The crow's-nest was built like a bartizan on
the precipitous front of the position. Across the ravine, perhaps at
five hundred yards, heads were to be seen popping up and down in a fort
of Tamesese's. On both sides the same enthusiasm without council, the
same senseless vigilance, reigned. Some took aim; some blazed before
them at a venture. Now--when a head showed on the other side--one would
take a crack at it, remarking that it would never do to "miss a chance."
Now they would all fire a volley and bob down; a return volley rang
across the ravine, and was punctually answered: harmless as lawn-tennis.
The whites expostulated in vain. The warriors, drunken with noise, made
answer by a fresh general discharge and bade their visitors run while it
was time. Upon their return to headquarters, men were covering the front
with sheets of coral limestone, two balls having passed through the house
in the interval. Mataafa sat within, over his kava bowl, unmoved. The
picture is of a piece throughout: excellent courage, super-excellent
folly, a war of school-children; expensive guns and cartridges used like
squibs or catherine-wheels on Guy Fawkes's Day.
On the 20th Mataafa changed his attack. Tamasese's front was seemingly
impregnable.
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