“My impression is,” said Miss Pereira, as she caught my eye for the fiftieth time, “that Mr. Englefield contemplates offering me for sale by private treaty to some well-to-do chiefs of his acquaintance. He has been engaged during the whole of dinner in constructing an attractive prospectus, and is now about to consider the question of title deeds.”
“I am afraid I have been staring a good deal,” I replied, considerably out of countenance, “but you must forgive me if you can. You don’t realise what a rare and curious creature you are. Do you know that I have only seen one white woman since I left England, and she was an elderly German missioner?”
“And pray, Miss,” interposed Pereira, “how did you know that Mr. Englefield was staring at you?”
“My dear father, I saw him with my own eyes,” exclaimed Miss Pereira, at which we all laughed, and I felt that the reproof was cancelled.
“Well, well,” said the old man, “you need not stare one another out of countenance now, for I expect you will each see enough of the other for the next month or so. But perhaps you are going back with Bithery, Englefield? I hear he has sold out and is just filling up for the homeward voyage.”
“He will be sailing for England in about a fortnight, but I am not going with him this voyage.”
“Indeed! and what are you going to do? Is the store to be replenished?”
“I shall have done with the store in a few days I expect, and then I shall be paid off.”
“And after that?”
“After that I have a scheme which I want to talk over with you when you have a little time to spare.”
“I am not excessively busy at the present moment,” said Pereira; “so, as we seem to have finished eating, you might commence your discourse.”
“Won’t you go and sit in the verandah to talk over your business?” interposed Miss Pereira. “I will bring your wine and see you comfortably settled before I go.”
“I was hoping,” said I, “to number you among my audience, Miss Pereira. If you will stay, I can promise you some amusement, for my scheme is of the most wildly original kind.”
“Oh, if the matter is not confidential, I should like to stay, especially if you are going to be amusing. Besides, I am really bursting with curiosity.”
“Then I will go and get my documents,” I replied, and with this I retired to fetch from my portmanteau the journal of Captain Barnabas Hogg.
When I returned, a paper lantern was swinging from the roof of the verandah, and a small hurricane lamp, for me to read by, stood on the table. Three Madeira chairs had been brought out from the room, and as my host and his daughter had already taken their seats with an air of expectation, I took possession of the empty chair and unfolded my project.
“You may remember,” said I, addressing my host, “a conversation we had one evening soon after I came here, on the subject of the wealth of the native kings, in which you told me of certain traditions relating to a great fetish hoard near the source of the River Tano.”
“I remember,” replied Pereira.
“You may remember also how on a certain Sunday at Anyáko we met an old woman leading her blind son.”
“I recollect it perfectly.”
“Well, my story and my project are both connected with that tradition and that meeting.”
Pereira made no comment on this statement beyond a barely perceptible lift of his eyebrows.
I then went on to give a detailed account of my discovery of the ancient desk at Adena, and the finding of the old ship-master’s journal; and as I proceeded I could see that the curiosity of my auditors became more and more acute, and their attention more close; and when, at the close of my narration, I produced the aged volume and placed it in Pereira’s hands, the old man turned over its musty leaves with the keenest interest and enjoyment.
“It’s a most curious and interesting find,” said he, at last, handing the volume to his daughter, “but I don’t quite see its connection with our blind friend nor with your plans for the future.”
“Of course you do not,” I replied, “but when Miss Pereira has examined the book sufficiently I will read you the riddle.”
Miss Pereira at once handed the journal back to me, and opening it at the now familiar page, I read to them Captain Hogg’s account of the Portuguese mulatto and his strange adventures.
“What a marvellous and terrible story!” exclaimed Miss Pereira, as I finished and passed the open book to my host. “It reads like some weird legend of adventure in the under-world. It isn’t possible that it can be true.”
“Of its truth I feel no doubt whatever,” replied Pereira, who was poring, with the deepest fascination, over the crabbed writing; “nor do I feel any doubt that this gruesome cavern still exists and is still tenanted by its terrific band of workers. But still, I do not see what this has to do with your plans for the future, Englefield.”
“My dear Pereira,” I rejoined. “You have answered that question yourself. You say you are sure that the cavern still exists with all its infernal machinery in full swing. So am I. And do you suppose that I can ever rest until I have seen its marvels with my own eyes, or, at least, ascertained the existence of the golden pool that feeds the crucibles on its furnaces?”
“If ever you do see it with your own eyes, it will be the last thing that you will see,” said Pereira.
His daughter shuddered.
“Come, Mr. Englefield,” she said, “you have not told us everything yet. You have something more to say, I am sure, haven’t you? Some scheme that you have worked out in connection with this story. Isn’t it so?”
“Yes, I have a scheme,” I replied rather shyly, “but it is such a wild and apparently impracticable one that I am ashamed to mention it to you.”
“Oh, don’t be afraid,” said she, smiling. “We are prepared for anything now; I defy you to astonish us.”
“Then I will tell you my plan, and you can scoff if you please. It arose from my meeting at Adena with a Fulah merchant from, I think, Sókoto. When I first saw this man I was at once struck by his extraordinarily European appearance. He was scarcely as dark as I am, his features were quite of the European type—perhaps a trifle Jewish—and, in fact, I could not help seeing that if he and I had exchanged clothing, neither of us would have appeared at all inappropriately apparelled. Reflecting upon this, it occurred to me that it might, perhaps, not be impossible for me to assume the dress and style of a Fulah, and so make my journey to Aboási without exciting remark or attracting much attention. It sounds a pretty mad scheme, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does seem a little—well, a little romantic, I think,” said Miss Pereira; “but then I have never seen a Fulah, and to me an African is a black man, so I am unable to imagine you effectively disguised as a native.”
“Yet it is not so mad as it sounds,” put in Pereira meditatively, stroking his beard. “Englefield is perfectly correct so far in what he says. Dress him up in a riga and wondo, shave his head, wrap his face in a litham, stain his finger nails red, and put a streak of antimony under his eyes, and he might walk through any native market without even the Fulahs themselves suspecting him. But, my dear boy,” he continued, turning to me, “there are other difficulties, as you must have seen. There is the language, for instance. You are not going to pose as a deaf mute, I suppose?”
“I know a little Hausa,” I said modestly.
“A little!” he exclaimed. “You must know a great deal if you would not be detected at once. But let us see what you do know.” He bustled away, and presently returned with a copy of Schön’s “Maganan Hausa” in his hand. Opening the book at the “Story of the Prophet Jesus and the Skull,” he directed me to read a passage aloud and translate it.
This I did with an ease that surprised myself and filled Pereira with astonishment.
“Why, my dear fellow,” said he, “you have quite an excellent working knowledge of the language, and, it seems to me, a very good accent too, although quite different from that which is spoken by the Hausas down here. With a little practice your Hausa might do. But there are yet other things—the habits of the Fulahs and Hausas, which would be quite strange to you, and your ignorance of which would betray you. Then there is Arabic; every high-class Fulah knows a little Arabic and can spell out a verse or so of the Koran. Do you know any Arabic?”
“Not a word.”
