We passed the first village an hour after dawn. It was full of women and children who stared curiously at us until the guides explained who we were. I was puzzled at the absence of men until I realised that they were all down at the beach behind us. Once McCarthy had been introduced, the families left behind by the warriors made a big show of welcome and ensured that we had a good breakfast before we moved on. We passed two more villages before noon and at each we were welcomed, again just by old men, women and children. I had thought that we were moving at a cracking pace given the terrain and the climate, but by early afternoon we began to be overhauled by some of Appea’s porters who had been sent on ahead of the army to set up the next camp. I puffed and sweated through exertion and the increasing jungle heat and humidity while these hardy fellows grinned at us as they swept by on long, languid limbs. They each had huge bundles, often balanced on their heads, but did not seem remotely fatigued compared to us – my burden was merely a stick with which to beat back the undergrowth.
Before we made camp that evening, we were also overtaken by the front ranks of the army, who were cutting a wider path to help those behind. The practical difficulties of moving an army of several thousand men through a jungle were astonishing. By the time we reached the village and fields that were to be our camp, the vast majority of the army were still on the track behind us. Many must have spent the night on the trail as they were still pouring into the camp at dawn the next day. Organisation of the bivouac was chaotic, with people arguing over where they should camp and which chief should go where. Things were not helped by torrential rain, which quickly turned much of the area into liquid mud. King Appea and his comely translator must have arrived in the camp after the storm hit, for we did not see either of them that evening.
McCarthy and I, along with Rickets and Williams, who had caught us up with the small British contingent, were fortunate to be lodged in one of the village huts. As the storm lashed the grass roof we tucked into a stew of bushmeat and something called macaroni. This latter substance is, as best I could tell, a paste made with eggs and flour. It is then cut into small shapes and dried before being packed in barrels. Everything you want to keep dry must be stored in barrels or it will become damp and rot. This macaroni was a popular campaign food as it was relatively light to carry, but once added to a stew it expanded and was quite filling – if a little gritty on occasions.
For me at least, the first day’s march had been relatively pleasant if a little tiring. But the second day was anything but enjoyable. Early the next morning McCarthy was keen to press on again. Rickets and Williams wanted to come with us and bring with them the few British soldiers and bearers we had. This delayed our departure until well after dawn. By then the path was already packed with porters and warriors from the other tribes. After the recent rain, the track was soon a quagmire – I slipped and fell on my arse twice in the first mile – and then we encountered a stretch that saw us wading through water up to our knees.
We staggered into the next camp late that afternoon, cut, bruised and exhausted. Rickets and I spent an unpleasant half hour using blades to scrape leeches off each other’s bodies; I must have had at least a dozen on me, including one in my ear that was hard to remove. McCarthy, though, despite being nearly twenty years my senior was soon back in an ebullient mood. He was cheered by several chieftains of the Assin tribe who were waiting to meet him. They had traditionally been allies of the Ashanti, but these men were asking to join McCarthy’s alliance. It was a clear sign that the local balance of power was tipping in his favour.
The following morning we set off early again for the town of Donquah. I was soon feeling thoroughly miserable, not least because I fell and twisted my ankle on the way. The ‘champion’ of the British forces finally arrived in Donquah carried on a canvas seat, stretched between two poles, which were borne by four natives. My spirits rose, though, when I saw the place, for compared to the villages we had seen en route it was a very pleasant settlement. The main street was some sixty feet wide with a row of trees down the centre to afford shade. On either side were substantial dwellings, some two-storey, built with wooden beams, wattle and daub walls and thick thatched roofs. Some of the houses were even whitewashed. It looked like an Elizabethan village transported into the jungle. When McCarthy talked about moving on in the morning, I put my foot gingerly down and insisted that I would go no further.
“Leave me here,” I said wincing at the pain. “I will only slow you down and my ankle needs a few days of rest to recover.”
“If you are sure,” agreed McCarthy. “I will send a runner to Cape Coast Castle to let them know you are here if a ship arrives. They can always carry you to the coast if your leg has not healed.”
“Thank you. Where will you go now?”
“Well there are a few more chiefs I want to see. Then I may go back to the castle myself to check the army is ready to advance before coming back.” The man seemed to have boundless energy.
I found a room in one of the largest houses with a decent bed, a roof that did not leak and no leaches in sight. There I was content to rest. After the best night’s sleep I had enjoyed in days, I got up to watch through the window as McCarthy, Rickets, Williams and the few soldiers with them marched off down the next jungle track. The governor was wearing his habitual, distinctive yellow waistcoat and he fussed up and down the column checking men and supplies like an anxious bee guarding his honey. It was a relief to see them go and leave me to enjoy some well-earned relaxation.
It wasn’t exactly peaceful, however, for as I sat on the balcony that morning, hundreds if not thousands of men trudged past me on the street through the town. They still had the energy to blow into blaring trumpets, beat drums and make a heck of a din as they paused in their journey to seek out their fellows. Towards the end of the afternoon the sudden appearance of men bearing golden swords indicated the imminent arrival of Appea and, of more interest to me, of his woman of the foreign tongues. I leaned eagerly over the rail as a procession of palanquins approached. The king waved cheerily when he saw me but did not stop – his bearers carried him straight off down the next path. Behind him came his captains of war and then at last came my beauty, with that great hulk of a champion walking alongside. I waved and was rewarded with a sultry smile before she leaned forward and instructed her bearers to lower her to the ground in front of me.
