was forming in his brain, and he watched for a chance to carry it out, his eye riveted on the two war canoes.

“It’s those fellows I want to dodge,” he said. “I wonder how we should fare if we ran into one of them.”

He was thinking of charging one, and measured the size of the stout launch against that of each one of the native craft.

“We’re about the same length,” he said, “and as to weight it’s a toss-up. She’s crammed with men, and we’ve engines and a boiler aboard. There’s nothing in it. All depends on how we hit her. All right!”

There was something ominous in those last two words. They meant much, and the quiet way in which the helmsman of the launch looked round, the set expression of his face, showed that he meant to choose well and make the most of his opportunities.

“We’ve steam to drive us, and plenty of it,” he thought. “That gives us an advantage.”

Once more he put up his rifle, and for three or four minutes peppered the enemy. But on this occasion he directed his shots to the boats at the far side of the river, now very close at hand.

On the part of the enemy there had been a wild endeavour to close in as the launch, with her tiller shot away, ran down towards the near bank, and this rush had resulted in some of the craft being upset. Then, as Dick fitted the iron bar and steered away again, a still madder rush was made for the far side. And in this the two war canoes were hardly as successful as they had been. They were too much hampered by their comrades, and so it happened that they were separated widely from one another, one only being well on its way across the stream. The second had barely reached the middle, and as he fired Dick turned his eye to it every now and again.

“We shall have our chance,” he thought. “She’s got away, and as she paddles faster than the smaller fry, she’s leaving an opening behind her. I’ll give her a minute more, and then—”

“See that boat?” he called out to Johnnie. “Well, watch. I shall swing round in a few seconds and steer in behind her. Let her crew know that you have a rifle. Keep at it without ceasing, even after we’ve passed, for I have to work the tiller. Ready? Over she goes!”

He might have been running his launch in a regatta race, so calm was he. There was a smile on his face, for Dick had long got over the sensation of fear which the sight of the enemy had at first caused him. The difficulty with the tiller had roused him, and now, for the life of him, he could only look upon the whole adventure as a race, a race, it is true, which meant life or death for him, but one nevertheless which stirred his blood and brought all the sporting instincts of the Englishman within him to the surface.

“A close thing. Any one’s game!” he said, as he swung the tiller over, and turned the launch on her heel, spinning her round till the water on either side was white with foam. “Now for it!”

The little vessel had obeyed the movement of her new tiller with remarkable celerity. She might have been a torpedo boat by the way in which she behaved. She felt the pull of her rudder, and as if she were a living thing she spun round in a sharp curve, the weight of her engines and deck hamper causing her to roll heavily. Then she righted as she ran, and her nose sought for the narrow opening left in the very centre of the fleet. It was a most exciting moment. The air trembled with shouting, while if there had been a hail of bullets before, there was a torrent now, aimed with all the carelessness of the native, some overhead, some astern, and some even into the middle of comrades. And to these one rifle responded—that of the native stoker. He lay in the engine well, his head nicely clear, and his snider spat out a stinging rain which caused many an enemy to fall in his boat, or overbalance and slip into the river. But though he jerked the cartridges from the breech as rapidly as possible, he could make little impression on the crew of the war vessel. At the first movement of the launch there had been a shout, and as if by magic each one of the paddlers got to his feet and changing round knelt again. Then the paddles dipped and the big craft came surging back.

“She’ll be across our track!” sang out Dick. “Get below, Johnnie. Keep down! look out for those who manage to get aboard the launch.”

At once the native slipped completely into his engine well, where he lay, rifle in hand. As for our hero he could not afford to take cover just yet, for he had to direct the course of the launch. And magnificently he stuck to his post. A slug struck him on the point of the knee as he sat, and caused him anguish. A second, fired at the same close range, thudded against his ribs and dropped to the deck, while another from the same discharge carried away his hat. But he stuck grimly to the tiller. His eye was glued on the war vessel, and he watched her like a cat. She was just beginning to cross his track, but the angle at which she moved would bring the two boats almost alongside one another, and then—

“They would hang on and be aboard before we could look round. No, thank you. We’ll try some other plan.”