“Well, I do. I lived for a year at Tripoli, and picked up a fair knowledge of it, and, as you seem to be naturally a good linguist, I daresay I can put you in the way of as much as you are likely to want. But the habits and customs seem to me the real stumbling-block. You know nothing of the ways of these people, and so would be detected as a stranger before you had been in their company five minutes.”
I was silent for awhile.
Pereira had put his finger upon what I had seen from the first was the really weak spot in my plan, and I was left without a reply. But I had no intention of giving up my scheme.
“I admit the force of your objection,” I said presently, “but I must try to get over the difficulty by learning as much of the domestic habits of the Fulahs as I can before starting, and trust to acquiring the real hallmark in the course of my travels.”
“Trust in Providence, in fact. Well, you are young and hopeful. But have you settled any details as to making the start on this wonderful Sindbad voyage?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I have arranged with a certain David Annan that I shall accompany him on a monkey-skin expedition into North Ashánti.”
“You know that Annan is a consummate rascal, I suppose?”
“I guessed it. I imagine that he will probably try to rob me and make off as soon as we are fairly in the bush, which is just what I want him to do. I shall thus disappear in a graceful and natural manner, and shall not be baulked by well-meant endeavours to discover my whereabouts.”
Pereira laughed. “You are an ingenious lunatic, Englefield, and deserve to succeed, but you’ve not the least chance of doing so. You had much better give up this hare-brained scheme, at least for the present, and either go home with Bithery or stay here with me and make your little pile in a sane manner.”
“I tell you, Pereira,” said I, irritably, “that my mind is made up. I have arranged to go with Annan, and I am going.”
Pereira shrugged his shoulders. “It is something for a man to know his own mind,” said he drily, “even if that mind is none of the soundest.”
But he made no further objections, and we spent the remainder of the evening discussing the mysterious cavern and considering the details of the great wild goose chase. It was nearly midnight when we rose to retire, and, as Pereira shook hands with me and wished me “good-night,” he said with sudden warmth, “You are a romantic young idiot, Englefield, there is no doubt, but, all the same, if I were twenty years younger, you should not go on your quest alone.”
“And I,” said his daughter, “if I were only a man, would be proud to go with him and share his perils and adventures.”
“And so there would be three of us,” said Pereira, “a most glorious and undivided trinity of fools.” He laughed again, and waving his hand to me went off to bed.
I remained at Quittáh some six weeks owing to various delays on the part of Annan, and so pleasantly the time sped that, as the period of my departure approached, my impatience to be gone gave way to a strong reluctance to leave the scene of so much happiness. Pereira, having once accepted my scheme, entered into it with all the fire and enthusiasm of the genuine old Portuguese adventurer, and spent all his leisure in preparing me for the difficult part I had to play. He brought out an aged Arabic grammar and dictionary, with the aid of which and of a printed Koran that he had imported for trade purposes, he instructed me in the sacred tongue. He accompanied me to the Mahommedan settlement outside the town and expounded the habits and customs of the people in it. He visited the primitive thatch-built mosque with me, and conversed in Hausa with the old Mallam or priest that I might study the vernacular and improve my accent. He took me through the camp at sunset that I might commit to memory the strange sing-song cries of the worshippers as they prayed on their mats by the road-side; and he picked up odds and ends of Hausa clothing to furnish me for my journey.
But it was not the sympathetic interest that my host showed in my project that made me look forward regretfully to my departure from Quittáh. The fact was that the fair Isabel, whose imagination had been fired by the romance of my Quixotic enterprise, had thrown herself into the scheme with an enthusiasm fully equal to that of her father, and, realising the paramount importance to me of a working knowledge of Arabic, she set herself to superintend my studies in that language; and a most exacting taskmistress I found her, as well as an indefatigable fellow student. We were thus thrown a great deal into one another’s society, and there grew up between us a comradeship that was very intimate and sympathetic. It is not often that the companionship of a man and a woman is quite satisfactory, complete coincidence of interest being exceptional. But when such sympathy and community of interest does exist, it renders possible a companionship with which no other can compare. And Isabel Pereira was as delightful a companion as any man could desire.
To many men, indeed, her mere beauty would have made her desirable had her wits been far less acute than they were; but in truth, her mind was as well and justly proportioned as her body, and even as her manifest physical strength served but to render perfect her feminine grace, so her sturdy common sense and steady judgment but heightened the charm of a playful, romantic fancy and a temper entirely amiable and sweet. To me, her father’s friend, she was full of frank, unaffected friendliness and good fellowship, never prudish or conscious; and yet there was with this a modesty and womanly reserve that called forth a responsive chivalrous respect on my part.
And so, as I have said, the time sped swiftly and pleasantly in her gentle companionship, and the day of my departure, ever looming nearer, was almost forgotten.
Very delightful it was in the late afternoons to walk together on the smooth wet beach, and listen to the booming surf; to watch the hideous red crabs playing peep-bo! at the mouths of their burrows and squinting at us with their goggle eyes as we passed; or to show our newly-acquired erudition by inscribing Arabic flourishes upon the smooth sand, and all the time to babble unceasingly of the mysterious cavern and of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. Very peaceful and pleasant was the walk home in the quickly-fading twilight, with the palm-trees chattering overhead, and the cicadas chirping in the distance, while the little sandpipers trotted along before us on the wet sand, and the nightjars whirled around us with ghostly flutterings. And then in the hot afternoon when the sun was high and the old merchant was taking his siesta, we would sit together in the verandah with our book between us, conning the uncouth characters and laughing over our mistakes. But in all this there was no philandering or coquetry but steady earnest work; and indeed so close was our application that it was a real relief, when Aochi appeared with the tea, to shut the book and fall to talking about the treasure in the cavern and the pool with the golden floor.
The awakening from this state of dreamy happiness came with the disagreeable suddenness of a douche of cold water.
We were sitting at table at our late breakfast, discussing—with unbecoming hilarity, I fear—the chapter of the Koran on which we had been engaged the day before, when there appeared in the open doorway an excessively dirty negro who stood and glared silently at us as he slowly masticated a chew-stick.
“What do you want, boy?” demanded Pereira sharply.
The man drew a filthy and crumpled envelope from the folds of his cloth and handed it to Pereira, who, having glanced at it, passed it to me with a grin.
“The Honourable and Reverend Mr. Englefield, Esq.,” I read aloud; and tearing it open, extracted a sheet of ruled notepaper covered with childish scrawl. The letter—for such it appeared to be—was headed, “Cape Coast, Friday,” and commenced—
“Honoured and reverend Master,
“With petious and mercifully I employ to thy protection——”
“Now what in the name of fortune is this?” I exclaimed. Turning the document over I sought the signature, which I presently found squeezed into a lower corner: “thy handmaidden in affliction,—David Annan.” I remember that, ludicrous as the thing was, none of us laughed. For my own part, I felt a sudden chill, and hastened to decipher the rest of the absurd epistle, of which I made out the contents to be as follows:—
“Honoured and reverend Master,
“With petious and mercifully I employ to thy protection and also the carrer man no good and he say they not fit because of susistence unless he get some pay but the Mansu brige never spoil any more and so the bush people complain the weather fine too much and the carier man they say he not fit get only his susistence because he sit down too long to wait for you. Sir I have the honour to inform you these few words to tell you if the steamer from leeward came here in few days I beg you that you came on board one time because the rain finish and carier man no good for sit down too long because he say they not fit for get sussistence unless he find some pay so I beg you not stay any longer because carrier man they say he not fit unless they get some pay.
