“Yes,” Frank replied. “And there are cannon on the top, those great black things you see sticking out. Those are guns, and each carries balls enough to kill a hundred men with each shot.” The general looked for some time attentively. “But you have castles in the white men's country, how do you take them?” “We bring a great many cannon throwing balls of iron as big as my head,” Frank answered, “and so knock a great hole in the wall and then rush in.” “But if there are no cannon?” the general urged. “We never attack a castle without cannon,” Frank said. “But if we had no cannon we might try to starve the people out; but you cannot do that here, because they would land food from the sea.” The general looked puzzled. “Why do the white men come here? “They come to trade,” he said presently. “Yes, they come to trade,” Frank replied. “And they have no other reason?” “No,” Frank said. “They do not want to take land, because the white man cannot work in so hot a climate.” “Then if he could not trade he would go away?” the general asked. “Yes,” Frank agreed, “if he could do no trade it would be no use remaining here.” “We will let him do no trade,” the general said, brightening up. “If we cannot take the forts we will surround them closely, and no trade can come in and out. Then the white man will have to go away. As to the Fantis we will destroy them, and the white men will have no one to fight for them.” “But there are white troops,” Frank said. “White soldiers?” the Ashanti asked surprised. “I thought it was only black soldiers that fought for the whites. The whites are few, they are traders.” “The English are many,” Frank said earnestly. “For every man that the King of Ashanti could send to fight, England could send ten. There are white soldiers, numbers of them, but they are not sent here. They are kept at home to fight other white nations, the French and the Dutch and the Danes, and many others, just as the kings of Africa fight against each other. They are not sent here because the climate kills the whites, so to guard the white traders here we hire black soldiers; but, when it is known in England that the King of Ashanti is fighting against our forts, they will send white troops.” Ammon Quatia was thoughtful for some time. “If they come,” he said at length, “the fevers will kill them. The white man cannot live in the swamps. Your friend, the white guest of the king, died at Coomassie.” “Yes,” Frank asserted, “but he had been nearly a year in the country before he died. Three weeks will be enough for an English army to march from Cape Coast to Coomassie. A few might die, but most of them would get there.” “Coomassie!” the general exclaimed in surprise. “The white men would be mad to think of marching against the city of the great king. We should make great fetish, and they would all die when they had crossed the river.”