With Wolseley to Kumasi Part 17

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 d.i.c.k'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. d.i.c.k saw the warriors strike at their comrades with the b.u.t.ts 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 d.i.c.k, 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! d.i.c.k's rifle broke the stillness which had followed the shout, and the man who had just knelt crumpled into a ma.s.s, 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 d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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!"

d.i.c.k 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 subst.i.tute. 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 b.u.t.t 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 d.i.c.k held the post the bar was pushed into the socket.

"Hab um now! Get over oder side plenty quick. Put um over, ma.s.sa."

d.i.c.k 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 ma.s.sa do? He not crouch. Plenty ob cover for Johnnie, but what about ma.s.sa?" But d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 pa.s.sed, 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k. "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 d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k heard the sc.r.a.ping as the native boat pa.s.sed 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 d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k'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?"