“I have the honour to be Sir, thy handmaidden in affliction.
“David Annan.”
“Can you make any sense of this?” I asked, passing the precious document to Pereira.
“Certainly,” said Pereira; “it is perfectly clear. He means to say that he is waiting for you at Cape Coast, that the dry season has set in, that the bridge at Mansu has been repaired, having apparently been washed away by the floods, and that the carriers refuse to accept subsistence money only (threepence a day), but demand to be put on full travelling pay, so he begs you to come on by the first steamer. He also implies that he is being put to great expense in consequence of your delaying, which he will expect you to make good.”
“I see. Do you know when the next steamer is due from leeward?”
“The Benin is due now homewards,” replied Pereira, “so if you think of going by her you will have to get your things together.”
He rose from the table, and, taking up a handful of biscuits from a dish, held them out to the messenger and waved to him to be gone. Then he strode up and down the room a few times, and presently halted before me.
“You had better think again, my son,” said he, “whether this thing is worth doing. The chance of your really getting any substantial good out of it is, as you know, very small, and you may easily come back no wiser than you go, while the risk you run is enormous. The question is, is it worth while? I need not say that Isabel and I will be loth to see you go, for this will be an empty house without you—but I mustn’t talk like this,” he added in a shaky voice; “only, think it over again before you decide once for all.”
It was a great temptation.
I had never been so happy in my life as during these last few weeks; had never known a friendship so intimate and real as that of this fatherly old man and this sweet, gentle girl. And for what was I giving up all this? For an enterprise so shadowy and vague that I could not even state it to myself.
And yet the unrest of youth was upon me and the treasure seemed to beckon me on.
“I think it is worth while,” I said at length.
“As you will, my son,” replied Pereira. “Your native clothing is in my room, so if you come I will give it to you now, and Isabel will pack it up for you.”
We went to his room, where he produced from a locked drawer the garments that he had purchased as “curios” from Hausa merchants: a riga or gown of blue-grey cotton cloth, a pair of wondo—immense baggy trousers—a Fez, a litham, or face-cloth, and turban of dark blue cotton, a vest, and a pair of yellow leather slippers.
“Here is a knife, too,” said Pereira, bringing forth a long clumsy dagger in a leather sheath, “native steel, and not much to look at, but I sharpened it myself and found it mighty hard metal. I have also got you a spear-head and ferrule—you can make a shaft for yourself—so you will be able to take care of yourself, especially if you carry a pistol, and I have made up six small packets of gold dust and a bag of cowries, so that you can start as a man of substance.”
We gathered up these treasures and bore them off to my room. I had bought a small cheap iron trunk for the journey, and in this I now threw the very few things that I proposed to take with me—chiefly, for reasons which will presently appear, cast-off clothes and objects of no value. I then put aside the native clothing and weapons, placed with them the gold dust, the cowries, a pocket compass, a sailor’s knife, and a small revolver with a box of cartridges, and asked Isabel to make these things into a separate package, using the riga as an envelope, and to stitch it up securely. Leaving her to this occupation, I went with Pereira to his office to make final arrangements as to the custody of the small remainder of my property and the money that had been paid to him on my behalf by Captain Bithery, who had sailed for England three weeks before.
“Did I show you Bithery’s letter?” Pereira asked, as we took our seats at the office table; and on my answering in the negative he pushed over to me the missive in the Captain’s well-known handwriting.
“Tell Englefield,” it said, “that I am very well satisfied with him, and hope he is equally so with me. His pay and commission amount to a hundred and fifty-six pounds, which I enclose, with all good wishes. We have done very well this voyage, and I expect we shall be out again in less than six months, so, if he should come to his senses again in that time, he will be able to take up his berth on the Lady Jane.”
“I am glad the Captain is coming out again,” I said as I returned the letter. “He has been a really kind and generous friend to me, and I should like to have a chance of showing him that I realise it.”
“Yes,” replied Pereira, “Bithery is a really good fellow, and very fond of you, too. And now to settle our business. I understand you want me to take charge of your goods and this money. Is that so?”
“Yes, if you will. I will take fifteen pounds, and you hold the remainder until I come back.”
“Very well.” He wrote out a receipt, stamped it, and laid on it fifteen sovereigns. “You can change the gold on board ship,” he said. “Is there anything more?”
“Only this,” I replied, drawing, somewhat sheepishly, from my pocket an envelope addressed to himself. “It is my Will—not a very important document, but it is all regular; the Commissioner witnessed it. You can open it if you hear that anything has happened to me.”
Pereira took the packet from me and deposited it in his safe. “It will remain there,” said he, “with your money and the old journal until you come back; and I hope it won’t be there long. Is that all?”
“That is all,” I answered.
He banged the door of the safe and put the key in his pocket, and, almost at the same moment, the report of a gun sounded from the sea.
“That will be the Benin,” said Pereira.
We both hurried round to the front of the compound, from which a view of the anchorage could be obtained, and as we turned the corner, we perceived the elegant, yacht-like steamer slowing down opposite the Fort.
“I don’t expect she will finish loading to-day,” said Pereira, shading his eyes with his hand as he peered at the ship. “I know there is a good deal of produce to go on board. But you had better have everything ready in case the Captain is in a hurry.” So saying he went back to his office while I made my way slowly up to my room.
Now, it happened that I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes with rubber soles, and I suppose that, walking slowly, lost in thought, I must have stepped more noiselessly than usual, for evidently Isabel had not heard me approach; and as I came to the half-open door I drew back with a start. She was kneeling on the floor before my trunk, making as if she would fold up the blue riga that she held in her hands, and, although her back was turned to me, I could see that she was sobbing; indeed, as I stood there, she raised the blue cloth in both hands and buried her face in it.
For one moment I remained stock-still, petrified with amazement. Then I stole softly away and hurried down into the compound, looking round right and left to see that no one was about; for the choking at my throat and a fulness in my eyes warned me not to speak to anyone lest I should utterly lose control of my emotions. Slipping out by the back gate, I strode down the narrow lane, breathing hard and clenching the pipe that I had thrust into my mouth so fiercely that the fragile stem crunched like straw between my teeth, and so reached the quiet lagoon side, where I paced to and fro upon the dry mud trying to collect my thoughts and to decide what I should do in these new and surprising circumstances.
For the sight of that weeping girl had been to me a double revelation. It had shown me, what I was indeed dull enough not to have seen before, that her sweet comradeship came from something more than mere friendliness; and it had made clear what I was yet more dull not to have perceived—that this lovely and gracious woman was to me more than all the world beside.
What then should I do? Should I give up my plan and settle down quietly at Quittáh? That was the course that common-sense suggested. And yet that would be a heavy sacrifice, for, so strongly had this foolish scheme taken hold of me that it had become a positive obsession. And then my pride raised objections to the evident dictates of reason; not the noble pride that makes a man scorn to fall short of his own ethical ideal, but the paltry pride that makes him ashamed to repudiate an ill-formed and hasty resolution. It would seem an absurdly weak and flat conclusion if, after all these preparations, I should collapse at the last moment and go back humbly to my oil puncheons and kernel bags. The mountain that had been in labour would have brought forth such a very small mouse. And what would Isabel think of me? Might she not misunderstand my heroic self-sacrifice? It was not a noble thought; but yet it must be admitted that to a romantic girl, a lover girding up his loins for a perilous, if Quixotic, quest is one thing, and the same lover, with his sleeves rolled up weighing out rubber in the factory yard, is another and a very different thing.
