Chapter Sixteen.“Oh!—hah!”“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” says the old proverb.It is not quite true, but there’s a great deal of truth in it; and Stan had made up his mind how to gain possession of the boat almost before the boy had caught another fish.The first idea was to wait till it was quite dark, so that his proceedings might not be seen by people in the many boats or from either shore; but he dared not wait, for at any moment the boy might be satisfied with the fish he had caught—scores, for aught Stan could tell—pull up his anchor, and row ashore, and the chance of getting the means of reaching thehongwould be gone. What he did must be done at once, Stan concluded, and he prepared to act.Fortune was favouring him, for the boat swung by a rope from the bows, and the boy was at the other end, facing the stern, over which he hung his line. And consequently he was sitting with his back to him who was planning the onslaught upon his peace.Stan’s thoughts ran fast as he watched through the gap in the side of the junk and completed his plans, getting them so compact and clear that at last, as the boy fished on, it seemed as if he had nothing to do but make a start and succeed; but when at last he was quite strung up to the sticking-point, obstacle after obstacle began to appear and suggest impossibilities.He was safely hid in the hold of the junk, but the moment he appeared on deck in his white flannels he would be a mark for every eye, from the crews on the high poops and sterns of the great junks to the people on the house-boats and shore, as well as the busy folk paddling here and there in the littlesampanswhich were constantly on the move up, down, and across the river.He seemed to hear the shout raised, “Foreign devil!” and to see the fishing boy, warned thereby, jumping up in his boat, pulling up the little wooden anchor, and rowing out of his reach, while scores of eager people joined in to hunt him down.Stan’s venture seemed to become more and more mad, and he breathed hard, feeling that he must give it up. But there was the river before him, one wide-open way, flowing down and ready to bear him onward night and day toward his friends.But he wanted the boat, and the only way was to seize it—steal it, he told himself, though he comforted himself with the thought that he was a prisoner trying to escape from his enemies, and that such a reprisal would be just.“I must—I will do it,” he panted. “Oh, I wish I wasn’t such a coward to hesitate like this!—And there’s another fish. He must have caught enough to leave me a good meal, and I am so, so hungry! Now then! Once to be ready!” he muttered, with his old school-games rising before him.“Twice to be steady!”He paused here long enough to see the boy hook and draw in another fish, then bait again, and—Stan was in agony, for the boy hesitated, paused to pick up a basket and examine its contents, and then he seemed as if he were satisfied and about to haul up his anchor and make for the shore.“Too late!” groaned Stan. “I ought to have tried before. It’s all over. I must look out for another boat.”He was casting his eyes in other directions, when, with a feeling of relief that is impossible to describe, he saw the boy drop down again and continue fishing.Stan’s nerves and muscles were now like steel, and he began to crawl for the broken portion of the deck, got well hold of a cross-piece of bamboo with both hands, and commenced swinging himself to and fro from his hands till he could get one foot up, then the other, level with his face; and by a clever effort he raised himself so that he could, thanks to old gymnastic games at school, fling himself on to the unbroken part, where, after a few moments’ pause, he began to crawl to the edge of the deck where the bulwarks had broken and rotted away. Then, feeling that he must dare everything now, he lowered himself down, his feet sinking, and the water rising about him as he stretched his arms out till it was up to his hips.And there he hung, a white figure in the evening glow, right in view for a few moments, as he hesitated before making the final effort.“Suppose he shows fight,” he thought to himself. “Well, I must show fight too. I’ve licked English chaps as big as myself, and it will go hard if I can’t lick a Chinese.”At this point he straightened his fingers, which were crooked over a ragged piece of bamboo, andplosh! he went down feet first with a heavy, sucking noise; the water closed over his head with a deep, thundering roar, and keeping himself quite rigid and his eyes wide-open, he waited till, after what seemed an immensely long time in darkness, his head rose above the ruddy surface of the water, and he found that he had turned as the current carried him along, so that he was looking at the rotten old vessel he had left.Stan was skilful swimmer enough to reverse his position, and found it none too soon, for there was the boat he sought to reach some forty yards away, and so much out of the course he was taking that he had to begin swimming till he was well in a line with his goal, but so much nearer that as he ceased striking out he was close upon the anchor-line.The next minute he had touched it gently, and at the happiest moment for his success, the boy having hooked a fish—a large one—which took up his attention so much that Stan softly seized the bow with both hands, let his legs float on the swift current, and then by a quick effort drew himself well up and rolled