lashman and the Golden Sword

by Robert Brightwell

  “We might as well abandon the territory now,” said Rickets hotly.

  Sutherland turned on him angrily, “Thanks to you building batteries around the towers,” he snapped, “we could see our ships being driven away by our own guns.”

  I glared at Rickets to shut him up and held up a hand for calm. Perhaps being a coward myself, I can sense it in others and I knew Sutherland was afraid. He had found himself reluctantly in command of an impossible situation that he did not really understand. He was seeking whatever security he could find. The stout walls of the castle gave him more reassurance than an exposed muddy hillside. He felt he had to show the authority of his rank, but he must have been all too aware that old Africa hands like Chisholm and Rickets knew far more about the territory than he did. Butting heads with him would not work. I had to play on his insecurities.

  “I am sure that you remember from our days together on the peninsula, Colonel,” I began, “that Wellington never liked his forces holed up in a fortress. He preferred to have the freedom to manoeuvre.” I was playing the ‘old comrade’ card first, reminding him of a campaign in which he had more experience than most of those around the table.

  “Indeed,” agreed Sutherland, watching me warily.

  “The Ashanti are used to fighting jungle ambushes,” I continued, “but as you will have seen, we have cleared a wide expanse across our front to force them to meet us more on our terms. We have built a range of batteries with crossing fields of fire and tried to anticipate what moves they will make when their initial attacks falter.” As I spoke, I pointed them out on the map. “You are our commanding general here, sir.” I flattered the fool with a promotion and then with a comparison that I knew he would appreciate. “Like our mentor, the duke, you will see that your forces are also making full use of the surrounding hills. We must have stood together on the same hillsides in Spain and I am sure you will recall that it invariably resulted in victory.”

  “Hmmm.” A grunt from our gallant commander was the only result from this blatant flattery, although I noticed that the edges of Chisholm’s mouth were twitching upwards as he tried to suppress a smile. Sutherland must have seen a fair degree of toadying in his career, enough to recognise my efforts, anyway. He was still unconvinced, but I had not finished yet.

  “I am certain, sir, that our outer lines of defence give us the best chance of stopping the enemy,” I continued. “But if we fail, I would suggest that we conduct a fighting retreat to the boats. We should not try to hold them at the castle.” For once I was speaking with an honest conviction, for while I fully intended to be one of the first to climb aboard a boat, I could not see how the rest of them could hope to hold the castle for long.

  “Flashman,” admonished Chisholm. “The castle is to be our second line of defence.”

  “I know, but if you think about it, I don’t see how it will work.” I pointed at the map, “If that prisoner is right, they have more than three times our number. Even if we killed half of them with our first line, they would have more than enough to lock us up tight here. We would never be able to break out again and drive them back. The best we could hope for is a fighting withdrawal to the boats. So it makes sense not to retreat into the castle at all.”

  “But the walls are thick and we have plenty of stores,” protested Rickets. “We could wait them out.”

  “We have enough stores for the garrison,” I shot back. “But not for all the sailors and say half of our native allies that might make it back to the castle, never mind the families they brought with them and the rest of the town that will seek shelter behind our walls. I doubt we could survive a week and we would be so densely packed that the fever would spread like wildfire.” There was silence as they all considered this. A minute earlier Sutherland had been advocating just the course of action I was now criticising. He glared at me with suspicion; he clearly did not like his commands being questioned. He probably thought that some of the other officers such as Chisholm and Rickets would support him, but I doubted he could see a flaw in my assessment. One of the naval officers spoke in my favour.

  “It will be bad enough to lose my guns, but to lose most of the gunners too would be intolerable. I will certainly want my men lifted off the beach. We can come in close and provide some covering fire from the few guns we have left, but it will be a bloody business if you leave it too long.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sutherland as he rubbed his chin again. He stared vacantly at the map, like a drunk seeking inspiration from his tankard. He just needed one more push to help him make the right decision and I had my ace card to play.

  “I know you will always put duty above your own personal safety, sir,” I said quietly, “but were you to die here, it would do immeasurable damage to our reputation in this region.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Sutherland.

  “You heard how Governor McCarthy died?” I probed.

  “He was beheaded,” replied Sutherland briskly. “A most unpleasant business. I hear that they still have his skull and that the Ashanti king has boasted of using it as a drinking cup.” He paused as he tried to follow my line of thought. “Are you saying,” he added more quietly, “that they might… er… do the same with me?”

  “I am afraid he did not die from the beheading,” I answered. “That came later. They thought that McCarthy was a brave and honourable adversary, as I am sure they would you if you were to lead our defence. Consequently, when he fell, one of their chiefs cut open the governor’s chest and pulled out his still beating heart. Mr Williams witnessed it and I was on the scene moments later. The chief ate the heart raw, I saw him just afterwards with the blood still dripping from his chin. Then the body was beheaded, but the rest of his corpse was not spared. It was divided up as keepsakes of the battle. Ashanti warriors wear pieces of his bones around their necks or in their ammunition pouches and believe that they imbue some of McCarthy’s courage. Right now, I suspect that most of Governor McCarthy’s body is no more than three miles away, but probably in at least a hundred pieces.”