The muscles in his steering arm were like steel bands. There was a look of determination on his face. He moved the arm with a sudden jerk, and sent the launch over when she was within thirty feet of the enemy. A second later he was bearing down upon her broadside. Then, indeed, there were shouts. The natives saw their danger and paddled furiously in the vain endeavour to alter their position. But they had no chance, for the steersman aboard the launch, conscious of the superiority which steam gave him, countered every move instantly. It was a matter of seconds. He was within five feet of them, going full speed. The natives saw now that they had no chance of coming alongside, and Dick watched them drop their rifles, draw their swords and crush to the centre of the boat. He moved the tiller again, ever so little, and bore right down upon the huddling group. Then he dived into his well and sat on the boards, one hand still gripping the tiller, while the fingers of the other sought for his revolver.

Crash! The launch shuddered, and stopped on her way. But she had weight behind her, and her frame was of sound construction. Also she was running at full pace, and her propeller never ceased to grip the water. She moved again, rose at the bows for a second or so, and then subsided again, to the accompaniment of shouts and the sounds of splintering wood. Dick heard the scraping as the native boat passed beneath the keel, and there was a gentle thud as the propeller blade struck a portion of the wreck.

“Right over her! What luck!”

That was all he could say, for other matters engaged his attention. Of the huddled group in the centre of the native boat half a dozen had managed to gain the launch, while their comrades were already far behind struggling in the water. And these men who had been able to reach her had not all contrived to get aboard. Two reached the deck of the steam craft at once, while the remainder clung to her side, and were now clambering up, no easy task considering the speed of the vessel. A rifle cracked and one of the men aboard fell on his face. Then Dick saw Johnnie lift his weapon again and aim. He pressed the trigger as the man leaped to one side. As he opened the breech and stretched out for another cartridge, the native ran at him waving his short sword above his head. Dick’s arm went up from the well, he rested the muzzle of his weapon on the edge, and took a rapid aim. A moment later the Ashanti fell headlong across the boiler, while his sword clattered on the iron floor of the miniature stokehold.

“Soon settle um hash!” shouted Johnnie, as he leaped to the deck and ran forward, armed with his shovel. “Hah! off yo’s go. To de riber wid you.”

He leaned over the side, and one by one he beat the Ashantis into the water. Then he returned to his engine, and our hero heard the furnace door open once more.

“Steady,” he called out with a laugh, which showed the relief he felt. “Go easy, my lad, for we are out of the wood, and must husband coal. How’s the store?”

“Plenty black stone, sar. Steam from here to Cape Coast Castle, I tink. Golly! Um hot!”

He groped in the pocket of his greasy jacket and produced a piece of waste with which he mopped his face. Then he turned his attention to the enemy and put up his rifle. Dick followed suit, and together the shots rang out.

“That’s where the big gun is,” said Dick, as he fired at the second of the two large boats, from which had come the bellow of the large piece which had accounted for the fracture of the tiller. “That fellow has got hold of an elephant gun, I think, and he is making good shooting. Whereabouts is he?”

“You watch, Massa Dick. You see dat man near far end of boat? Dat de feller. You watch um while me pot. See um go splash into de water.”

