Kitabı oku: «With Wolseley to Kumasi: A Tale of the First Ashanti War», sayfa 6
Chapter Six.
Forest Dangers
Two days passed without event as the steam launch made her way up the river Pra, and each day the stream narrowed. Indeed, the expedition was approaching the bifurcation of the river, and so far had not come upon the tributary which they were to ascend.
“We shall know it by two enormous cotton trees, one of which has fallen against the other,” sang out Mr Pepson that evening, as the anchor was dropped, and the trio sat down to their meal. “Remember, two cotton trees, one of which is supported by its fellow. Is that not the description, Meinheer?”
“Good. Id is zad. I have never seen him, bud I know. Meinheer Dick shall hear how I come do find zis place. A native run away to Elmina and draw a map in ze sand wiz his doe. He said, ‘over zere, plendy of gold, and mines close do ze riber.’”
“And you brought the tale to me,” interrupted Mr Pepson, “with the result that we sent an agent, and after getting his report we obtained a concession, and set native gold-diggers to work. That’s the secret of this mine, Dick. It’s so close to the river that one can take machinery there, and the winding gear we have brought, though small, will be sufficient to tell us whether it is worth our while to bring more. Transport is the main difficulty in this country, and if we have a river, why – ”
“Zere is moch gold for all,” burst in Meinheer. “Wid a riber we can reach ze mine and can dake our goods. Zen ze ground is clear. Id is rocky soil, and ze fever is nod gread.”
“Which reminds me. We must take precautions,” said Mr Pepson. “I have brought ample supplies of quinine, and we must take a few grains every day. It is the only thing for an Englishman, or for any white man. But that is not the only precaution we must take against malaria. I have not lived in Sierra Leone all these years, nor travelled in many another fever-haunted country, without learning what to avoid. The cause of the fever is too doubtful for me to attempt to make a statement, but supposing it is the water, as the doctors say, then we must avoid unboiled or unfiltered water; and boiled water is certainly the safest. We must sleep off the ground, clear of the mists, and must choose the highest spot. If the stockade is well posted, all will be right. If not, we will rebuild it. Then there are the mosquitoes. Some, a few only, whose numbers are steadily growing, say that these insects convey the germ of malaria. (This is now an accepted fact.) Very good. We will keep them away as far as possible by the use of curtains at night. Last of all, the man who exercises in the cool of the morning and evening, who avoids the direct rays of the sun at midday, and who eats and drinks lightly, stands a far better chance than does the one who is lazy, and who is apt to indulge too much. Pass the biscuit, Dick, and light up if you care to do so, Meinheer.”
According to their usual custom, a custom suggested by Dick, the launch kept her steam in till darkness had fallen, and then, as soon as the anchor had been hoisted, she ran farther up the river, and put over to the opposite shore. That done, she was anchored again, fires were banked, and the party settled for the night, the watch being taken in turn. On the following day, after half an hour’s run, Meinheer Van Somering gave vent to a shout of delight.
“Mein friends!” he cried, as he danced on the deck till the steamer heeled. “Zose are ze drees. Look you. Two, and one lies on ze ozer. Ah, yes, Meinheeren, and ze riber is zere also. We are proud men do-day!”
“We are lucky, you mean,” answered Mr Pepson. “Who ever heard of an expedition setting off to find a tributary which runs into a river of this size some days’ journey from its outlet, a tributary the mouth of which is hidden almost by jungle, and is marked only by two cotton trees. However, there it is, and now we are but a few miles from the landing-stage. Let’s push on. It’s hot and close here, and the sky is overcast.”
They turned the nose of the launch for the narrow tributary, and steamed slowly into it for there was no saying when they might encounter a sunken bough or some other obstacle. On either hand now were trees, the dense forest, while at the base of this forest grew a network of trailing plants. Every variety of vine was there, and amongst them the one which produces rubber. Yams were seen in abundance, while orchids and other plants hung from the trees in festoons, their blooms illuminating many a dull patch. The banks were composed of slimy ooze and mud, and from these, as the boats trailed past, an occasional loathsome form was seen to waddle, and an alligator splashed into the water.
