The bitterness to a soldier of that return journey, without a shot having been fired, can hardly be imagined by a civilian, and would certainly be strongly reprehended by those who regard the justest war with horror and aversion.

The soldiers had set out on that dreadful march through swamp, and bush, and forest, to fight and bring to the dust a cruel bloodthirsty nation of savages, contemptuously described by Baden-Powell as "the bully tribe" of the Gold Coast Hinterland.

Instead of finding the bully as willing to fight as Cuff was willing to face dear old Dobbin, B.-P.
found a cowering, cringing enemy, willing to lick the dust and abase himself in any manner the ingenious white man might suggest.

So it was with no feelings of elation that the man who had received the pink flimsy ordering him on active service, who had raised and organised the Native Levy, who had cut a road through the bush and forest, draining roads and bridging streams,--turned his back on Kumassi, and marched King Prempeh to the Cape coast.

This march of 150 miles was accomplished in seven days.