There was a malicious gleam in Johnnie’s eye, for a second or so before the hopes of escape which filled the minds of the fugitives had been suddenly upset by the boom of the heavy piece owned by the enemy, and by the hum of a bullet along the deck of the launch. There was a steady arm holding the gun, and had they but known it this native was one of King Koffee’s chief marksmen, an old hunter from the interior, who held a high place in the army mainly because of his prowess with the rifle in question. And the boat in which he sat, or knelt, was not so far behind that he was out of range, or even nearly so. Indeed, barely a minute had passed since the launch had overrun the first of the big war boats, and had sent her to the bottom. It was only a few seconds since Johnnie had plied his shovel to such good effect, and the enemy were still at close quarters. Nor were they minded to permit these audacious strangers to escape so easily. A yell, a discordant shriek of indignation had gone up as the launch dashed into and splintered the native craft, and that had been followed by a babel of shouts, by the clash of many a war drum, and the blowing of horns, while instantly the whole fleet had swung round and had followed, their guns pouring slugs after the launch. Dick could see them clearly, the paddlers plying their blades with terrific energy, and the fighting men standing or kneeling, ramming charges into their muzzle-loaders in desperate haste. Then had come that boom followed by the hum of the big bullet.

“Dat de man,” said Johnnie, as he held his rifle to his shoulder. “He just ’bout to stand and fire um gun. See um drop de villain.”

At once our hero’s rifle went to his shoulder, and, having waited to hear the snap of his comrade’s, and note that he had failed to hit the mark, he pressed his trigger gently, holding his weapon as rigidly as the trembling of the launch would allow. Instantly there was an answering report from the native boat, and he felt the breath of the shot as it raged past his cheek and flew on ahead. Then the man who had fired staggered, drew himself up and, holding his huge weapon above his head, toppled and fell like a stone into the river.

“Got um! By gum! but dat a fine shot! Johnnie’s no good. Bad. Velly bad. Hear um shout. No more pills ob dat size come after us.”

“It was a lucky shot and may save our lives. The beggar meant potting us, and there is no doubt that he was a fine shot, and knew his weapon. If one of his bullets had hit either of us I imagine that we should have been killed instantly. It must have been like a young cannon firing a very big charge, for did you see how the recoil shook him?”

The stoker nodded emphatically. “Not like shoot such gun often,” he said. “Make shoulder sore. But what massa do now? Stop here and fire, so as make dem sorry dey get in de way?”

“No, thank you,” was the dry answer. “I have seen enough of these Ashantis to last me for a long time. A more fierce and cruel lot of beggars I never saw before, and you don’t catch me waiting to fight with an army. We might burst a steam-pipe or break a connecting-rod and then where should we be? Look at that beggar lying over the boiler, and think whether you would like to become a prisoner.”

“No, tanks, massa,” grinned Johnnie, casting his eye at the native. “But s’pose we move ’um. Him berry fine feller, but though him dead him not like de heat. Golly! Make ’um hop to put de finger dere, on de biler. Him cook nicely if we leab um.”

Things had occurred so rapidly that neither had given a thought to this matter before, but now that they had killed the most dangerous of their enemies, and the battle with the army of Ashanti had developed into a chase between a steam launch, with ample power, and a fleet of unwieldy boats, they had time to look about them, and to observe their own condition. As the stoker had said, the native who had fallen to Dick’s revolver-shot lay across the boiler, and it was more than hot there, for out in this tropical country there was no great need for lagging (a covering of asbestos and wood, often held in position by sheet iron, and commonly applied to boilers in this country to help to retain their heat, and so make steaming easier), and this launch boiler was exposed to the air and weather. In consequence, the unhappy wretch who had fallen was literally cooking, and Dick was thankful when his dusky companion caught the body by one arm, and dragging it to the side hove it overboard. Johnnie had little sentiment. An enemy was an enemy, whether dead or alive, and he made no secret of his delight that here was another native who had fallen to their weapons.

“Good-bye yo,” he shouted, as the body splashed into the river and sank from sight. “Yo foolish man come aboard dis vessel. Not hab invite to do so, and not wanted, not’t all. So jest yo go’ ’way ’gain. Yo hab self to tank for all dis trouble.”

He turned to Dick with a laugh, which was not lessened when he saw the serious expression on his master’s face. For Dick had his own ideas as to how an enemy should be treated, whether dead or alive, and had the task been his he would have endeavoured to do the work decorously. But he had to admit to himself that one of these Ashantis, when dead, was a repulsive-looking object, and that Johnnie was probably justified.

