Andover stretched himself elaborately. "Lord alive, but this is absurd.
What do these beggars expect to do? They can't shell a fort with stolen
expresses."
The two men went up to the edge of the wall and looked over the plateau.
A hundred yards off stood a group of tribesmen formed in some semblance
of military order, each with a smoking rifle in his hand. It was like a
parody of a formation, and Andover after rubbing his eyes burst into a
roar of laughter.
"The beggars must be mad. What in heaven's name do they expect to do,
standing there like mummies and potting at a stone wall? There's two
more companies of them over there. It isn't war, it's comic opera." And
he sat down, still laughing, on the edge of a gun-case to put on the
boots which his orderly had brought.
It was comic opera, but the tinge of melodrama was not absent. When a
sufficient number of rounds had been fired, the tribesmen, as if acting
on half-understood instructions from some prehistoric manual, slung
their rifles on their shoulders and came on. The fire from the fort did
not stop them, though it broke their line. In a minute they were
clutching at every hand-grip and foothold on the wall, and Andover with
a beaming face directed the disposition of his men.
Forza is built of great, rough stones, with ends projecting in places
cyclopean-wise, which to an active man might give a foothold.
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