That rubber decided me. My vanity came to the aid of my self-will, and I once more decided to see my adventure through.
And having reached this conclusion I made my way back to the house with a firm step and a steady lip.
She was standing in the verandah when I entered the compound, and when she saw me she waved her hand and greeted me gaily with a Hausa salutation; and when I bounded up the stairs and stood by her side she was quite cheerful and self-possessed, though rather more sober than usual.
“The ship won’t nearly finish loading to-day,” she said, “so we shall have one more evening together. I wonder how long it will be before you come back.”
“Not more than a month or two, I expect,” said I. “Perhaps less if I am lucky and find out what I want to know quickly. The actual distance is quite small from here to Upper Ashánti.”
“Yes. And perhaps you won’t think it worth while to stay there at all. You may find that the whole thing is a myth.” I thought she seemed to rather hope that it might be so, but I did not encourage the hope.
“That is hardly likely,” I said. “There must be some foundation for all those reports. But here is your father, straight from the beach, I expect, with the latest news of my reprieve.”
“The Captain expects to get off between ten and eleven to-morrow,” said Pereira, as he stepped on to the verandah, thoughtfully dusting his silk hat with a pocket-handkerchief. “There is a lot of produce from the Bremer Factory as well as mine, so he may be later. You can go off with the last boat-load.”
“Very well; sufficient for the day is the evil thereof; and now let us drown our sorrows in the tea-pot and go for a walk.”
We walked that evening along the beach towards the village of Vojé, and I was glad that Pereira made one of the party, as his presence decided the question whether I should speak to Isabel or leave matters as they were until I came back. My own feeling had been that it would be hardly fair to make any kind of declaration as I was going away on so perilous an enterprise, and I was relieved at not being left alone with her and so tempted to make confidences that I might afterwards have regretted.
On my last night at Quittáh I will not dwell. We all tried to make it as festive an occasion as possible, but with only very moderate success. Enthusiasm respecting the treasure refused to revive, and we separated at length in a quiet and thoughtful mood.
Eleven o’clock on the following morning found us on the beach watching the loading of the last boat. The time of separation had come, and we stood, with our hearts too full for speech, watching the blue Peter flutter down from the steamer’s mast-head. The canoe-men stood up to their knees in the water, holding on to the surf-boat, which reared like a restive horse as each wave rolled in to the shore, and waving their trident-shaped paddles as they shouted their hoarse chant.
And now the last bag of kernels was flung into the boat and my little trunk laid on the heap. The steamer was hooting impatiently, and the boatswain called to me to hasten. The old man seized both my hands and prayed God to bless me and bring me back safe; Isabel and I clasped hands in silence for a moment, and then I leaped into the boat.
The keel ground upon the sand, the boat reared and swept down on the back wash, and amidst a chorus of shouts from the canoe-men, and a shower of spray, we charged into the surf. I sat on the swaying thwart, with my back to the sea, watching the two figures on the shore until they had dwindled to the size of dolls, and the green waves heaved up and hid them from my sight. And even after I had climbed the ladder and stood upon the deck, my eyes turned shoreward until the surf-fringed beach had faded out of sight and the land was but a grey streak upon the sea-horizon.
Soon after daybreak on the second morning after my departure from Quittáh, the fishing canoe, which had been sent to fetch me ashore, swept round the bluff into the quieter waters of Winneba Bay, and presently took the ground not far from the mouth of the little river Ainsu; and as I jumped out on to the beach, I found myself folded in the embrace of no less a person than Mr. David Annan.
He seemed very pleased to see me, and not without reason, as I presently discovered, for it appeared that, relying on my assumed opulence, he had refrained from burdening himself with an undue amount of that which is vulgarly known as “the ready,” and was even now in a state of some pecuniary embarrassment. The “carrier men” were, in fact, “not fit,” to use his expression, and refused to lift a load until they had received tangible evidence of their employer’s solvency.
A sovereign from my purse, rapidly converted into eighty “thor-pennies” at an adjacent store, revived the flagging confidence of our followers, and half an hour after landing, we formed up our little caravan and stepped out briskly up the steep street of the town. I looked around me with growing pleasure and interest, for everything was new and strange. The little church with its tower of sun-dried clay, that had looked so imposing from the anchorage and now appeared so mean; the bright red walls of the houses, so different from the grimy hovels of Quittáh, built of the black lagoon-mud; the steep rocky road, the strange trees, the gay and comely Fanti women, were all elements of novelty that came upon me with singular force after my long sojourn amidst the sandy flats and changeless horizon of the Bight of Benin.
Even when we descended into the wide plain the novelty was not abated, for the meadow-like expanse, with its pink soil and waving grass, was as great a change from Quittáh as the rocky upland. And so, while Isabel was mourning my absence in the dull and silent house, here was I striding gaily along the narrow track, watching the little zebra mice and the white-breasted crows and the circling vultures, with an exhilaration that I blush to reflect on.
We walked on at a good swinging pace until nearly noon, when, reaching a belt of woodland, we halted in the shade of a silk-cotton tree to rest and take our midday meal. I had left the commissariat arrangements to Annan, and now reaped the harvest of my folly, for that child of Belial had laid in, with my money, a supply of kanki—a disgusting mess of boiled maize which I had never tasted before, and hope never to taste again. It was highly satisfying, however, and its flavour encouraged moderation, so that when we resumed our march after an hour’s rest I was completely refreshed.
The road through which we passed during the afternoon exceeded in beauty my wildest dreams. In the open, indeed, the prospect was merely that of a fine breezy, rolling country covered with grass and bushes; but where the winding path led through shady woodland or rustling groves of oil palms, the richness and luxuriance of the vegetation filled me with astonishment and delight. My opportunities for examining the landscape were not indeed great, for our bare-footed carriers covered the rough ground at a pace that was a revelation to me, and kept it up, too, until I was ready to drop with fatigue; and when, towards sunset, we entered a straggling village, I learned from Annan, with profound relief, that this was the end of our day’s march.
My trunk had been set down by the carrier against the wall of a house, so I took my seat on it and leaned back with great comfort. Soon a little crowd of women and children gathered round and stood watching me with the expectant interest that a group of rustics at home would manifest in a foreign organ-grinder. I drew out my pipe and filled it to their complete satisfaction, but my matches had become spoiled by the damp of the woodland and would not strike, seeing which, a young woman with a glossy brown baby fastened on to her back, hurried away and presently returned rolling a glowing cinder in the palm of her hand. This she very adroitly laid on the tobacco in my pipe and then blew it softly until it glowed white hot and the smoke ascended in blue clouds, and when I thanked her with some warmth she laid her hands together and curtseyed prettily, murmuring “Ya wura,” and then retired bashfully behind her friends.