“What does he care?” he asked himself. “He has, no doubt, still a large share of his savage nature left, and he knows that these men would cut him to pieces when alive if they could capture him. So he treats them, dead or alive, with the same ferocity. Well, we’ve cleared decks, and I’m not sorry. As for those beggars behind, they might just as well stop and save their powder; they cannot hurt us more.”

There was little doubt on this point, for since the native with the big elephant gun had toppled overboard, hardly a shot had reached the launch, though showers of slugs cut up the water in the rear. It was the turn of those aboard the launch to smile and enjoy the situation. As they ran down the stream, with the throttle now half closed, for steam might be wanted for another emergency, they could look back at the fast-receding fleet of boats and take full stock of them. Also they could watch the dusky figures bounding through the bush, some still abreast of the launch or even farther down the stream. They could jeer at the frantic shouts, could wave back jubilantly to the angry signals of the enemy, and they could afford to mock at the men who tore through the jungle, firing aimlessly into the water.

“Good as firework!” laughed the light-hearted Johnnie. “Moon not so bright now, me tink, and de gun go pop! pop! wid a splosh of fire. Fine sight, massa! Make de heart young and gay.”

“Because we have something to be thankful for. But don’t you make any mistake about the action, my lad; it was a close thing, a precious close piece of business, and if it hadn’t been for that gap, why, where should we be? That reminds me. How are we for’ard? What’s the damage?”

The native leaped from his well and went scrambling along the deck, the movement giving cause for an increased outburst of shouting and beating of the drums; for the enemy still watched the retreating launch like cats, hoping against hope that she would stop, that their fetish, to which they sacrificed victims innumerable during the year, would step in in time to arrest the flight and hand over the white man. Presently Johnnie came back with a piece of wood in his hand.

“All dat remain,” he said, with a laugh. “De bow hit right into boat, and brake um. Dis stick to de fender. Noding hurt. Launch same as before, only bullet mark eberywhere, I ’spect.”

“Then we’ll look to ourselves. What damages, Johnnie?”

“Golly! I forget um. Tink soon be killed by dem debils and den no matter. But feel um now. Look dar! Johnnie kill dat man if he catch um! What he want to fire so to spoil de beauty? Johnnie’s wife not like dat ’tall!”

Here was a genuine grievance, and the native made the most of it as he showed Dick his wound. For a slug had struck him on the cheek, just below the orbit, and had lacerated the flesh, so that there was every prospect of much scarring; while the bleeding, as in all face wounds, had been excessive, and his coat and breast were covered with blood.

“An honourable wound,” said Dick, with a chuckle, for this little native amused him vastly, and considering his want of good looks, it was rather amazing to hear him talking of lost beauty. “Honourable scars, Johnnie. You will be able to point to that wound and say to your wife and friends, ‘Johnnie get that when he fight whole Ashanti army. Yes, he hab one man only wid him. He fight army alone and kill plenty. Den he wave de hand and leab.’ How’s that, Johnnie?”

They sat opposite one another now, the enemy almost forgotten, and they laughed till Dick had to hold his sides. For the expression on the stoker’s face as Dick took note of his grievance was ludicrous. He looked surprised and grieved at first, and then utterly indignant. Then, as our hero proceeded with the tale, he saw his point, and commenced to smile.

“Yo make um ache, massa,” he cried. “Yes, Johnnie say all dat. He forget. Dis wound show him to be brave man. He fight whole army, alone. He kill heap. He glad dat man hit um here. Dat man friend of him for life!”

It was natural that the two should make the most of the matter and enjoy it to their heart’s content, for the reader must recollect that a few minutes before death stared them in the face, that for a quarter of an hour the odds against their escape had been desperate, and that during all that time they had been working with hand and brain and fighting at full pressure. And as if the danger had been a stone hung about their necks by a cord, it had dropped now that the cord was cut. They had burst their way through the band swung across the river, and they had killed the most dangerous of their enemies. The relief was immense, and they showed it by giddy laughter, by gripping hands, and by shouting and gesticulating.