  In truth I did not know if McCarthy was dead or headless when his heart was removed, but it did not matter. Sutherland’s face had turned ashen as I told him of his predecessor’s fate. Malala had told me how various parts of the governor’s body had been divided up among their soldiers. I had even seen what looked like a small square of leather, but which was said to have been a piece of his dried skin.

  “That is unspeakably barbaric,” gasped Sutherland at last and there were murmurs of shocked agreement from others around the table.

  “Quite so, sir,” I agreed. “But having McCarthy’s remains seems to have given the Ashanti more audacity to attack us. I understand that they have not been this close to the castle in many years.” Chisholm nodded his agreement. “If they were to kill another brave senior British officer then this would only embolden them further. Who knows where that might lead?”

  I stopped talking then for I was not sure that Sutherland was still listening. His mind seemed frozen around the possibility that his living heart could be wrenched from his chest and that his mortal remains might end up as a collection of native beads. He stepped back a couple of paces, unsteady on his feet. For a moment I thought he might faint but then he recovered himself and at last spoke with some resolve. “On reflection I think Mr Flashman is right. We will maintain the first line of defence and if that fails, we will fall back on the boats.”

  Chapter 26

  “You are a cunning devil, Flashman,” said Chisholm with a smile. “You played our commanding general like a trout yesterday. Giving him some line and letting him think he was winning, before reeling him in.

  “I wasn’t wrong about holding this castle, though,” I replied. We were standing on the battlements and while I think Chisholm had been annoyed with me at the military council meeting, now there was little doubt that my advice had been good.

  That morning the observation tower had signalled that the Ashanti were right up to us; we h
ad even heard a crackle of musketry from around the tower itself. Others swore that they had seen enemy troops moving at the edge of the forest and thick plumes of smoke marked where two of the nearest villages were being put to the torch. The effect on the populace living around the castle had been dramatic, and every man, woman and child not already in service had pressed to get within its walls.

  Sutherland had refused to open the main gate, in case it was rushed by Ashanti spies, he said. Instead only the small wicket gate was used, allowing just one person at a time to enter. The colonel had insisted that two sentries be posted to inspect the entrants – as though Ashanti spies wore some kind of uniform. I had already seen Jasmina, her father and some of her other relatives come through, but there was still a large crowd of several hundred outside. Many of them were wailing and screaming as though enemy hordes were already charging along the beach. I did not doubt that some of the elderly and children would be wounded in the crush at the gates, but the situation was little better inside.

  Chisholm had visited the Bracegirdles and insisted that they come to the castle. The reverend had claimed he was too ill to be moved and certainly he would not have been able to queue with the others. But the major had got some of the sailors to rig a boom over the walls and he was hauled up, still lying in his bed. Eliza was pulled up after him in a bosun’s chair.

  There was little more than standing room in the main courtyards and the old slave dungeons had been reluctantly pressed back into service to give people more room. Despite this, we would be chock full when the last of those outside were through the gate.

  “Yes,” agreed Chisholm, “you were right. I hope that many of this lot brought food with them,” he said gesturing to the sea of humanity in the yard below. “Yet I doubt that we can hold out for much more than a week. Sutherland was up here earlier and I admitted to him that I thought your advice was sound. I think even he could see the sense in it when he saw the crowd outside the gate.”

  “Then it is probably the first bit of sense he has seen in a while,” I grumbled. “The bloody fool will get us all killed if we are not careful.”

  He laughed and added, “Thanks to you I think we could soon be left to manage things ourselves. What you told him yesterday about McCarthy seems to be playing on our general’s mind. He told me that he would leave me in command of our defence as I had more experience of this coast and its people.”

  “More likely he does not think we can win and wants someone else to take the blame. That and the fact that he does not want bits of him hanging around the Ashanti king’s neck.”

  “Well now you mention it, having seen how crowded we are here, he does believe that it would be better for him to observe proceedings from the deck of his brig. He claims that he will be better placed to manage the evacuation if necessary. Ah, speak of the devil, where is he now?”

  We had heard Sutherland’s voice shouting over the babble in the courtyard but staring around there was no sign of him.

  “Major Chisholm, down here!” The voice was coming from outside the castle. Taking a step to the battlements, I looked down and saw the colonel standing next to one of the huts in the village. “Chisholm, I told you to have some men demolish these two huts, they are too close to the castle walls.”

  “But… well I thought that as we were no longer defending the castle, it would not be necessary. Chisholm shot me a glance, clearly confused now as to whether the colonel had changed his mind again.

  “When I give an order, Major, I expect it to be obeyed. Now get these huts demolished.”

  “It will take some time, sir. The men have been hard at work all morning preparing for an attack and those walls are over a foot thick of dried hard mud.

  “Nonsense, man, it is a matter of a few minutes.” With that, Sutherland started to pull at the thatch of the nearest hut until he was holding a large handful.

  “Is he planning to pull the bloody thing down by himself?” I whispered as the colonel strode inside the dwelling.