“Gentlemen to whom it is well to give the right of way,” laughed the leader. “They will do us no harm, but I should be fearful if we were to be upset. Now, how far do we steam?”
“Five or six mile, Meinheer. You will know when we reach ze road, for zere is a liddle place to land. Oh yes, zere is no difficuldy.”
“Then the sooner we reach the place the better,” exclaimed Mr Pepson. “I don’t like the look of the weather. This is hardly the season for rains, but it looks as if we were in for a torrent.”
An hour later a tiny staging was seen on the left bank of the stream, for the river was little more now. Indeed, in most places, the trees actually met overhead, while the dense foliage made the place so dark that dusk might have been falling. But in spite of the shelter obtained from the rays of the sun, the heat was intense. At the point where the staging appeared there was a break in the trees, and, as they drew opposite it, they saw that it had been erected at a point where another stream, a tiny tributary, emerged from the forest. Along its bank there was a path, while its mouth seemed to have been widened.
“All of which shows that we have a thoughtful agent,” said Mr Pepson, as he put the helm over. “Back her, Johnnie. Steady. Ahead a little.”
Very easily and gently the four craft were brought into the tributary, their painters being made fast to the trees which came close to the bank. Then the party landed and looked about them.
“Zis is hod, mein friends,” grunted the Dutchman, as he stood panting in his shirt sleeves. “I do nod wish for zis walk in ze foresd.”
“While I shall be glad to get it over,” said Mr Pepson, with emphasis, casting an eye overhead as he did so. “I tell you we are in for a storm, and that is hardly a pleasant prospect in such a place.”
Dick wondered why, for the mass of the forest which hemmed them in on every side seemed ample to protect them from any harm which might come from a storm. But no doubt his leader had had experience and knew, and at his words he slung his rifle, took a bag of cartridges, and prepared to march. Johnnie, too, leapt to the shore, for there was no longer any need to leave a guard, and within a few minutes the party was en route for the gold-mine.
Almost for the first time in his experience, Dick marched by a forest road, a track cut through the heart of the jungle, and he began to realise what were the difficulties of transport in this remarkable country. For the path was barely wide enough to admit one single man, and the great girth of the Dutchman often brought him into difficulties. It bore signs of having been cut some weeks before, for the marks of knives and hatchets were often to be seen. But in spite of the care taken in clearing it, parts were already practically impassable; for vines and other creepers had grown across it. However, a few sweeps from Mr Pepson’s sword cut them clear, and the party were able to advance. They wound here and there, following the track, which deviated so as to avoid large trees and very thick brush. At times they sank to their knees in marsh land, while on several occasions they leaped or waded across streams quietly trickling through the jungle. It was all very new and very strange, and our hero could have enjoyed it more had it not been for the heat. It was intensely hot and muggy. Not a leaf stirred, and not a sound came to them save the creak of an occasional bough, and the crack of twigs which lay underfoot. Bird and beast life seemed to have departed. Mr Pepson shook his head and hurried on.
“Better reach the open as soon as we can,” he said. “This is no place for a man once the storm breaks. Listen! It is coming.”
The tops of the trees moved while the tangle of leaves rustled. Dick thought he heard an indefinite sound, a distant hum, gradually rising in intensity, but as yet it was so slight that he was uncertain. He halted as Mr Pepson turned round and mopped the perspiration from his face. Then, as he replaced his handkerchief, he looked at his chief and started back. For the leader of the expedition, usually so calm and self-possessed, looked as nearly terrified as Dick imagined it would be possible for him to be. He stared overhead, and stood there listening acutely.
“You hear it?” he asked anxiously. “You hear a moaning sound?”
“I fancy I did a minute or so ago, sir. Wait. Yes. There it is, without a doubt, and it is louder.”
“Id is ze wind, mine frien, I zink,” gasped Meinheer, seating himself on a fallen log.
“The wind! It is the storm. A tornado!” exclaimed Mr Pepson, ominously. “I tell you we are in the greatest danger, and that we must act if we wish to be secure. Look about you, and find a spot where there are very big trees, and numbers of trunks which have fallen.”