Suddenly the calf-like voice of Annan was heard, “shooing” the children away from me, and my conductor appeared wreathed in smiles and glorious with rich apparel. For in this short time he had exchanged his rough travelling costume for the garb of ceremony, and now displayed the splendour of a velvet smoking cap, a suit of pink pyjamas, the ankles tucked into a pair of scarlet socks, and carpet slippers of prismatic brilliancy.
“You get no servant now, Mr. Englefield,” said he with an oily smile, “but never fear, sah, I shall be your steward and I do you proper.”
“You are very good,” said I. “What are we going to do about food? I have had enough kanki for to-day; and where am I to sleep to-night?”
“I get you fine dinner, sah—de chief’s wife cook it now—and very fine bed in de chief’s house. But,” here he dropped his voice and pulled a most lugubrious face, “dis headman no good at all. He get a dry eye.”
“A dry eye?” I exclaimed.
“Yes; he never want to give anyting unless you dash him some money first.”
“Well, I don’t expect him to give me food and lodging for nothing. If you pay him what you think right, or what he thinks right, I will let you have it back.”
Annan groaned and pulled out of his pocket a gaudy purse which he opened and held upside down.
“Dose carriers take all dat you give me dis mornin’ and spend it ’fore we start. Now de headman say he won’t give us nutting for chop widout you dash him first.”
I began to suspect that Mr. Annan “get a dry eye,” but it was useless to wrangle over a few shillings, so I handed him another sovereign, which he received with a gleeful guffaw and departed—ostensibly to make an advance payment to the headman—leaving me speculating curiously as to how he proposed to get change for a sovereign in this primitive hamlet. Apparently he managed to do so, for I came upon him unawares shortly after, doling threepenny pieces to the carriers for subsistence; and mightily disconcerted he seemed, for some reason, at being discovered.
His account of the dinner that was in preparation was not exaggerated. It was a colossal feed. The black clay bowls came in one after another until the little ricketty table would hold no more, and Annan’s eyes fairly bulged with anticipation. He was indeed “doing me proper,” as he expressed it, and as he was to share the meal he evidently intended to “do himself proper”; indeed, I fancy that, recollecting my inability to make headway with native dishes when we dined together at Adena, he hoped to consume the major part of these delicacies himself. If this was his idea when he ordered the feast, my appetite must have been a revelation to him, for, having decided that henceforth I must subsist on native food, and being nearly famished, I assaulted the dishes with indiscriminate ferocity, devouring yams, cassava, fowl, goat, stink-fish, palm oil and peppers with supreme disregard of their appearance or flavour until the affrighted Annan abandoned all attempts at conversation in a frantic effort to keep pace with me.
The apartment in which we dined was converted into a bedroom by the simple device of taking out the table and laying down two mattresses formed of bundles of rushes; and although, after dark, the village resounded with the shrieks of the potto calling to his unmelodious mate in the forest, and sundry scufflings and rustlings about our room were unpleasantly suggestive of rats and cockroaches, I almost instantly fell into a delicious slumber which lasted until I was awakened by Annan dragging at my arm.
“Cock-o’-peak-time,[Cock-crow—Cock go speak.] sah,” said he with a bland smile. “All de carrier men wait outside; dey say dey ready to start one time.”
“But I haven’t had any breakfast or bath,” I objected, getting up and stretching myself.
Annan laughed. “Plenty rivers in dis country,” said he, “and if you want to take chop, I get some here.” He displayed a gritty-looking collection of roasted plantains in a dirty red handkerchief and moved towards the door, where a crowd of the villagers had assembled to see us depart.
It was cheerless and chilly when we emerged from the village on to the narrow woodland track. A dense mist enshrouded the landscape and made the trees look ghostly and unreal. Everything reeked with moisture. The dew pattered down from the trees, the grass and herbage was saturated and the ground sodden with the wet. Five minutes after starting I was soaked to the skin and my teeth were chattering.
“You still want a bath, Mr. Englefield?” inquired Annan with a delighted chuckle as he noted my saturated clothing.
“I want my breakfast,” I retorted savagely, visions of the steaming “early coffee” at Pereira’s house flitting across my memory.
Annan opened his bundle, and taking out a blackened plantain, handed it to me after removing the superfluous ashes by wiping it down the leg of his pyjamas; and despite its repulsive aspect, I chewed it up thankfully, cinders and all, to his undissembled joy and amusement.
“You like dis country chop proper,” he remarked, as I licked my fingers and held out my hand for another plantain; but his amusement gave way to apprehension when I proceeded to eat yet a third.
We were meantime entering the fringe of the forest, and the scenery appeared to me unspeakably lovely. The trees grew more lofty and umbrageous, and their trunks were clothed in a garment of creepers and ferns. Once we passed through a grove of oil palms, and I was charmed with the delicate grace of this plant, so different from the scraggy cocoa-nut palm of the coast, so soft and feathery and symmetrical, and so beautifully adorned with the long trailing ferns that hang down in lacy streamers from the crown of the stem.
Annan’s promise as to the rivers, too, was amply fulfilled, but although they were pleasant enough to look at, they were a great annoyance, as they kept my legs continually wet from wading through them; and I rather envied the carriers, whose scanty clothing made this a matter of less consequence to them.
After a couple of hours of steady tramping we entered the large village of Essekúma, where Annan decided to halt for a meal; and it was quite pleasant to sit in the open compound and dry one’s clothing in the sun.
A substantial meal of oily and pungent fowl-stew accompanied by a liberal allowance of tenacious plantain fufu, made me inclined to loll at my ease and quietly study the village life and meditate upon the queer sculptured ornaments on the houses; but Annan would hear of no delay, and having cleaned his fingers on the ever-ready pyjamas, gave the word to proceed. These Africans were certainly indefatigable walkers, and their powers of endurance quite remarkable—so remarkable, indeed, that I began to doubt if I should be able to keep up with our carriers, burdened as they were with loads varying from thirty to sixty pounds.
We travelled on, with rare and brief halts for rest at wayside hamlets, until near sunset, when we reached a small, primitive village called Obedumássi, at which we brought up for the night, and where our experiences of the previous evening were repeated. The headman, at whose house we lodged, kept a civet in a kind of wooden hutch for the purpose of extracting the perfume, and I had an opportunity of witnessing the operation. The animal was first poked with a stick to make it fly round its narrow cage until in the course of its gyrations it allowed its tail to project between the bars. This was immediately grabbed by the operator and pulled so that the unfortunate beast was jammed helplessly against the bars, when the perfume was scooped out of the scent-gland by means of a wooden implement like a marrow-spoon. This curious unctuous substance had a disgusting odour somewhat like that of a recently-extinguished tallow candle, mingled with the scent of musk, but Annan assured me that “the Hausa men find it sweet too much,” so I purchased a small quantity with a view to future contingencies.
The next day was one of almost continuous trudging along a path that was far from good to walk upon. This everlasting marching would have been as monotonous as it was fatiguing but for the novelty of the surroundings, which were almost as strange to me as if I had but just come from England. Our route on this day lay through an extensive swamp, some parts of which were overgrown with bamboos, and here the aspect of nature was most singular and impressive. The bamboo could be seen as we approached it, an immense cloudy mass of moving green with mysterious cavern-like openings which led into a dim interior like that of some colossal crypt. The canes rose out of the ground in huge bundles like great clustered columns, and interlaced overhead in an impenetrable vault, so that the gloomy interior was broken up into a maze of aisles and transepts, some leading away into absolute black darkness, others showing a distant spot of bright light—the opening on the further side of the thicket.