over into the bottom of the boat, where he lay quite still beside the folded-up little matting sail.The boat rocked so that the owner looked sharply over his left shoulder, but not far enough to see the invader of his boat; and probably attributing the movement to his own exertions, he went on playing his big fish; while, reaching up his hands, Stan got hold of the painter and began to haul, till, to his great delight, he weighed the little anchor, and saw that the stream was carrying them down.Still the boy did not turn, but hauled away at his line and gave it out again, as if afraid that if he were too hard upon his prize it would break away.This went on for a good five minutes, till, apparently satisfied, the boy sank upon his knees and reached over the stern, hanging down so as to get a shorter hold, and ended by bringing the fish’s head well within reach, and while holding on with his left hand, he crooked his right finger ready, so as to turn it into a gaff-hook.Stan saw a part of what was going on, and suspected the rest, as he seized his opportunity to get hold of the anchor-stock.The next moment the fisher had raised himself up and swung a fish of some five pounds weight flop into the boat; while, as if acting by a concerted motion, Stan reached over and swung in the little grapnel—the actions of the lads bringing them round, from being back to back, now face to face.Flop! flap! flap! went the fish.Bang! bang! went the anchor.“Oh!” ejaculated the Chinese lad, opening his mouth wide.“Hah!” ejaculated Stan, springing up to seize his adversary.But the latter did not wait to be seized.Grasping the fact that the boat was gliding down-stream, and that he was face to face with a foreign devil, he raised his hands together well above his head and dived over the side in the easiest, most effortless way, gliding over like a blue seal blessed with a bald head and a big tail; when, as Stan dropped down in the boat, keeping only his head over the side, he saw him rise again far enough behind, and begin swimming with all his might for the shore.Stan had something else to do besides watch the boy. He had some knowledge of boat management, and felt that he must risk everything now in the way of being seen; so, seizing the little mast, he stepped it, hauled up the yard and with it the matting sail, found it easy enough to get in position, and in five minutes more, as he drifted rapidly down with the stream, he had the mat sheeted home, and an oar over the stern for rudder. With the evening breeze quite sufficient for the purpose, he found himself gliding rapidly down the river, able to steer while lying down upon his back pretty well out of sight, and not a sound behind announcing that there was any pursuit.“Hah!” he panted out at last. “They’ll have to come fast to catch me now. I wonder how far that poor fellow has to go before he can get help and another boat. Oh! if it would only turn dark, I could escape.“What’s that?” he ejaculated, raising his head; for there was a loud smack as if something had struck one of the planks of the boat, and he turned cold with a despairing feeling, being sure that something had happened to check his flight.But three or four more sharp spangs on the bottom of the craft enlightened him directly after, and he bore smilingly upon his oar so as to give a junk anchored in the river a wide berth, thinking the while of the shore lower down and a fire, if it was to be had, at which he could try his hand at cooking; for he knew with joy in his heart that the noise was made in the expiring efforts of what he meant to be his supper trying to leap over the side and failing dismally.“Hah!” sighed Stan again. “I never saw it turn dark so rapidly before. In another few minutes it will be impossible for any one to see me from the shore.”In fact, as he glided abreast of the anchored junk he saw a man busy at work hoisting a great round yellow paper lantern to the mast-head, too busy to pay any heed to him; and soon after he could see light after light beginning to dot the broad surface of the stream.“I’m going to escape,” cried the poor fellow exultantly. “Oh, if I only can!”Flap! said the fish softly, turning his thoughts into another groove.“Yes, I hear you,” said Stan. “Fish—roast fish must be as good as fried. I wonder whether there’s a lantern anywhere on board. If there is there’ll be—Hooray! I’ve got my little silver box of matches in my revolver-pocket. I only wish I had my pistol too. But even if I hadn’t got the matches, I could glide up quietly to one of those boats, lower down and steal a lantern in the dark, and slip away.“Steal! Yes, steal,” he said, laughing bitterly. “That’s the way these things grow. I begin by stealing the Chinese soldiers’ prisoner; then I steal a boat with a lot of fish; and now I’m thinking quite coolly of stealing a lantern. Who’d ever have thought that I should turn out such a thief?”The fish gave one more flap, and lay still in the bottom of the boat like something of silver very dimly seen.“I’m horribly hungry,” muttered Stan; “but the boat goes splendidly, and I’ll eat some of that fish raw before I’ll run her ashore to make a fire. Why not? I dare say it wouldn’t taste bad, and I only want just enough to keep me alive. I shall eat a piece as soon as it’s quite dead.”An hour later he was tasting raw fish for the first time, and finding that it tasted very fishy indeed, but not more so than a big oyster just torn from its newly opened shell.
