“No,” Ammon Quatia repeated exultingly. “When they are beyond the shelter of their ships they are no good whatever. We will kill them all.” The wet season had now set in, in earnest, and the suffering of the Ashantis were very great. Accustomed as many of them were to high lying lands free of trees, the miasma from the swamps was well nigh as fatal to them as it would be to Europeans. Thousands died, and many of the rest were worn by fever to mere shadows. “Do you think,” Ammon Quatia said to Frank one day, “that it is possible to blow up a whole town with powder?” “It would be possible if there were powder enough,” Frank said, wondering what could be the motive of the question. “They say that the English have put powder in holes all over Cape Coast, and my people are afraid to go. The guns of the fort could not shoot over the whole town, and there are few white soldiers there; but my men fear to be blown up in the air.” “Yes,” Frank said gravely. “The danger might be great. It is better that the Ashantis should keep away from the town. But if the fever goes on as at present the army will melt away.” “Ten thousand more men are coming down when the rains are over. The king says that something must be done. There is talk in the English forts that more white troops are coming out from England. If this is so I shall not attack the towns, but shall wait for them to come into the woods for me. Then you will see.” “Do they say there are many troops?” Frank asked anxiously. “No; they say only some white officers, but this is foolishness. What could white officers do without soldiers? As for the Fantis they are cowards, they are only good to carry burdens and to hoe the ground. They are women and not men.” During this time, when the damp rose so thick and steaming that everything was saturated with it, Frank had a very sharp attack of fever, and was for a fortnight, just after the repulse of the attack on Elmina, completely prostrated. Such an attack would at his first landing have carried him off, but he was now getting acclimatized, and his supply of quinine was abundant. With its aid he saved a great many lives among the Ashantis, and many little presents in the way of fruit and birds did he receive from his patients. “I wish I could let you go,” the general said to him one day. “You are a good white man, and my soldiers love you for the pains you take going amongst them when they are sick, and giving them the medicine of the whites. But I dare not do it. As you know when the king is wroth the greatest tremble, and I dare not tell the king that I have let you go. Were it otherwise I would gladly do so. I have written to the king telling him that you have saved the lives of many here. It may be that he will order you to be released.” CHAPTER XIX: THE TIDE TURNED