“Fight? Obliged to,” said the subaltern, laughing. “Talk about practising the art of war; we ought to pass any examination. But, joking apart, it has been an awful time for the poor women and children.”
“Ah!” cried Bracy. “You have women and children yonder?”
“Yes, any number, bless ’em! The ladies and the men’s wives have worked like slaves—hospital work, you know. As to our doctor, he’ll be mad with joy to meet yours to share the work with him. Ah! there they go.”
For just then a burst of cheering came from the grim walls of the old fort, which were lined by its occupants; and mingled with the enthusiastic cries came the strains of music.
“You have your band, then?” said Roberts.
“Bits of it,” said the subaltern dryly. “The brass instruments are battered horribly; and as for the wood, they are all cracked and bandaged like wounded men; while the drums are nearly all as tubby as tom-toms, through the men having mended them with badly-cured goat-skins. I say, though, talk about goat-skins, I ought to have added sheep.”
“Why?” said Bracy.
“Are you fellows fond of shooting?”
“Yes,” said Bracy eagerly. “Is it good up here?”
“Grand, when there’s a chance of the shooting being all on your side.”