“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” says the old proverb.
It is not quite true, but there’s a great deal of truth in it; and Stan had made up his mind how to gain possession of the boat almost before the boy had caught another fish.
The first idea was to wait till it was quite dark, so that his proceedings might not be seen by people in the many boats or from either shore; but he dared not wait, for at any moment the boy might be satisfied with the fish he had caught—scores, for aught Stan could tell—pull up his anchor, and row ashore, and the chance of getting the means of reaching thehongwould be gone. What he did must be done at once, Stan concluded, and he prepared to act.
Fortune was favouring him, for the boat swung by a rope from the bows, and the boy was at the other end, facing the stern, over which he hung his line. And consequently he was sitting with his back to him who was planning the onslaught upon his peace.
Stan’s thoughts ran fast as he watched through the gap in the side of the junk and completed his plans, getting them so compact and clear that at last, as the boy fished on, it seemed as if he had nothing to do but make a start and succeed; but when at last he was quite strung up to the sticking-point, obstacle after obstacle began to appear and suggest impossibilities.
He was safely hid in the hold of the junk, but the moment he appeared on deck in his white flannels he would be a mark for every eye, from the crews on the high poops and sterns of the great junks to the people on the house-boats and shore, as well as the busy folk paddling here and there in the littlesampanswhich were constantly on the move up, down, and across the river.
He seemed to hear the shout raised, “Foreign devil!” and to see the fishing boy, warned thereby, jumping up in his boat, pulling up the little wooden anchor, and rowing out of his reach, while scores of eager people joined in to hunt him down.
Stan’s venture seemed to become more and more mad, and he breathed hard, feeling that he must give it up. But there was the river before him, one wide-open way, flowing down and ready to bear him onward night and day toward his friends.
But he wanted the boat, and the only way was to seize it—steal it, he told himself, though he comforted himself with the thought that he was a prisoner trying to escape from his enemies, and that such a reprisal would be just.
“I must—I will do it,” he panted. “Oh, I wish I wasn’t such a coward to hesitate like this!—And there’s another fish. He must have caught enough to leave me a good meal, and I am so, so hungry! Now then! Once to be ready!” he muttered, with his old school-games rising before him.
“Twice to be steady!”
He paused here long enough to see the boy hook and draw in another fish, then bait again, and—
Stan was in agony, for the boy hesitated, paused to pick up a basket and examine its contents, and then he seemed as if he were satisfied and about to haul up his anchor and make for the shore.
“Too late!” groaned Stan. “I ought to have tried before. It’s all over. I must look out for another boat.”
He was casting his eyes in other directions, when, with a feeling of relief that is impossible to describe, he saw the boy drop down again and continue fishing.
Stan’s nerves and muscles were now like steel, and he began to crawl for the broken portion of the deck, got well hold of a cross-piece of bamboo with both hands, and commenced swinging himself to and fro from his hands till he could get one foot up, then the other, level with his face; and by a clever effort he raised himself so that he could, thanks to old gymnastic games at school, fling himself on to the unbroken part, where, after a few moments’ pause, he began to crawl to the edge of the deck where the bulwarks had broken and rotted away. Then, feeling that he must dare everything now, he lowered himself down, his feet sinking, and the water rising about him as he stretched his arms out till it was up to his hips.