He went on all fours and peered into the jungle and up towards the summits of the trees, many of which towered for two hundred feet overhead. And presently, when they had moved on a few yards, Dick’s hand went out and he drew his leader’s attention to a part which seemed to meet his requirements. A glance seemed to satisfy Mr Pepson, for in an instant his sword was out again, and he began to hack a road to the spot with all his strength. There was evidently no time for explanation, that Dick could plainly tell, for the distant hum had now risen to a roar, which seemed much nearer, while the tops of the trees above him rocked and strained in the wind. Then they were still again till another gust caught them. Whatever the danger to be feared, he had known Mr Pepson long enough to be sure that it must be great, else why the haste, why so much anxiety? Whipping out his sword he fell to beside him, and together, with Meinheer following them, his coat over his shoulder, and his handkerchief mopping the perspiration from his face, they fought their way through the jungle till they had reached the spot which Dick had pointed out. And here Mr Pepson threw himself exhausted on the ground, gasping with his exertions, while Dick was glad to sit down. As for Johnnie, he crouched at the foot of a giant cotton tree and cowered there. Dick could see the whites of his eyes, and noticed that he trembled.
“Get in here,” suddenly shouted Mr Pepson. “The very place! It may shelter us.”
He sprang to his feet, and forcing his way through some feet of the tangle, came to a tree of somewhat smaller dimensions as to height, but of enormous girth.
Like all the cotton trees in the forest at that point, the roots of this leviathan barely did more than penetrate the surface of the ground, for it was there that all the moisture lay. Below was a hard stratum which offered opposition, and as a result the roots had spread themselves out over a wide area, while they had risen into the air till there was an archway of large dimensions beneath the tree. Dick had seen the same before, and it had attracted his attention. At Mr Pepson’s shout he tore after him, and presently all four were stretched under the arch. Nor were they a minute too soon, for if there had been a roar before, the noise now was deafening and positively awe-inspiring. The gusts which had up to this caught the tops of the trees seemed now to be concentrated into one enormous blast. The very forest shivered and trembled. The treetops bent and the trunks groaned. Then the storm burst. A sheet of lightning lit up the sky and even penetrated to the forest depths. The roar became even greater, till the volume of sound was positively deafening. And how the trees bent! The one beneath which the party lay trembled and swayed. As Dick’s hand rested on one of the giant roots he could feel it moving under the strain, and wondered whether the huge mass would topple.
Crash! There was a sharp sound as if a cannon of small calibre had been fired, and a mighty tree a few yards away, fractured some feet from its base, came with a thud to the ground. Meinheer hid his face in his hands and groaned, while Johnnie rolled on the ground in terror.
“That was what I feared,” shouted Mr Pepson, now quite calm. “There will be many more before the storm is ended. But I fancy we are safe. They will not always fall so close to us.”
Dick looked out into the jungle, his face calm and grave, though in his heart he felt terribly afraid. For this was something against which one could not battle. The storm would have its way whatever man might do, and to stand there utterly helpless, was trying. All round him he could hear the crash of trees. One fell even closer than the first, and caused him to step backward in alarm, for the mighty trunk was dropping directly towards him, sheering through everything that stood in its way. It lopped the tops from half a dozen cotton trees, and brought two more crashing through the forest with it. Then, as Dick thought that he and his companions must be destroyed, its branches became entangled in those of the tree which sheltered them. Again he felt the vast mass sway. The trunk actually gave out a loud report as if it had cracked. But it was a veteran, and, thanks to its huge girth, was of unusual strength. It stood its ground, and when Dick looked again there was the falling tree held up in midair, with its two victims with it. It was a marvellous escape.
“That is the worst, I should say,” said Mr Pepson, coolly. “It was a narrow shave, I admit, but then I was expecting trouble. We are lucky, I can tell you, and you will realise the fact as we push on again. Ah! here comes the rain. I fancy we may congratulate ourselves.”
They had indeed every cause to be thankful, for their escape had been a narrow one. An hour later, when they emerged from the friendly shelter of the tree and struck out on the path once more, all realised this more fully. For hundreds of giants had fallen. Their trunks lay in every direction, many fantastically supported in mid-air, pillowed on the branches of their fellows.
