However, the royal patience, which had never been strung out to such a
length before, reached its breaking strain that day at Malla-Nulla
under circumstances already recorded, and what the King could not
obtain by this new diplomacy he very naturally made up his mind to get
hold of by methods which were more native to his experience.
Being moreover a strategist with a good deal of sound elementary skill,
he did not give the enemy time to bring in reinforcements after the
first news of danger. Kwaka's embassy was a reconnoitring expedition
as much as anything, and the detail that the brazen Kwaka should be
scared out of his seven senses by the man whose red head the King had
already ordered for a palace ornament, was a small thing which stood
beyond his calculation. A force of 500 picked men lay in bivouac a
bare five miles inland from the factory; the ju-ju signs on the bush
roads protected these from all espionage; and when night fell, a ju-ju
man who was the King's special envoy performed a ceremony which he
said, and which they understood, granted the soldiers a special
dispensation against those ghosts which all West African natives know
haunt the darkness. So they advanced to the attack through the gloom
of the steaming forest shades, those of them who were pagans with high
spirit and fine hopes of loot, and those of them who were Moslemin
filled with a vague fear which they gleaned from Kwaka's hints.
Now Carter did not fall into the usual Englishman's trick of despising
his enemy. Indeed he had that figure of 20,000 fighting men firmly
lodged in his head, and short of the opportune arrival of a British
gunboat, expected sooner or later a furious fight. But he reckoned
that Kwaka would have to go back to Okky City with his report, and
afterwards return from thence with an attacking force; and he counted
also on the African's fear of ghosts, and looked with confidence to no
disturbance during the hours of darkness.
So although he worked the sweating factory hands at high pressure in
piling up puncheons and cases, and bales of cloth, and sacks of salt
into a substantial breastwork, he went to bed himself that night and
felt, as he tucked in the edge of the mosquito bar, that few white men
on the Coast had ever earned better a spell of sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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