And there he hung, a white figure in the evening glow, right in view for a few moments, as he hesitated before making the final effort.
“Suppose he shows fight,” he thought to himself. “Well, I must show fight too. I’ve licked English chaps as big as myself, and it will go hard if I can’t lick a Chinese.”
At this point he straightened his fingers, which were crooked over a ragged piece of bamboo, andplosh! he went down feet first with a heavy, sucking noise; the water closed over his head with a deep, thundering roar, and keeping himself quite rigid and his eyes wide-open, he waited till, after what seemed an immensely long time in darkness, his head rose above the ruddy surface of the water, and he found that he had turned as the current carried him along, so that he was looking at the rotten old vessel he had left.
Stan was skilful swimmer enough to reverse his position, and found it none too soon, for there was the boat he sought to reach some forty yards away, and so much out of the course he was taking that he had to begin swimming till he was well in a line with his goal, but so much nearer that as he ceased striking out he was close upon the anchor-line.
The next minute he had touched it gently, and at the happiest moment for his success, the boy having hooked a fish—a large one—which took up his attention so much that Stan softly seized the bow with both hands, let his legs float on the swift current, and then by a quick effort drew himself well up and rolled over into the bottom of the boat, where he lay quite still beside the folded-up little matting sail.
The boat rocked so that the owner looked sharply over his left shoulder, but not far enough to see the invader of his boat; and probably attributing the movement to his own exertions, he went on playing his big fish; while, reaching up his hands, Stan got hold of the painter and began to haul, till, to his great delight, he weighed the little anchor, and saw that the stream was carrying them down.
Still the boy did not turn, but hauled away at his line and gave it out again, as if afraid that if he were too hard upon his prize it would break away.
This went on for a good five minutes, till, apparently satisfied, the boy sank upon his knees and reached over the stern, hanging down so as to get a shorter hold, and ended by bringing the fish’s head well within reach, and while holding on with his left hand, he crooked his right finger ready, so as to turn it into a gaff-hook.
Stan saw a part of what was going on, and suspected the rest, as he seized his opportunity to get hold of the anchor-stock.
The next moment the fisher had raised himself up and swung a fish of some five pounds weight flop into the boat; while, as if acting by a concerted motion, Stan reached over and swung in the little grapnel—the actions of the lads bringing them round, from being back to back, now face to face.
Flop! flap! flap! went the fish.
Bang! bang! went the anchor.
“Oh!” ejaculated the Chinese lad, opening his mouth wide.
“Hah!” ejaculated Stan, springing up to seize his adversary.
But the latter did not wait to be seized.
Grasping the fact that the boat was gliding down-stream, and that he was face to face with a foreign devil, he raised his hands together well above his head and dived over the side in the easiest, most effortless way, gliding over like a blue seal blessed with a bald head and a big tail; when, as Stan dropped down in the boat, keeping only his head over the side, he saw him rise again far enough behind, and begin swimming with all his might for the shore.
Stan had something else to do besides watch the boy. He had some knowledge of boat management, and felt that he must risk everything now in the way of being seen; so, seizing the little mast, he stepped it, hauled up the yard and with it the matting sail, found it easy enough to get in position, and in five minutes more, as he drifted rapidly down with the stream, he had the mat sheeted home, and an oar over the stern for rudder. With the evening breeze quite sufficient for the purpose, he found himself gliding rapidly down the river, able to steer while lying down upon his back pretty well out of sight, and not a sound behind announcing that there was any pursuit.
“Hah!” he panted out at last. “They’ll have to come fast to catch me now. I wonder how far that poor fellow has to go before he can get help and another boat. Oh! if it would only turn dark, I could escape.
“What’s that?” he ejaculated, raising his head; for there was a loud smack as if something had struck one of the planks of the boat, and he turned cold with a despairing feeling, being sure that something had happened to check his flight.
But three or four more sharp spangs on the bottom of the craft enlightened him directly after, and he bore smilingly upon his oar so as to give a junk anchored in the river a wide berth, thinking the while of the shore lower down and a fire, if it was to be had, at which he could try his hand at cooking; for he knew with joy in his heart that the noise was made in the expiring efforts of what he meant to be his supper trying to leap over the side and failing dismally.
