I Set Out Upon My Voyage

The night dragged on wearily and miserably. Inside the house a chill discomfort reigned, for I had lit no fire this evening, and every article that I possessed, even to the sleeping mats, had been stowed in the canoe. The rain thundered upon the flimsy roof and oozed through in places with unpleasant tricklings, while from outside came the continuous hissing roar of the deluge as though some giant locomotive were blowing off steam. At long intervals there was a lull, and then I ran out to see that the canoe was not washed away, and that no enemies were approaching my stronghold.

So the night wore on, full of unrest, anxiety and bodily discomfort. Each time that I visited the canoe I found the water farther up the slipway, and each time that I went to the bank to look out across the river, the murmur of the rushing water seemed louder.

About an hour before dawn (as I judged by observing a group of stars through a rift in the clouds) there came a more decided lull in the downpour, and a few patches of starlit sky appeared overhead. I had been sitting on my bedstead dozing, but the sudden quiet aroused me, and I went forth once more to see that all was secure. The air was brilliantly clear, and although there was no moon, I could distinctly see the dark shapes of the trees on the opposite bank. And as I looked, I could see something else; in the dark space under the bank was a spot of blacker darkness which began to slowly move out into the stream, growing smaller as it did so. It was soon followed by another, and yet another, until there was a line of black spots on the dim surface of the river, like a row of corks above a drift-net.

A night attack was being made, then, despite the unfavourable weather.

I waited until the leader had reached mid-stream, when I could make out his head and shoulders just emerging from the water, and his arms held up, grasping either a musket or a spear; then I turned and softly ran to the canoe.

As I passed along the rear of the island, I was startled at observing a party of men approaching from that side of the river also. The water, I knew, was now too deep there for them to get across, but this second party suggested yet others and made me anxious to be gone. Excepting my spear, which was in my hand, all my goods were on board, so when I reached the canoe, I silently pushed back the cover, climbed into the well, and unfastened the mooring line from the cleat.

I stood for a moment with the taut line in my hand, looking out across the little bay to see that no one was approaching from that direction; then I let go, casting the end clear of the stage, and immediately the canoe began to move. There was a soft rumble as her greased keels slid over the slippery bars, and as she gathered momentum, her stern dived into the still water, deeper and deeper, until for one horrid moment I thought she was overweighted and was going right under; then her bow dropped with a gentle splash and she rode on an even keel, gliding away into the quiet backwater at the end of the island.

I drew a deep breath as the rapidly widening space of water appeared between me and the land, and, putting the helm over, guided my craft towards the swift stream that swept between the island and the shore. In a few seconds the canoe emerged from the backwater into the flood stream, and on this began to drift rapidly down the river.

At this moment the rain came on again and poured down in such torrents that I was glad to take shelter under the waterproof apron or well-cover. I had rigged two curved sticks on cord pivots so that they could be drawn over the well, thus supporting the cover and forming a hood like the tilt of a waggon. This tilt I now fixed in position, and found it a perfect protection from the rain; and as the opening was at the after end, I could look out over the stern, although, of course, in the direction of the bows the view was obstructed. When the tilt was up I let go a fathom or so of the line attached to the sinker, and found that I was able to feel, by the vibration of the cord, to what extent the weight was dragging on the bottom, while the noise of the water rushing past the canoe enabled me to judge roughly how much her drift was retarded by it.

I was just belaying the cord of the sinker when a tremendous shouting arose from the direction of the island, and was answered from the banks. My good friends had apparently realised their loss, but by what means I could not judge. Perhaps the empty house had told the tale, or possibly they had found the slipway and guessed at its purpose. If the latter were the case I might expect a hot pursuit, especially if they should come across the empty hole, for of the significance of this they could have no doubt whatever.

