His heavy bullets, even at the
distance of some hundred yards, crashed through the brush wood with
deadly effect, while the slugs of the Ashantis would not penetrate
at a distance much exceeding fifty yards.
Ammon Quatia was profoundly depressed in spirits that evening.
"The white men who come to fight us," he said, "are not like those
who come to trade. Who ever heard of their making long marches?
Why, if they go the shortest distances they are carried in hammocks.
These men march as well as my warriors. They have guns which shoot
ten times as far as ours, and never stop firing. They carry cannon
with them, and have things which fly through the air and scream,
and set villages on fire and kill men. I have never heard of such
things before. What do you call them?"
"They are called rockets," Frank said.
"What are they made of?"
"They are made of coarse powder mixed with other things, and rammed
into an iron case."
"Could we not make some too?" the Ashanti general asked.
"No," Frank replied. "At least, not without a knowledge of the
things you should mix with the powder, and of that I am ignorant.
Besides, the rockets require great skill in firing, otherwise they
will sometimes come back and kill the men who fire them.
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