“You stuck to me like a good ’un,” said Dick, in grateful tones. “Had you funked we should have been taken. I will report to Mr Pepson.”

“And massa save Johnnie. Look at man me jest throw to de fishes. He kill me sure as egg if massa not fire. Fine shot. Big sportman, massa; and Johnnie say so to all de town when him back. But what part you hit? Look! Blood here and dere, and dere. Eberywhere!”

He held up his hands in consternation, for our hero was indeed in a sorry plight. He had been little better than a scarecrow after his dash through the bush, and his escape from the stockade, and the few hours aboard the launch had not improved matters. He was as black as a sweep, for the soot from the funnel had played upon him as the launch bounded forward, while the perspiration had helped it to adhere. Then he had been struck in no fewer than six places by the slugs of the enemy, and in each case his tattered clothes told the tale. Not that the bleeding had been severe. On the contrary, none of the slugs had penetrated far, and in three of the wounds there was merely a large red bruise, now getting more discoloured. The skin had not been broken, and where there had been penetration it had been so slight that the missiles had fallen out into his clothing. Still one cannot stop a slug without feeling the effect, and Dick felt as if he had been playing a very hard and rough game of football. He limped owing to the wound on his knee. When he breathed he suffered considerable pain, for he had had a hard rap over the ribs, while his shoulders were so stiff from a wound just below the neck that he might well have fallen in the scrum and had half a dozen lusty fellows tumbling on him.

“All’s well that ends well,” he cried cheerily. “And that reminds me that I’m hungry again. I have come to the conclusion that fighting is hungry work. What stores are there, my lad?”

“Find plenty, sar. Massa say tree week ago, ‘yo go down to launch and put dis and dat aboard. Den s’pose nigger come ’long, all right for us. Get to launch and steam ’way. Hab grub to fill de tumock.’ Johnnie plenty hungry, too.”

“Then off you go and lay a spread. I’m ravenous.”

Thanks to the fact that the engine well and the one aft from which the steersman guided the launch were close together, the two comrades, for they were that on this occasion if on no other, were able to see to the management of the launch and enjoy a meal at the same time. The attack they made upon the food which Johnnie brought from the cabin was almost as fierce as that which James Langdon had made upon the stockade. They washed the repast down with good hot coffee, which Johnnie made at the furnace door, drawing water from the river. Then they lounged in the easiest position and smoked, the stoker his short clay, which one so often sees gripped between the shining teeth of negro stokers, and Dick his briar, at peace for the time being with all the world, content with the good fortune which had befallen him.

“I’ve a good report to hand in,” Dick said to himself, as he reflected. “The mine has been disturbed, but that was not my fault, and from what I have heard and seen since, I fancy those at the coast will not be surprised at the news. I rather expect that they will hardly hope to see me again, for these Ashantis seem to have gone out to war rather suddenly some little time ago. But the mines are good for the future, the wages are paid, and the men will return when the time comes, and in addition I have a valuable cargo of gold dust and nuggets. Good! The gains are gold dust, and one steam launch saved. The losses are a stockade and two native boats, one destroyed and sunk up the creek to keep the Ashantis from using her, and the other hidden, useless to us for the time being.”

It was pleasant to think of his success, and he passed the hours till dawn came, wondering what would happen at his meeting with his employers. And as the moon waned the dawn spread over the sky, at first a mere rose pink blush, the promise of a fine day. Then the sun got up and peeped at the wanderers out of the river mist, till it looked like another moon. Three hours later the increasing width of the river warned them that they were now approaching the mouth, and presently they were amidst the sandbanks and upheavals of mud which form its delta. Dick still clasped the iron make-shift tiller in his hand, and looked wearily for the central passage, while Johnnie now and again stoked his furnace and looked mechanically to the indicator and the water-gauge. For they were both utterly done up and weary. They had been awake and active for many hours, and the flight and the fight with the natives had helped to exhaust them. It was therefore with little show of excitement that Dick nodded ahead and pointed to a ship lying off the mouth of the river.

