imself, tall and straight,
and now entirely recovered from the sickness which had prostrated him
and sent him to the hospital ship _Simoon_.

Jack Emmett was just the sort of fellow to take our hero's fancy, for he
was a genial, high-spirited lad, fond of a joke, and still keener on
seeing some fun with the enemy. So far he had done nothing more than
inspect the Gold Coast from the sea, for he had fallen ill on the voyage
out. But he was eager to meet the enemy, and more than that, Dick found
that he took a great interest in the coming operations, intelligently
following the movements and preparations on our side. More than all, he
had a huge admiration for his young leader, who had in so few weeks
managed to meet with so much adventure.

"What is this news?" demanded Jack, for up till now Dick had kept his
counsel to himself. "It is new to hear that we are to make into Elmina.
Are there any Ashantis there?"

"You will hear," was the answer. "This I can tell you, that Sir Garnet
has had a big palaver since he reached the coast, and called in all the
kings of the tribes under British protection. Some came in all state,
with umbrellas and tom-toms, and with the accompaniment of rattling
bones and war-drums. Others stayed away, and sent defiant answers.
Those fellows live in the neighbourhood of Elmina, and it struck me,
when I heard the tale, that they would hardly have dared to act as they
have done had there not been some sort of encouragement."

"I follow the argument. Then you think--?"

"That the Ashantis are somewhere in the neighbourhood. Yes," responded
Dick. "Let's talk to Johnnie."

He sang out for the native stoker, who relinquished his firing shovel,
and came trotting along the miniature deck, still clad in his tattered
garments, and still with the clay pipe of which he was so fond, gripped
between his teeth. But there was a little difference. Johnnie had
added dignity. His was a proud mien, and whenever he stopped to speak
to a white man or even a black nowadays he always turned his right cheek
to the stranger, for there was the scar, livid and red against his dusky
skin, an honourable scar which told of fighting, of a battle in which
his master had gained a name, and he, Johnnie the stoker, a proportion
of the glory.

"Massa call," he said, raising his hand to his battered cap after the
custom of the seamen. "Johnnie here. What yo want?"

"Repeat this tale of Elmina," said Dick, quiet