“Hah!” sighed Stan again. “I never saw it turn dark so rapidly before. In another few minutes it will be impossible for any one to see me from the shore.”
In fact, as he glided abreast of the anchored junk he saw a man busy at work hoisting a great round yellow paper lantern to the mast-head, too busy to pay any heed to him; and soon after he could see light after light beginning to dot the broad surface of the stream.
“I’m going to escape,” cried the poor fellow exultantly. “Oh, if I only can!”
Flap! said the fish softly, turning his thoughts into another groove.
“Yes, I hear you,” said Stan. “Fish—roast fish must be as good as fried. I wonder whether there’s a lantern anywhere on board. If there is there’ll be—Hooray! I’ve got my little silver box of matches in my revolver-pocket. I only wish I had my pistol too. But even if I hadn’t got the matches, I could glide up quietly to one of those boats, lower down and steal a lantern in the dark, and slip away.
“Steal! Yes, steal,” he said, laughing bitterly. “That’s the way these things grow. I begin by stealing the Chinese soldiers’ prisoner; then I steal a boat with a lot of fish; and now I’m thinking quite coolly of stealing a lantern. Who’d ever have thought that I should turn out such a thief?”
The fish gave one more flap, and lay still in the bottom of the boat like something of silver very dimly seen.
“I’m horribly hungry,” muttered Stan; “but the boat goes splendidly, and I’ll eat some of that fish raw before I’ll run her ashore to make a fire. Why not? I dare say it wouldn’t taste bad, and I only want just enough to keep me alive. I shall eat a piece as soon as it’s quite dead.”
An hour later he was tasting raw fish for the first time, and finding that it tasted very fishy indeed, but not more so than a big oyster just torn from its newly opened shell.
Chapter Seventeen.“What’s the Matter?”The night proved to be brilliant, for the moon was nearly at its full, so that, the wind being favourable and the current swift, sunrise the next morning found the fugitive far beyond pursuit. There was not a boat in sight, and as far as he could see on either side stretched the wide-open country, from the winding river’s banks right away to the distant hills; and when at times as the day wore on, with the boat gliding down fast, any craft came in sight, Stan had his choice of sides to take on the great river, and naturally he hugged the shore opposite to that taken by the trading-junk or smaller boat. Now and then he could see farm-buildings or clusters of village cottages, with an occasional pagoda. Once he passed a more pretentious collection of houses, like a small town, but it was some distance up a stream that joined the river; and as he sailed farther on, it was into cultivated land where traces of inhabitants were very few. Towards evening he took advantage of the fact that there was neither house nor boat in sight to run his little craft ashore where a patch of woodland came right down to the stream; and here in an opening he collected sufficient dead branches and twigs to make a fire, whose smoke was diffused among the boughs overhead, feeding it well till there were plenty of glowing embers, over which he roasted the best of his fish. He spent an hour or so in eating heartily and, after roasting, cooling down enough in a pot he found in the boat so as to have an ample supply for the next two days.Grilled fish and cold river water seemed to ask for something else, but Stan had plenty of strong young appetite, and he was ready to congratulate himself upon having done so well; and in excellent spirits he quenched the fire with the water-pot when he had done, and pushed off at once.That late afternoon and evening he sailed on till the moon was right overhead, when, feeling more secure, he made fast to a tree; and utterly unable to battle against an overpowering feeling of drowsiness, he slept in the bottom of the boat, with the matting sail for cover, till the morning sun was well up.That day, as he was passing a solitary house about a hundred yards from the bank, where he could see a couple of women at work in an enclosed field, he ran the boat inshore, the women in answer to his signs coming to the bank to stare at him. Then by means of the little Chinese he knew, and the offer of the figured white silk neckerchief he wore in exchange, he not only obtained a good supply of cake-bread and some eggs, but the women made him some tea before he pushed off again.Encouraged by his success, he fished the next