“Can I offer you some refreshment?” I offered, gesturing to a pot of the local coffee.
“That would be most kind,” she purred as she walked up the steps towards me. The smile was still there, but there was a calculating look too. She moved with a feline grace and I could not shake the impression that she was surveying me as a cat would a mouse. Following behind her came the champion, the boards creaking under his weight until he stood behind the chair I had set for her. “Don’t mind him,” my guest gestured over her shoulder. “He is as dumb as an ox and will not understand a word we are saying.”
I gazed up at the champion, who regarded me through eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, as though he could guess my intentions. I did not think he was dumb at all. I poured them both coffee, although the cup looked like a thimble in the giant man’s hand. “I am glad to see you again,” I continued, “although your bodyguard looks set to stop us getting as intimately acquainted as I would like.”
She smiled. “There is no time for that as I will have to catch up with the king soon. We will have to travel faster than we did this morning.” She looked down at her bearers, who were wearily flexing their shoulders now they were relieved of their burden. She shouted a harsh command in their language and one of them doubled off to the well with a bowl to fetch water. She turned back and surveyed me over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of the dark liquid. “Is the governor far ahead of us?” she enquired. I told her that he had left early that morning and then shared what little I knew of his itinerary. “Where do you think he will go once he has gathered his army from Cape Coast Castle?” she asked.
“I have no idea, I hope to be long gone by then.” I looked at her curiously, “Has he not discussed his intentions with King Appea, then?”
“Yes of course, but not every detail has been agreed yet.” She changed the subject, “I hear you are going home on the first ship heading north. I have always wanted to go to London and Paris. Have you been to those cities? What are they like?”
“They are huge and very crowded,” I told her. “Much colder than here and there is no fever season, although we do occasionally have outbreaks of cholera and other diseases.”
“But what of the people; how are they dressed and are there black people there?”
I laughed, “The ladies wear long dresses and the men wear much as I do now but with waistcoats and overcoats to keep them warm. Everyone wears hats outside.” I thought back, “There are a few black people in both cities, more I think in London than Paris. A handful are gentlemen, writers mostly, although my friend Cochrane told me of a black chap he admired called Perkins, who made post captain in our navy. Others are servants, but some are former sailors or soldiers. There were a few in the army I fought with in Spain.”
“And the buildings, do they have streets as grand as this?” she asked gesturing to the broad thoroughfare before us.
I chuckled and put a coffee bean from a pot on the table down next to her cup. “In London,” I told her, “there is a building bigger than this house to the same scale as your cup is to that bean.”
“That is impossible,” she gasped. “Even the Ashanti do not have buildings that big, at least so I have heard. And anyway, no one would dare to go to the top of it, for it would be bound to collapse.”
“St Pauls is made of stone and it has already stood for a hundred and fifty years. It has a domed top, almost as beautiful as those domes you are hiding from me. But if you lay on the floor directly under it and could walk upwards into the air, you could go a hundred paces and still not touch the top.” She was silent then as she tried to imagine it. Her lips parted in wonder. I looked up at the Hercules standing beside her, but he was clearly bored with us and staring out across the street. “Why don’t you lose your companion and we could go inside and talk more about domes,” I suggested.
She grinned. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Appea ordered his champion to protect me and he takes his responsibility very seriously. If he caught us, it would end badly for you.”
At the mention of the word ‘champion,’ her companion looked around. He clearly was not as dumb as she suggested, for he understood some words. He gave me a stern glare and put a proprietary hand on the girl’s shoulder.
The pair of them left a few minutes later. Normally I would have felt a pang of longing at letting such a prime piece escape, but that time it was almost a relief. Perhaps I was just grateful to have escaped a mauling by a jealous Hercules, or having spent time recently with Eliza, there was no great sense of frustration. But I think it was more than that. Looking back with the hindsight of what followed, I cannot be sure, but I think even then there was something about the lady of tongues that I did not entirely trust.
Chapter 9
I spent Christmas day, 1823 in Donquah. I remember it well as two local merchants, one black and one white, invited me to a festive dinner at one of their homes to celebrate. It was a rather disturbing affair, not least because they served roast monkey instead of the goose I was used to. Skinned and gutted, the animal resembled a long-limbed child and did nothing for my appetite. My companions were in a melancholy mood too as they claimed that their town was in decline. It had previously been on one of the main routes to the coast for slave traders. They boasted that in the past they had runners in all of the main ports, who would tell them quickly of changes in prices, which in turn was dependent on whether they had ships to fill. Cargoes would then be directed to the British, Dutch, Swedish or Danish slave castles nearby to get the best return.