“British war vessel,” he said sleepily. “What’s she doing here?”

“Tink she make signal to us, sar,” said Johnnie after some minutes. “She wave de flag and send dem aloft.”

“And there goes a gun. Looks as though she wanted to speak us. If she’d give us a bed, where we could rest without caring about the launch and our store of gold, I’d be thankful. I’d be asleep in a jiffy if it weren’t for the thought that I’ve a big store aboard, and that it might be stolen. Hullo! It must be a signal for us.”

They were still some little distance from the war vessel, which lay to, at anchor off the coast, rolling with the swell. And as there was no one else about and no other vessel, it seemed more than probable that the flags were meant for the man in command of the launch. But how was Dick to tell when he knew nothing of the signalling code? However, his doubts were soon set at rest, for a figure in white suddenly leaped on to the rail of the vessel, and held a big speaking trumpet to his lips.

“Launch ahoy! Launch ahoy!”

Dick waved his grimy hand.

“Come alongside at once. The Commodore wants to see you. Where are you from? Have you seen any of the enemy?”

“Enemy! Then they did know of the trouble at the coast. Perhaps they had already had a brush with the Ashantis.”

Dick stood up in the well and waved again. Then he steered the launch towards the gangway, while Johnnie, awakening to the fact that he was about to run alongside a man-o’-war, with all its sparkle and polish, managed for a few seconds to summon sufficient energy to look to his engine. He rubbed with energy at the metal work till the launch was almost alongside.

“Stand ready,” cried Dick, sleepily. “Hook on. Steady. Back her. Stop her!”

They were hanging to the broad gangway of the war vessel, while a sea of faces looked down upon them. A British tar, bearded and full of strength, stood in his white ducks at the foot of the ladder, his bare feet splashed in the water, while he stared at the strangers in amazement. Up above Dick caught a fleeting glance of a sentry, all in white, marching to and fro under the awning, and looking as though he would have given much for the privilege of leaving his beat for one glance over the side. Then his eye focussed itself sleepily on two officers leaning over the rail, both with medal ribbons upon their white coats, while one carried his speaking trumpet.

“Where from?” he asked politely. “We’ve recently had a brush with the natives. Can you give us news?”

“They’ve been in the thick of it,” suddenly exclaimed the other. “Look at the young fellow. He’s covered with blood, and the boat’s cut to pieces; the sides are in ribbons. Why, it must be young Stapleton, about whose safety there has been such a commotion.”

“And the fellow’s done, done altogether,” said the other. “Who are you, sir?”

“Dick Stapleton, sir. Just got through from up country. We met a whole army, about to cross the Prahsu. We got through with some difficulty, as they were already afloat. We’re dead beat, sir, but I can’t sleep till my store of gold is looked to. It’s worth something. Can you help?”

Dick was weary and done up. He had realised that long ago, but the need for effort had kept both pluckily at their posts. Now, however, with the all-protecting arm of the British Navy to watch over them, the desire for sleep was irresistible. Their eyes were more than half closed. And they winked suspiciously when they attempted to look at any one object for long.

“Sergeant of the guard! Put a couple of men aboard at once,” came the order. “Mr Hilden, oblige by going down to the launch and making an inventory. Glad to see you, Mr Stapleton. We’ll talk later. Meanwhile come aboard and leave the gold. It shall be well taken care of. Help him up, my man, and bring him along under the awnings.”

A friendly and firm arm helped Dick from the launch, while another tar took Johnnie in charge. Our hero was almost carried to the deck above and was straightway popped into a hammock. Then some one held a glass to his lips. He drank, and at once fell asleep. He had earned a rest and determined to enjoy it.

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