“That is what one sees all along the coast,” said Mr Pepson, turning his head, “and I am told that some of the caravan routes which pass through this forest toward the interior are often almost completely blocked by fallen trees. It is the weedy youngsters that tumble. They run up swiftly, as straight as a rod, till they overtop the veterans. Then comes a gale, and owing to the nature of the ground and the little hold which their roots give them, they topple over. We’ve had a lesson, Dick. Keep out of forests in future when the wind blows.”
A little later the party emerged into the open, and were delighted to find that there was a very wide clearing, the forest standing back on all sides for more than a mile. And in this space the ground rose steeply, till its crest blotted out the view beyond.
“Rock,” said Meinheer Van Somering, with a chuckle of delight. “Dad was ze report, I zink. We were told dad ze mine was well placed. I agree, Meinheer, for in zis coundry where zere is rock zere is gold.”
At this moment a shout rang out in the silence, and a figure appeared on the crest of the rock.
“Our Dutch agent,” said Mr Pepson. “He is coming down to us, and soon we shall be at the stockade.”
Indeed, within a quarter of an hour the agent had joined them, making his way down the steep rocky hill by a path which was invisible from where they stood.
“Mein word!” exclaimed the Dutchman, as he stared at his agent and watched his agility as he leaped down the steep path. “If zat is ze only way do ze stockade, we shall be dead. Yes, I tell you, we shall die, for who could climb such a blace? Id is too steeb.”
“And happens to be the nearest way,” replied Mr Pepson, reassuringly. “Never fear, Meinheer, there will be an easier way down.”
That the agent was glad to see some white men could not be doubted, for he rushed toward them with a shout, and commenced to greet Meinheer Van Somering volubly. Then he was introduced to the others, and shook hands with an eagerness which showed that for many a week he had had no one there with whom to practise the art.
“Glad to see you, gentlemen,” he cried, in excellent English. “That am I, for it is dull here. When you get to the top I shall show you why. You will see to the right and left trees in one dense mass. To the north and south there is the same. Nothing but trees, and the blue sky overhead. It becomes tiring. But now you are here and I shall have company. Come this way. We can go by the path which I have just followed, or we can skirt round the hill.”
They elected to go by the latter path, for the steep ascent would have been too much for Meinheer. After an hour’s walk they found themselves on the far side of the rocky highland, and there before them lay the stockade, high up on the side of the hill, and within an easy rifle-shot of the forest.
“Trust a man who has been in these forests before to choose the right spot,” said the agent, as he pointed it out. “This is the windward side, and the stockade even under a hot sun is delightfully cool. There is little fever here, and one can cope with it. Mr Dick, you need have no fears for your health. The loneliness is the only thing which will trouble you.”
“I have been thinking about that,” answered Dick, “and I fancy I shall do something to distract my thoughts. Work in the mines or something of the sort. Perhaps help to improve the stockade and make it stronger.”
The agent looked at him in surprise. “Stronger!” he exclaimed. “And why?”
“Because I fancy we might be attacked.”
Our hero felt almost sure that there would be an attempt, for he had not forgotten James Langdon.
“Attack!” he said disdainfully. “The Ashantis will not harm us. They hate these Fanti men, and it is they against whom they war. They are out now with the intention of fighting. Trust King Koffee to keep them away from us, for if we were harmed, what would happen to the payments made to him? As to this fellow, James Langdon, I fancy I have met him. You need not fear him, for he will never come so far. If he is in the service of the king of the Ashantis, he will be on the far bank of the river and miles from here. No, Mr Stapleton, there will be no need to strengthen the post.”
By now they had entered the stockade, and found it to be composed of roughly sawn logs, trimmed with the axe. Here and there a small interval was left for rifles, though it was obvious that the designer of the place expected no trouble. In the centre was a log hut, thatched with long strips of bark, which were pegged down to the timbers beneath. The windows were unglazed, but rough shutters cut from packing boxes were provided.
“Enter, gentlemen,” said the agent, with some signs of pride. “You find yourselves in the salon, the smoking-room, and the bedroom of this house. It is only a rough shanty, sufficient to keep out the heat of the sun, and the rains, when they come.”
“And a fine example of your work,” exclaimed Mr Pepson. “Now, what of the mines? They are close at hand?”