While they professed to be Christians, their attitude was very different to that of the Reverend Bracegirdle. They had little empathy for their human merchandise. They pointed out that there had been slaves in Africa since the days of the Pharaohs and probably before that too. Many of the local tribes had slaves of their own and there was still a demand for them in the Americas. Even though the trade had been banned by the British for fifteen years and by the Dutch for eight, they were still resentful of their fall in income. The town had been prosperous, enabling the merchants to build their large houses, but now the little ivory and other goods from the interior gave them mean pickings.
“What about the gold?” I asked. “This area is called the Gold Coast; surely there should be ore to trade that would make you a profit?”
“The mines are all in Ashanti territory,” explained one. “Their king controls the trade and the mines. He must be immensely rich, but they only spend the gold on what they need. They do not allow other merchants to have a stake in their gold.” He explained that originally Europeans had come to this coast for the gold, not slaves, as they arrived long before plantations were established in America and the Caribbean. But the Ashanti and other tribes knew the value of the metal as they had been trading for generations with Arabs to the north. They were not going to hand over ingots in exchange for a few glass beads and, moreover, they drove hard bargains for trade goods. “That is why the Ashanti are as well armed as you British,” explained the merchant, “and why no European soldiers have been able to get anywhere near their mines. I doubt that many white men have even seen them.”
The more I heard about the Ashanti, the less I liked the sound of them. I was content to keep a low profile and out of the way in Donquah, while McCarthy charged about the country organising his forces. I was quietly hoping that he would forget about me entirely. With Appea and the other warriors gone, the place was quiet and tranquil and my ankle soon recovered. We got word that the governor was back in Cape Coast Castle, which further convinced me to stay where I was.
After nearly two weeks my period of rest was rudely interrupted by the arrival of more soldiers. They were led by Chisholm, borne aloft in a rudimentary sedan chair, and I noticed that they did not arrive on the path that I was told led directly to the castle, so heaven knows what circuitous route they had taken. He had with him the bulk of the Royal African Corps, some six hundred men and at least another thousand local warriors. O’Hara was in the ranks and looking none too happy about it.
“He got us lost twice on the way here,” he grumbled of his commander. “I am surprised he can find his cock to take a piss.” He gestured to the wide path that Appea’s army had cut through the jungle a fortnight before, “At least now we are here, we will have a good trail that even he can follow.”
“Are you joining Appea, then?” I asked.
“Aye, that is the plan. The governor has split the army so that we can travel faster through the jungle. We will be going the furthest north on our route. As they reckon that we are the most likely to be attacked, we will have the strongest force. There should be nearly four thousand of us once we catch up with Appea.”
I remembered that each one of the dozen Ashanti defensive divisions that Appea had heard about was only around a thousand men. The odds were in our soldiers’ favour, but I was glad that I was not going with them.
“Ah, Flashman, I wondered where you had got to.” I looked up and saw Chisholm striding towards us. He was looking pleased with himself as he added, “It is good to see the army finally on the move, eh?”
“I gather your part is the most likely to see action,” I said nodding at O’Hara as my source.
“Oh the governor is still confident that they will not attack. In fact, we are hearing rumours that at least one of their army chiefs is thinking of bringing his warriors over to us. They have heard how some of their former allies have joined our ranks. No,” he concluded, “I don’t think we will have much to worry about. The army is travelling in four separate columns and once we join Appea, I will lead us to our rendezvo
us point, a town on the edge of Ashanti territory.” Over his shoulder I saw O’Hara roll his eyes at the thought of more navigation from Chisholm, but I was sure Appea would have reliable guides to get them there. “Once we are all together,” continued the major, “we will have over twelve thousand men, which we think is more than the entire Ashanti army. The governor says he wants a show of strength to put these rogues in their place.”
“Well it is a shame I cannot join you,” I lied, “but I have orders to remain here until I get new instructions from the governor.” For a ghastly moment I had a sudden horror that Chisholm would produce new orders for me, but he did no such thing.
“Well then, I will see you at the rendezvous,” he declared confidently, “unless your ship arrives first.” I wished them well and as I watched them all march off down the path, I felt a surge of relief. For once a war was happening without me… and it felt marvellous. Major Laing was somewhere to the northeast with a force of over two thousand, and elsewhere there was yet another army of over six thousand, including some of the less reliable natives. They were all busy hacking their way through jungles, risking ambush and death, while T Flashman Esquire sat peacefully on his balcony drinking tea and waiting for news of a homebound ship.
There were no more messages from Cape Coast Castle and as the days passed, the hope that I had been forgotten by McCarthy began to grow. I would wait until we had news that he had marched without me and then I would return to the castle. With most of the garrison out of the way, it would be much easier to arrange liaisons with Eliza while I waited for a sail on the horizon. Then a week after I had seen Chisholm, a young ensign with around fifty men arrived in the town. It was Wetherell, the lad who had welcomed me to the castle when I had first arrived with Fenwick. This time his party included a dozen soldiers from the regiment, a score of native soldiers and a similar number of bearers. They were all under orders to escort me to a place called Assamacow, where I was to be reunited with McCarthy. My heart sank at the news; I had not been forgotten after all. The disappointment must have shown on my face but Wetherell, who had evidently heard the tales of my earlier exploits, misunderstood.
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