day, had excellent sport, and bartered some of his prizes at a house for a couple of dozen fine potatoes, whose fate it was later on to be roasted in the embers of one of his fires.And in this fashion, without any noteworthy experience, Stan dropped down the river, losing count of the days in the monotony of the journey, but always obtaining a sufficiency of provisions of some kind or another in exchange for the plentiful supply of fish he caught in the evenings after sundown, or else for some portion of his clothes—for his watch, money, and knife had disappeared in the prison, he never knew how.In fact, the escape down the river, under the happy circumstances which fell to his lot, was simple in the extreme, it being easy enough to avoid the boats and junks he met, as well as the more inhabited parts of the shore.He kept a sharp lookout during the last three days, expecting every hour to catch sight of the greathongtowering up by the right bank of the river; but it was far longer than he expected before it appeared, and even then proved to be much more distant than he could have believed.At last, however, there it was, with a river-boat drawn up to the wharf, and by degrees he made out one of the big coolies; then Lawrence, the foreman, came out of the office door, but he took no notice of the white figure in the little native boat when Stan stood up and waved his hand.“Why, I should have thought he would have known me directly,” grumbled Stan to himself. “Ah! now we shall see,” he cried joyously as a tall familiar figure came out, crossed the wharf, and stood talking to some one in the river-boat.Stan waved his hand so excitedly now that he was seen, and he noted that the tall figure shaded its eyes and then turned to speak to one of the boatmen, who hurried in through the door of the warehouse and returned with something which the tall figure held up to its eyes.“He’ll see me now,” said Stan to himself.He was right, for the next minute a hand was being waved by the manager, who stood ready to exchange grips with Stan as he ran his boat up alongside the wharf and stepped ashore.That evening was passed in the relation of adventures and a discussion about the fate of Wing.“I’m afraid—very much afraid—that he was killed by the savages,” said Stan sadly at last.“Savages—cowardly savages!” cried Blunt angrily. “But I don’t know; old Wing is a very slippery gentleman, and knows his way about pretty well. I’m not going to give him up for a bad job yet.”“You think he has escaped?” said Stan excitedly.“I hope so,” was the reply. “Things are not so bad as they might have been. You see that amongst the soldiery there is a feeling of respect for the English name.”“Respect!” cried Stan indignantly. “You don’t fully grasp how they treated me.”“Yes, I do, Lynn; for they didn’t kill you, and with people who hold life so cheaply that is saying a great deal. Well, my lad, it has been an adventure that you will never forget, and I’m very glad you have escaped so well. You don’t feel much the worse for it all?”“Not in the least. But it’s delightful to get to civilisation again, and I’m looking forward to lying in a clean bed once more. I shall sleep to-night after what you have said about Wing.”“I suppose so. But I say,” continued Blunt dryly; “wouldn’t you have liked to bring that monkey away with you?”“I should,” cried Stan eagerly.“Yes, of course; but it’s as well not. I know those chaps. They’re wonderfully strong and vicious. Only safe in a cage. We couldn’t have done with him here. I say, shouldn’t you like to make one with me in an expedition to knock that prison to pieces?”“Yes,” cried Stan eagerly. “Could it be done?”“Yes, if we went to war; but I dare say if proper application were made we could get compensation. We shall see I say, though, what about that gathering of war-junks you saw? Not piratical craft, were they?”“I don’t know,” replied Stan. “I had thought no more of them. I thought more, however, of that poor boy’s boat that I took.”“Ah! that was a bit of an annexation. Never mind; I’ll send it back to the Chinese merchants we deal with; they’ll find out whom it belongs to.”“’Longs to,” said Stan slowly.“Hullo!” cried Blunt. “What’s the matter? Feel ill?”“Hi? I—Oh, I can’t help it; I’m so stupidly sleepy I can’t keep my eyes open, and I could hardly understand what you said last—so dreadfully drowsy I don’t know what to do.”“I’ll tell you,” said Blunt, smiling.“Do, please. Go and bathe my face?”“No,” said Blunt. “Off with you and tumble into bed.”