  “Perhaps the strain is getting to him,” suggested Chisholm. I just hope he does not change his mind about letting us command the defence.”

  “If he does, I will come up with some tales to frighten the living daylights out of him,” I promised. “Hello, what is that? Smoke?”

  We watched as the first tendrils wafted out of the hut door, followed by Sutherland, now carrying a burning torch made from his bundle of roof thatch. “There, how hard was that?” he shot up at us before marching resolutely on to the second hut.

  Chisholm opened his mouth to shout a warning, but I stopped him. “Don’t bother, you will only anger him again and it is too late now.” Already we could hear the crackle of flames from the nearest hut and see more wisps of smoke emerging from the thatch. Sutherland had been standing in the lee of the castle walls, where there was no wind. But from the battlements we could feel a strong breeze at our backs. The top layers of thatch were damp from the recent rains but underneath they were bone dry and the fire took easily. Sutherland came out of the second dwelling and stood back to admire his handiwork. The first flicker of flame was already showing through the roof of the first hut now and thick clouds of smoke were billowing from the door. I could hear shouts of alarm from the townspeople in the courtyard behind me as they saw the thick column of smoke appear over the battlements. The colonel turned towards the beach, apparently satisfied with a job well done, and did not see the first smouldering pieces of thatch getting caught in the wind and blown over the rest of the town.

  I will say one positive thing about Colonel Sutherland: when he wrote later to Lord Bathurst in the government to describe all the happenings at Cape Coast Castle, he at least admitted that he was responsible for burning down the town. He claimed that just the thatch burned and many of the contents of the huts survived, which may have been true of the mud-walled buildings. Other structures, though, such as the church and the Bracegirdle’s cottage beside it, were burnt to the ground. The fire caused considerable panic, not only in the castle as the inhabitants of the town realised it was being put to the flame, but also in the surrounding hill encampments. Many thought that the Ashanti had somehow got behind them and were responsible. Warriors, sailors and soldiers rushed back down the hill to either counter attack or make for the boats. If the enemy had chosen that moment to attack, they would have beaten us easily. Instead, they must have been staring curiously at the coast and wondering what on earth had possessed us to burn down our own town.

  Once we had the men back in their places we watched anxiously for any sign of an assault, but there was nothing. All we saw were a few fleeting figures at the forest edge. That evening I returned to the castle. Everyone was adamant that the Ashanti would not attack at night and so only a light guard was left. Sitting around the mess table, Rickets announced that the latest of the prisoners captured by Dinkera had revealed that the Ashanti king was joining his army to see our destruction for himself. The enemy had formed a huge camp half a mile into the forest, where they waited for their monarch to join them. They sent out large patrols though and some of Dinkera’s men only narrowly escaped capture.

  It rained heavily again that night. I at least was comfortable in my room, but it was hard to sleep with the wailing of the refugees outside. When I got up the next morning and left my quarters, I had to step over dozens of bodies trying to sleep on the damp stone. Every available flat piece of space was taken, and some had even managed to get up on the battlements. I remember passing a whole family hunched, wet and miserable on the steps down to the courtyard. The place stank too; the few latrines we had were hopelessly overwhelmed and people did not want to leave whatever space they had found, even if that meant fouling it. I was glad to get out of the castle gates and up the muddy hill to my tower.

  That day passed and then another with nothing happening. After two days of living in the hellish interior of the castle, a few had decided to take their chances in the town and some were even trying to rebuild or at least re
-roof their homes. Others tried to head east along the coast, but most of those came back a few hours later as the Ashanti had now encircled us and were capturing those trying to get away. It was too late to escape by land, but the enemy showed no sign of wanting to bring our ordeal to an end. I guessed that their king had not yet arrived but if he did not come soon, I feared Mother Nature might do his grim work for him.

  Fever deaths were increasing; instead of individual graves a large trench was dug, which was extended each day by a few more yards, the spoil covering some fresh bodies. The stench in the fort was appalling and O’Hara warned me not to drink any of the castle water, even if purified with his tonic.

  “There is shit all over the place,” he complained, “and when it rains the muck gets washed into the water tanks. We can boil it, but it still tastes bad.”

  “What the hell are we supposed to drink, then?” I asked.

  “I’ve left an open barrel out where I keep the still, with a piece of canvas nailed to it to collect rainwater. I’ll get our water from there, mixed with tonic, of course.”

  God knows whether some vengeful local pissed in his barrel, or if I caught it some other way, but over the next day or so I came down with the fever myself. It had been the thing I most feared ever since I had heard of the dreaded fever season, but at least for me it did not turn out to be fatal. It was similar to what I had suffered in the general’s yard in Coomassie. This time, though, instead of a silent maid, I had a noisy Irishman looking after me. O’Hara was convinced that I had fallen ill because I had not drunk enough of his vile potion and so he did his utmost to remedy this at every hour of the day. His latest batch was the most incendiary yet. As it seared its way through my insides I was by no means certain whether it was killing or curing me. On one occasion I used a silver spoon to stir in some fruit juice to disguise its taste and I noticed that it took all the tarnish off the spoon!