For answer the agent led the way out of the stockade and down the far side of the hill till the party came to the level ground. And here it was seen that a stream flowed, and lost itself a little way on in the forest.
“Everything is nicely within reach,” said the agent. “You will find that the men work in couples, and as there are twelve of them, there are six shafts open. We will go to them.”
They ascended a small rise in front of them, and presently saw some natives working. They were hauling up wooden buckets from the mouths of narrow shafts driven into the ground, and were depositing their contents in a larger receptacle close at hand. At the river-bank Dick noticed a number of troughs of native workmanship, and began to gather the method adopted by the natives in their mining.
“It is all very primitive,” said the agent, “and no doubt we do not abstract all the gold from the soil. A large part gets washed away. Still, considering our methods, we are doing well, and have already a good store of pure metal. Look into one of the shafts. Yes, continue to look till your eyes become accustomed to the darkness down there. That is the man who is working in the tunnel. You can just see his back. He will call out when his bucket is filled, and his friend up here will haul it up. It is slow, but sure, and in time there is a quantity at the top. If the man below comes to harder soil, his friend goes down to the river and washes. If not, he hauls, and at the end of the day the two wash the gold from the soil which they have gathered.”
“But how on earth does the man get down?” asked Dick, for he could see that the hauling tackle was too weak for such a task.
“That again is simplicity itself,” was the reply. “You see that the shaft is barely four feet across. The man carries a kind of narrow spade with which he digs the ground. Well, he places that across the top of the shaft, and lowers his feet till they come to a niche on one wall. There it is. You can see it plainly. With his feet secure he leans back till his shoulders are against the far side of the shaft – in fact, till he is across the cutting in a slanting position. Then he releases the digger and lowers it, placing it in a similar position across the shaft. And so he descends, repeating the movement to the bottom.”
“Primitive, certainly,” agreed Mr Pepson, “and I think it can be improved upon. We have brought hand-winding gear with us, and they will alter matters. The fellow below can lower himself, or get his friend to do so for him. Then the labour of raising the soil will be lightened. That reminds me. We have left our launch and the canoes at the landing-stage. What steps can we take to get our goods here?”
“We will become porters to-morrow,” was the answer. “These Ashanti fellows are good tempered and willing if taken the right way, and you will find that they will undertake the task with pleasure. Leave it to me, sir.”
That night the whole party lay down in the hut within the stockade. On the following day they returned to the river, and with the help of the natives had transferred all their belongings to the hut before darkness fell. But it was a more difficult matter to bring the winding gear through, and almost a week passed before it was in position. By then Dick was beginning to feel that he knew something of the work, and even found that he could make himself understood by the natives.
“I shall have no fears for you when we leave,” said Mr Pepson, one evening as they smoked their pipes outside the hut. “You hit it off well with the natives, and you understand their methods of getting gold. You will store it, check the amounts they obtain, and pay them in gold dust if they require their money. If not, you will show them what they have earned, with the promise that payment will be made at any time. The store of metal you will keep here. Have no fears for it. I don’t believe any one will dare to interfere with you. Now for our movements. I shall wait a little longer till this scalp wound is healed, and then Meinheer, our Dutch agent and I will return to the coast. We shall leave Johnnie and the launch with you, for you will need to send down for stores, and to deposit the gold, and we can return with as much ease by means of one of the boats. Our friend, the agent, tells us that the wind will be set down-stream, and that a sail will carry us to the sea almost as soon as would a propeller. From there to Elmina and Cape Coast Castle is nothing.”
Accordingly, some three weeks later, the party set out, Dick passing with them through the forest to the landing-stage. One by one they shook hands with him and entered the native boat. Meinheer Van Somering swept his hat from his head and gave a deep flourish and bow. Mr Pepson smiled his encouraging smile, while the agent busied himself with the sail.
“Push off!” sang out the leader, and at the shout Dick sent the boat out into the stream. Her head was pointed down towards the river Pra, her sail filled, and within a minute Dick was alone in the forest. His duties had commenced, he was now sole agent for the gold-miners, the only white man in that part of the African forests. He turned on his heel, saw that the launch and the other boats were firmly secured to the bank, and went off with his head in the air, whistling cheerily.