The night proved to be brilliant, for the moon was nearly at its full, so that, the wind being favourable and the current swift, sunrise the next morning found the fugitive far beyond pursuit. There was not a boat in sight, and as far as he could see on either side stretched the wide-open country, from the winding river’s banks right away to the distant hills; and when at times as the day wore on, with the boat gliding down fast, any craft came in sight, Stan had his choice of sides to take on the great river, and naturally he hugged the shore opposite to that taken by the trading-junk or smaller boat. Now and then he could see farm-buildings or clusters of village cottages, with an occasional pagoda. Once he passed a more pretentious collection of houses, like a small town, but it was some distance up a stream that joined the river; and as he sailed farther on, it was into cultivated land where traces of inhabitants were very few. Towards evening he took advantage of the fact that there was neither house nor boat in sight to run his little craft ashore where a patch of woodland came right down to the stream; and here in an opening he collected sufficient dead branches and twigs to make a fire, whose smoke was diffused among the boughs overhead, feeding it well till there were plenty of glowing embers, over which he roasted the best of his fish. He spent an hour or so in eating heartily and, after roasting, cooling down enough in a pot he found in the boat so as to have an ample supply for the next two days.
Grilled fish and cold river water seemed to ask for something else, but Stan had plenty of strong young appetite, and he was ready to congratulate himself upon having done so well; and in excellent spirits he quenched the fire with the water-pot when he had done, and pushed off at once.
That late afternoon and evening he sailed on till the moon was right overhead, when, feeling more secure, he made fast to a tree; and utterly unable to battle against an overpowering feeling of drowsiness, he slept in the bottom of the boat, with the matting sail for cover, till the morning sun was well up.
That day, as he was passing a solitary house about a hundred yards from the bank, where he could see a couple of women at work in an enclosed field, he ran the boat inshore, the women in answer to his signs coming to the bank to stare at him. Then by means of the little Chinese he knew, and the offer of the figured white silk neckerchief he wore in exchange, he not only obtained a good supply of cake-bread and some eggs, but the women made him some tea before he pushed off again.
Encouraged by his success, he fished the next day, had excellent sport, and bartered some of his prizes at a house for a couple of dozen fine potatoes, whose fate it was later on to be roasted in the embers of one of his fires.
And in this fashion, without any noteworthy experience, Stan dropped down the river, losing count of the days in the monotony of the journey, but always obtaining a sufficiency of provisions of some kind or another in exchange for the plentiful supply of fish he caught in the evenings after sundown, or else for some portion of his clothes—for his watch, money, and knife had disappeared in the prison, he never knew how.
In fact, the escape down the river, under the happy circumstances which fell to his lot, was simple in the extreme, it being easy enough to avoid the boats and junks he met, as well as the more inhabited parts of the shore.
He kept a sharp lookout during the last three days, expecting every hour to catch sight of the greathongtowering up by the right bank of the river; but it was far longer than he expected before it appeared, and even then proved to be much more distant than he could have believed.
At last, however, there it was, with a river-boat drawn up to the wharf, and by degrees he made out one of the big coolies; then Lawrence, the foreman, came out of the office door, but he took no notice of the white figure in the little native boat when Stan stood up and waved his hand.
“Why, I should have thought he would have known me directly,” grumbled Stan to himself. “Ah! now we shall see,” he cried joyously as a tall familiar figure came out, crossed the wharf, and stood talking to some one in the river-boat.
Stan waved his hand so excitedly now that he was seen, and he noted that the tall figure shaded its eyes and then turned to speak to one of the boatmen, who hurried in through the door of the warehouse and returned with something which the tall figure held up to its eyes.
“He’ll see me now,” said Stan to himself.
He was right, for the next minute a hand was being waved by the manager, who stood ready to exchange grips with Stan as he ran his boat up alongside the wharf and stepped ashore.
That evening was passed in the relation of adventures and a discussion about the fate of Wing.
“I’m afraid—very much afraid—that he was killed by the savages,” said Stan sadly at last.
“Savages—cowardly savages!” cried Blunt angrily. “But I don’t know; old Wing is a very slippery gentleman, and knows his way about pretty well. I’m not going to give him up for a bad job yet.”
“You think he has escaped?” said Stan excitedly.
“I hope so,” was the reply. “Things are not so bad as they might have been. You see that amongst the soldiery there is a feeling of respect for the English name.”