We were threading our way through one of these passages, treading daintily on the crackling débris that formed the floor (for the mysterious twilight of the place somehow induced a silent and stealthy manner of movement), when Annan, who was leading, suddenly stopped dead, and peering down a dark side-aisle began to talk in a loud, startled tone. At the same moment I noticed a group of men crouching and almost hidden in the deeper shadow of one of the clusters of canes, and our carriers, catching sight of them too, hastily laid down their burdens, and broke out into excited and voluble jabbering, so that the previously silent crypt was a Babel of noise. In a few moments the men came forth from their hiding-place into the dim light of the passage in which we stood, and a sinister-looking crowd they were, quite nude, with the exception of the narrow loin-cloth, and each provided with a long flintlock gun with a red-painted stock and a large knife in a leopard-skin sheath. They were evidently not travelling far from home, for none of them carried any baggage or provisions beyond the bottle-shaped gourd which served as a powder flask, and a bag of slugs.
A tall, elderly man, apparently the leader of the party, came forward and made a long statement to Annan, gesticulating and grimacing in the native fashion and pointing frequently in the direction in which we were going; then, after Annan had replied in a quieter tone, the carriers took up their burdens and we moved forward, while the armed men returned to their retreat.
“Who are those men?” I asked, as we came out once more into the light of day.
“Dose men,” replied Annan, “is Akotádi people, and dey tell me some very bad news. Dey say all de roads shut everywhere.”
“What do they mean? Who has shut the roads?”
“Because of de war palaver,” replied Annan. “Dey say dat ’Shanti people fight wid Békwe, and Adánsi people fight wid ’Shanti and Akém. Plenty war palaver everywhere.”
“Then it won’t be very safe going through Ashanti, will it?” said I.
“Safe!” yelled Annan. “I tell you all de roads shut. Spose ’Shanti man see us he tink we Adánsis and he shoot us. Spose Békwe man see us, he say we Akém and he shoot us. Eberybody shoot us. Shia! m’nyohum!” He shook his fist in the air and spat on the ground.
I could not help laughing at this outburst, for, apart from the highly inappropriate application of a disgusting and untranslatable Fanti expletive, the picture that Annan drew of our progress through the country was farcical in the extreme. We were Ishmaelites indeed!
“Why de debbil you laugh?” exclaimed Annan, looking as if he could have cut my throat with pleasure. “You no laugh if ’Shanti man catch you.”
“No,” I agreed, “I suppose not. But what shall you do? You won’t turn back, will you?”
“Me turn back!” he shouted. “I tell you, sah, I come to get monkey skin, and I fit for get monkey skin. ’Shanti man can go to hell.”
I never felt more friendly to the sturdy rascal than on hearing him speak thus. I could have shaken his dirty hand—if it had been necessary. When he had spoken of the closed roads I had feared that our expedition would collapse after all, so this exhibition of dogged pluck came as a great relief.
The sun had already sunk below the tree tops, and the shades of evening were gathering fast as we came out of the forest into the open village of Pra-su. By the fading light I could see that this was different in appearance from the hamlets we had passed through, for, in addition to the ordinary Fanti houses, there were groups of beehive-shaped huts of palm thatch, such as I had seen in the Hausa quarter at Quittáh, each group enclosed by a fence of palm leaves. There were also a number of rough sheds of a larger size, and a one-storey house of European construction—the residence of the commandant. For Pra-su was the outpost of the British Protectorate, and had a small garrison of Hausa troops, commanded by an officer of the Gold Coast Constabulary, to protect the ferry across the river Pra.
We had hardly entered the village when we came upon a group of the soldiers. They had scratched upon a smooth patch of earth a kind of primitive chess-board, and two of them were hurriedly finishing a game by the last of the twilight while the others stood round and watched. As we came abreast of the group, I heard my name called, and an elderly sergeant stepped forward with a salute and a grin of friendly recognition.
“Welcome to Pra-su; hope you well, sah,” said he.
“Why, it’s Sergeant Aba!” I exclaimed, shaking him by the hand. “Well, now, I never thought to meet a friend at Pra-su.”
He seemed highly gratified at my addressing him thus, and asked if he could render me any service, remarking that the Commandant had gone to Cape Coast and had left him in charge of the station.
“I should be very glad to get something to eat,” said I, “and perhaps you can find me a clean house to sleep in to-night.”
“You fit to eat country chop?” he asked a little shyly.
I replied that I was fit to eat anything, and the more the better.
“Den, sah, you come wid me and I give you chop, and you look my house. He be new house, quite clean, spose you like him you sleep dere.”
I thanked him warmly for his offer, and, although Annan looked rather sourly upon the arrangement, I went off with the Sergeant to inspect my lodgings.
We wandered down several narrow lanes between high fences of palm leaf and reeds, until, presently, Aba halted and, separating two of the mats forming the fence, we entered his compound. The twilight had already faded into night, and I could but dimly make out the beehive-shaped houses ranged round the enclosure or the shadowy forms flitting about in the darkness, but I could see that the compound was an open space some twenty yards square. In the centre of it a dull red fire was burning, and an aged man in a turban and riga squatted by it on a mat and occasionally stirred it with a stick. The special object of his regard, however, was not the fire itself but a singular little fence that encircled it, which fence I found, on nearer inspection, to consist of a number of pointed sticks stuck in the earth, each stick having impaled on it several pieces of meat with a lump of fat as a crowning ornament.
Aba leaned over the fence and sniffed. “You fit chop dis sort, sah?” he asked.
I replied with a most emphatic affirmative, for my mouth fairly watered at the delicious odour of the roasting meat; so Aba fetched a mat from his house and laid it down before the fire, and we squatted on it together and watched the meat roasting.
Aba endeavoured to divert me with conversation until the meat should be ready, but the time seemed endless, and I found my famished gaze continually wandering towards the kabobs and noting the lumps of fat frizzling in the heat, and the little streams of oil that trickled over the meat and dripped upon the ground. And the way in which the old man slowly turned the skewers, sniffed critically and shook his head, and Aba’s gaunt Bornu wife came forth, examined the kabobs and vanished again, wrought me to the verge of frenzy.
At last the old man seemed satisfied, for he plucked up one of the skewers, and having turned it round and round in the firelight, he sang out in a cracked voice, “Fatima! Ya karé!” and I breathed a sigh of relief and licked my lips.
To this day I look back upon that meal with a kind of greedy pleasure. After the pungent, greasy, Fanti stews, this wholesome food seemed doubly delicious, and in truth those kabobs might have raised the ghost of an alderman. Then, too, there was cus-cus in clean wooden bowls, and flat baskets piled high with masa—little pancakes of pea-flour fried in clay moulds—and after all this a great calabash of mangoes was passed round, so that when I at length washed my hands in the bowl of water that was brought to each of the guests by Aba’s youngest girl, I was a better fed man than I had been since leaving Quittáh.
