ABRAKRAMPA NOVEMBER 1873
Without waiting for orders, the seamen and Marines raced to their old positions. Backing the Ashanti musketry, drums and war horns sounded all around Abrakrampa, with a chorus of the chilling Ashanti war song.
“What the devil,” Jack said as a lone defender left the village and stepped into the clearing, half-seen in the fading light. “Who is that i***t?”
“That"s no i***t,” Russell said. “That"s the King of Arbra, the local tribe.”
“Is it indeed? Well, he"s either going to desert to the enemy with all his men, or surrender.”
“No, Windrush,” Russell said. “Have a little faith.”
Raising his hands, the king shouted something, with Russell translating to Jack. “I am the king of this country; come on if you are coming!”
“Brave man,” Jack altered his opinion of the