As the shouts re-echoed from the banks I was tempted to take to the paddle and forge ahead at full speed, regardless of the rain and the darkness; but my judgment told me that it was better to go cautiously at reduced speed than to risk dashing on to some obstacle and either wrecking the canoe or becoming so involved that I must wait for daylight to extricate myself. Indeed, had there been any choice at all, I should certainly have anchored until the darkness was past, for I might even now, for all I could tell, be drifting straight on to an impassable rapid or even a waterfall. But there was no choice. If I anchored, I should be overtaken and totally lost, whereas if I were wrecked on a rapid or fall, I might save myself and even ultimately recover the treasure. So there was nothing to be done but crouch in the shelter of the tilt and hope that the river hereabouts was free from falls and rapids, and that my good genius would carry the canoe clear of sunken rocks and snags.

Let me, once for all, make clear to the non-nautical reader my mode of progression. The canoe was being carried along by the swift current of the flooded river, but over her bow hung the line with the weighted log attached, which by trailing along the bottom created a resistance to her progress, which was great or little according to the length of line paid out, and kept her head pointing up-stream. She thus drifted down the river stern foremost, but as she moved more slowly than the water, the current acted on her rudder as though she were moving against it; so that if the tiller were put over to the right her head would turn to the left and she would be carried by the current obliquely across the river to the left bank, and vice versâ.

Consequently, the vessel was far from being out of control—in fact, this is the safest method of descending a rapid river; but, of course, the canoe’s obedience to her helm was of little avail at the moment, for the darkness was profound, and I was being carried on into unknown regions. Yet even so, the trailing sinker was of service, for it naturally rolled down into the deepest parts of the river-bed and thus guided the canoe clear of the banks and shallows.

And all this time the deluge descended with a roar like that of some great cataract. My frail shelter trembled with the impact of the falling torrents, and the water around was lashed into seething foam.

It cannot have been much above an hour (although it seemed a very eternity) that I had sat crouching in my shelter, peering out into the grey void, my ears stunned by the uproar and my heart in my mouth with the momentary expectation of being flung into some fall or rapid or being dashed against a rock, when the dimness around began to lighten and I knew that the dawn had come. A cheerless dawn it was, with the sombre grey pall overhead, a sheet of dirty yellow foam around, and on either side a dim and shapeless shadow that I knew to be the wall of forest on the banks. Yet it was better than darkness, for I could see far enough to steer clear of visible rocks and snags; and now and again, when the canoe swung in towards one bank, some tall shape would start out of the void and encourage me by the speed with which it passed. There might be dangers ahead, but there also lay safety, and my pursuers must needs be fleet of foot to overtake me at this rate.

Not long after daybreak, as the canoe was slipping along pretty close inshore, the wall of forest suddenly came to an end, and for a little space neither bank was visible; then the tall grey shadow reappeared, first on one side and then on the other. By this I judged that the river had joined some larger stream—probably the main stream of the Tano—and this surmise was confirmed by the fact that the current was now noticeably stronger, although the river seemed no wider than before.

The cravings of hunger had been making themselves felt for some time past, and as my anxieties were now somewhat allayed, I thought it time to pipe all hands to breakfast; so I looked up the hind legs of a ground squirrel, which, being the latest addition to my store and therefore the least perfectly cured, required to be consumed without delay, and made a barbaric but refreshing meal.

There was one feature of my voyage that had all along caused me some uneasiness, and had recurred to my mind more than once since I had left the island.

This was the Tánosu bridge.

I remembered that it hung very low—so low, in fact, that at the middle, where it sagged a good deal, its lower surface was immersed even when I crossed it in the dry season, while the ends were hardly high enough then for the canoe to pass under. The river had risen considerably since the rains began, and it was certain that the bridge would be partly submerged. If it should be deeply submerged all would be well, but if it were only awash I should have to unload the canoe before I could drag it over. But Tánosu was a mighty unpleasant place at any time at which to execute a manœuvre of this kind, and now, with the possibility that the hue and cry had already been raised there, it would be a veritable hornets’ nest. True, I might not be on the Tano after all, but this was highly improbable, as that river drained practically the whole of north-western Ashanti, and the island was but a mile or two from its source.