We sat by the fire—new fed with crackling faggots—till far into the night, and Aba, in his halting English, gave me much information and sage advice. He shook his head with grave disapproval of my journey into Ashanti, which country he said was “no place for white man,” especially just now, for “ ’Shanti man find blood sweet too much.” He also warned me against Annan.
“Dat man bery bad man. I sabby him long time. He fit to teef your money and kill you, and den say ’Shanti shoot you. He dam rascal too much.”
As a practical comment on his opinions, Annan stole into the compound just then and came and bent over me.
“Mr. Englefield, sah,” he whispered confidentially, “I come to beg you, sah.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“De chop for to-morrow. We go to strange country; we must take plenty chop wid us because of de war palaver.”
“Very well,” said I, “you know what is necessary, and you have enough money to get it, I suppose.”
“No, sah,” exclaimed he, “dat is where you mistake. De money all finish to-night.”
“Nonsense,” said I. “You can’t have spent all that money since yesterday.”
“I tell you it finish,” he declared excitedly. “De carrier chop it all. You look yourself!” He whisked his purse out with a flourish, opened it and held it upside down. Unfortunately, he had brought out the wrong purse, and, as he inverted it, the two sovereigns that I had given him dropped out on to the mat; at which he was so completely disconcerted that he hastily picked them up and departed without a word.
“Dere, what I tell you, sah?” exclaimed Aba, shaking his fist at the retreating “scholar man.” “Dat man proper rascal. He teef every ting you get. I beg you, sah, you no go for bush country wid him.”
I laid my hand affectionately on the honest fellow’s shoulder as I got up from the mat and stretched myself.
“Never fear for me, Aba,” said I; “I look him proper. If he trouble me I show him my pistol.”
Aba shook his head sadly but said no more, and, as it was now late, he dragged the mat into a new thatch hut, laid a pillow on it and wished me good-night.
I was aroused next morning by the bugles sounding réveillé in the Hausa camp, and, as I came out of the house, I found Fatima waiting for me with a large calabash of agidi—a kind of thin porridge—to fortify me for my journey. While I was consuming this insipid but refreshing food, she went into her house and fetched a small grass bag filled with masa, which she shyly placed in my hand and then hurried away before I had time to thank her.
Down at the landing-place, Annan was waiting impatiently with the carriers, and Aba, who had come to see me off, stood at a little distance, aloof and haughty, holding no communication with the Fanti merchant. As I appeared, the carriers and Annan scrambled into the long ferry canoe, and the ferryman took up his pole and prepared to push off, so Aba stepped into the unwieldy craft that he might see the last of me. I showed him the bag of masa, and thanked him and Fatima for their hospitality, and would have made him a little present, but when he perceived my intention, he shook his head with such energy, repeating “Bábu bábu!” and clucking his tongue deprecatingly, that I desisted and shook him again by the hand.
As the canoe grated on the beach of the north shore, Aba addressed a few words to Annan as the latter stepped ashore.
“You hear me, David Annan, dis white gentleman my friend. He go wid you for far bush. Spose you no look him proper, den when you come back, I ask you, what you do for my friend? You sabby?”
Annan had by this time climbed the steep bank, and now, looking down at the sergeant, he made a gesture of contempt, remarking that “scholar man no fit to talk to Sálaga donkor” with which polite rejoinder he turned away along the road. The carriers followed and, with a last “good-bye” to Aba, I climbed the bank and hurried after them.
The road, as I have called it, was a narrow winding track that led at once into the sombre shadow of the forest. Before I had followed its sinuous course for five minutes, all trace of the wide river had vanished, and the bright light of day had given place to a soft green twilight by which was revealed the most amazing labyrinth of vegetation that the mind could conceive. On all hands was a confused tangle of leaves and branches, of ferns and great rope-like creepers, piled together in riotous luxuriance and shutting out alike the heavens above and the earth beneath. So indistinct was the trail amidst all this wealth of vegetation that I had to use the utmost exertions to avoid losing sight of my companions, who, more accustomed to such surroundings than I, crashed through the undergrowth at a pace that I could barely keep up with. The ground was terribly rough, too. In some places jagged masses of iron-stone projected from the surface, in others the soil was sodden and boggy; the entire region was a network of small muddy streams, which here and there spread out into swamps, and everywhere great coils of snake-like roots sprawled over the ground and tripped one up at every step. I stumbled on, however, in spite of all obstacles, wading knee-deep in the swamps and vaulting over the fallen trees that constantly barred the way; but it was weary work, and I hailed with relief the sight of a small village, hoping to get at least a few minutes’ rest.
When we entered the hamlet, and our carriers set down their burdens, an elderly man came out from behind a house and peremptorily ordered us to move on. Annan would have argued the matter with him, but the man—presumably the village headman—pointed to the road and repeated his command in so angry a tone that there was nothing for it but to resume our march.
After trudging on for another hour or so, we came out suddenly into the single wide street of a large village, which I found was called Attássi Kwánta. Here the attitude of the natives was but little more friendly than at the village we had passed, for, as we appeared in the street, we were met by a party of about a dozen men, several of them armed with muskets, who barred the way while they put a number of questions to Annan. Their manner was fierce and their looks sullen, and I could not fail to notice that I was an especial object of suspicion, for, as they talked, they cast frequent and highly unfriendly glances at me, and I heard the word “broni” (white man) repeated several times. Annan, for his part, entered into a lengthy and voluble explanation, and, as he pointed to me, shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows; but whether he was assuring them of my harmlessness or disclaiming all knowledge of and responsibility for me, I could not make up my mind. What was quite evident, however, was that he made no particular impression on my behalf for, although we were permitted to sit down under the shade tree to eat our food, the men stood round us with a menacing air of watchfulness the whole time, and when I went to a fire that was smouldering by the roadside to get an ember for my pipe, two of them came and rudely hustled me away from it.
The aspect of the village itself was highly suggestive of the disturbed state of the country. Not a woman or child was to be seen, and even the men were not much in evidence, although the appearance of heads now and again protruded round the corners of houses, gave the impression that the male population was not far off.
Of the men who stood guard over us, some were, as I have said, armed with muskets, and all wore powder gourds and slug bags, and in several parts of the village I could see rows of the long Dane guns leaning against the houses with their lock covers hanging loose, all ready for use at a moment’s notice.
The instant we had finished our meal the chief motioned to us to go, and we wearily arose and filed out of the village to resume our march along the rough track.
This hostility on the part of the natives was extremely disconcerting, for, although up to the present it had taken only a passive form, it might at any moment become active, especially as we approached Ashanti proper, where the people would naturally associate us with their southern enemies. But still more disturbing to me was the attitude of Annan, whose manner was hardly more friendly than that of the natives. It was evident that my detection of his fraud had filled him with hatred and rage, and Aba’s parting speech had not improved matters, for, since leaving Pra-su, he had maintained a sullen silence, in singular contrast to his usual boisterous garrulity, never once speaking to me except to gruffly refuse some masa which I offered him, with the remark that he “didn’t eat donkor chop.”
I could not help seeing, too, that my presence was an element of added danger to our party, and that both he and the carriers would very gladly be rid of me; so bearing in mind Aba’s warning, I determined to keep a very sharp eye on my friend David Annan.
We pressed on during the day at a speed that was intolerably fatiguing, and must have covered fully thirty miles before sunset, which overtook us just as we reached a village called Akonsírrim. We had passed several villages during the day, but had not attempted to halt at them, hurrying through and taking our rest and food in the forest, as far as possible from any human habitation.
At the entrance to Akonsírrim we were met by a party of armed men, who appeared to be the only occupants of the place; but, although their reception of us was grim enough, they were at length prevailed upon by Annan to permit us to sleep in the village.
A little incident that had occurred during one of our halts had put me more than ever on my guard. We had seated ourselves by the side of a small stream to rest and take our afternoon meal, the packages having been set down by the roadside, and as we sat I thought I could detect the babbling of a waterfall at no great distance. When I had finished eating I rose and strolled away into the forest to look for the fall, but finding the bush impenetrable, returned almost directly. As I came near the road, I could see our party through an opening in the foliage, though I was invisible to them, and the first object that caught my eye was friend Annan busily engaged fitting a key into the lock of my trunk. He had just succeeded in unfastening it when I saw him, and having lifted the lid was about to rummage among the contents; but as I was most anxious that he should not see the bundle of Hausa clothing, I put an end to his researches by loudly snapping a twig, upon which he looked round, hastily closed and locked the box, and went back to the stream, where I found him innocently munching when I returned.
The sleeping quarters assigned to us at Akonsírrim were in one of the curious native houses, built, after the Ashanti fashion, on a platform of clay and having only three walls, the fourth side being open like the stage of a theatre. In this airy chamber I lay down on a heap of dry grass that covered the hard clay floor and composed myself as if for sleep, but although I half closed my eyes, my suspicions of my companion kept me wide awake. Presently Annan came and lay down at the other end of the hut; but he did not fall asleep as was his wont, for although he lay quite still and breathed heavily, I knew that he was listening to my breathing. I therefore simulated a gentle snore, and mumbled occasionally as though I were dreaming, and sure enough my friend began presently to crawl softly across the hut towards me. I was in doubt now whether I had not better seize him and bang his head against the wall without more ado, but perceiving by the dim starlight that his hands were empty, I decided to see what his intentions were before committing myself. He crept on silently to my side, and, rising on to his knees, examined me narrowly; then he commenced to stealthily paw me over until his hand lighted on the bulging caused by the purse and clasp-knife in my trousers pocket. This was evidently the object of his search, for, having found it, he began to insinuate his fingers into the opening of the pocket; but at this point I gave a deep sigh and turned over, whereupon he scrambled noiselessly across the hut and lay down once more. He made no attempt to come to me again, and very soon his resounding snores told me that he was really asleep.
It will be readily understood that I had very little sleep that night, and in the morning I arose unrefreshed and weary; but it was necessary to get on the road at once, for the men of the village, considering that they had seen enough of us, came and conducted us out of their territory with scant ceremony, nor would they agree to sell us so much as a single plantain for food. The food question was, indeed, becoming urgent already, for I had eaten nothing on the previous day but a few plantains that I had purchased from our carriers (who had brought them from Pra-su), and one or two masa. I had still a good supply of the little cakes, but I felt that I ought to keep them for an emergency; and meanwhile the poor diet was beginning to tell on me, while the prospect of absolute starvation confronted our party if no one would sell us food.
These matters I revolved gloomily in my mind as I stumbled along the rugged path through the solemn, shadowy forest. But more grave than the food question was the conduct of Annan. Evidently he intended to rob me and, as Aba had pointed out, nothing would be simpler than for him to murder me and report that I had been killed by the Ashantis. All my weapons were sewn up in my bundle, so that I was absolutely unarmed, while Annan, as I knew, carried a formidable sheath knife. This state of things I determined to remedy at once as well as I could, for an emergency might arise at any moment. I had cut myself a stick on the previous day from a hard-wood sapling, and now, remembering the very efficient wooden spears of the Australian natives, I proceeded to trim one end of it to a moderately sharp point, and so provided myself with a really formidable although harmless-looking weapon.
We had not been long on the march before I received a disagreeable hint as to Annan’s intentions towards me. About three hours’ journey from Akonsírrim the path entered a deep valley, at the bottom of which was a small stream, and when we had forded this we came to the foot of a lofty hill, the face of which was so precipitous as to form a kind of cliff. Up this the path could be traced in a series of zig-zags among projecting bosses of rock and clumps of bushes. I rested at the bottom of the cliff until Annan and the carriers had nearly reached the top, and then commenced the ascent. I was about half-way when, happening to glance up, I perceived Annan standing immediately above me and watching my progress. A few moments later I was startled by a sudden noise overhead, and again looking up, saw a ponderous mass of iron-stone bounding down the cliff straight on to me. I had barely time to seize a branch and swing myself aside before it whizzed by, dislodging in its descent a shower of stones and smaller fragments. When I reached the summit, Annan was nowhere to be seen, and it was some minutes before I overtook him striding along with the carriers down the northern slope of the hill. That he had rolled the rock down on me I had not the faintest doubt, but as there was nothing to be gained by taxing him with it I held my peace.
A little further on we came upon a scene that filled me with joy and hope. In the midst of a small opening by the roadside lay the ashes of a wood fire, still hot and sending up a tiny thread of smoke, and by its side three diminutive huts built of grass and leaves fastened to central upright sticks. The still smouldering ashes told us that the travellers who had encamped here had left but recently and, as we had not met them, they must be travelling in the same direction as ourselves; while the familiar beehive shape of the huts showed that the strangers were not forest people (who always build square shelters) but Hausas or Moslem travellers from the far north.
Our carriers stirred up the embers and laid on them the few remaining plantains to roast for the midday meal, and while this simple cooking was proceeding they sat round the fire and talked earnestly with Annan, taking no notice of me; but I caught the word broni several times, and from this and from occasional glances in my direction I surmised that I was the subject of their conversation.
This debate received a sudden and violent interruption, for in one of the pauses in their conversation there was heard the sound of something moving softly through the underwood behind them. The startled carriers all sprang up together, and instantly the woods rang with a loud explosion and the shriek of scattering slugs, and one of our men leaped into the air with a loud yell and fell to the ground.
A perfect pandemonium followed. Annan and the remaining carriers danced about, screeching and gesticulating like maniacs, while an almost equal hubbub came from the unseen foe. After a time the yells subsided into mere shouting, and I gathered that our people were giving an explanation to their invisible assailants, for they pointed first to the wounded carrier—who lay on the ground groaning, with his hand clapped on to his thigh—and then to me; and the explanation appeared to satisfy the warriors, for presently, as the shouting ceased, we could hear the men moving away through the undergrowth, and a minute later I saw them, nine in number, cross the path at a little distance, each with his long musket muzzle downwards over his shoulder.
They had hardly disappeared when our carriers gathered round me with an angry clamour, and Annan strode up and shook his fist in my face, showing his teeth and gibbering like an excited monkey.
“You dam ogly white nigger!” he shouted. “You make all dis palaver. All dis country people want to kill us cos you come wid us to spy deir country. But you no fit trouble us much more. Soon de hasses pick your bones and den palaver finish.” He spat on the ground, and the carriers, who understood not a word of this excepting that it was abuse of me, groaned in chorus.