“Respect!” cried Stan indignantly. “You don’t fully grasp how they treated me.”
“Yes, I do, Lynn; for they didn’t kill you, and with people who hold life so cheaply that is saying a great deal. Well, my lad, it has been an adventure that you will never forget, and I’m very glad you have escaped so well. You don’t feel much the worse for it all?”
“Not in the least. But it’s delightful to get to civilisation again, and I’m looking forward to lying in a clean bed once more. I shall sleep to-night after what you have said about Wing.”
“I suppose so. But I say,” continued Blunt dryly; “wouldn’t you have liked to bring that monkey away with you?”
“I should,” cried Stan eagerly.
“Yes, of course; but it’s as well not. I know those chaps. They’re wonderfully strong and vicious. Only safe in a cage. We couldn’t have done with him here. I say, shouldn’t you like to make one with me in an expedition to knock that prison to pieces?”
“Yes,” cried Stan eagerly. “Could it be done?”
“Yes, if we went to war; but I dare say if proper application were made we could get compensation. We shall see I say, though, what about that gathering of war-junks you saw? Not piratical craft, were they?”
“I don’t know,” replied Stan. “I had thought no more of them. I thought more, however, of that poor boy’s boat that I took.”
“Ah! that was a bit of an annexation. Never mind; I’ll send it back to the Chinese merchants we deal with; they’ll find out whom it belongs to.”
“’Longs to,” said Stan slowly.
“Hullo!” cried Blunt. “What’s the matter? Feel ill?”
“Hi? I—Oh, I can’t help it; I’m so stupidly sleepy I can’t keep my eyes open, and I could hardly understand what you said last—so dreadfully drowsy I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Blunt, smiling.
“Do, please. Go and bathe my face?”
“No,” said Blunt. “Off with you and tumble into bed.”
Chapter Eighteen.“Not a bit Dead.”“What will you do about poor Wing?” said Stan the morning after his return, when he was out on the wharf, all the better for bed, bath, and breakfast.“Wait,” said Blunt, frowning.“Wait? In such an emergency, with the poor fellow regularly murdered?”“We don’t know that yet, youngster,” said the manager. “You did not see him murdered, and you did not see his body.”“No; but—”“Exactly; but I’ve known Wing longer than you have. He is a very quiet fellow, but he is full of resource, and being amongst his fellow-countrymen, I think it very doubtful about his having been killed.”“I only hope you are right,” said Stan; “but there was a desperate fight.”“No—not desperate. You see that though you were one they looked upon as an enemy they did not kill you, and evidently never intended anything of the kind.”“Well, no; I don’t think they meant to kill me.”“I’m sure they did not. If they had, they would have done it. In fact, I hardly know why they took you at all. It seems to me more out of idle recklessness than anything else; a party of rough soldiery with nothing to do, and under very little control. They have some discipline, but it is very slight. It’s a rarity for them to get any pay, even when they are on duty. There seems to have been a detachment hanging about the gate of the city, doing as they pleased, and dependent upon the people coming in to the market for their supplies. They saw you, a stranger, passing the place; and as there was no one to check them, they followed and pounced upon you.”“But what for?”“Ah! what for? I can only place one construction upon the act.”“And what is that?” asked Stan.“The one you suggested.”“I? I suggested none.”“Yes—by your words. What did you say they did?”“Nothing but behave to me in a very insulting way, and refuse to carry a message or fetch help.”“Yes, they did.”“Yes, I see what you mean. The insolent creatures! They treated me just as if I were another monkey.”“To be sure; and made a show of you.”“Yes,” said Stan, beginning to swell with indignation. “Brought no end of people into the yard beyond the bars of the prison grating.”“And who were the people?”“Oh, I don’t know. Rough-looking country-folk.”“To be sure. People coming in from the country; and if we knew the truth of the matter, depend upon it, they took some toll in some kind of provisions for giving them a peep at the Tchili monkey and the foreign devil they had caught.”“Oh, I say, Mr Blunt, don’t!” cried Stan quickly. “It’s horrible. It’s so degrading.”“Well, it was not pleasant, my lad,” said the manager, smiling; “but you couldn’t help its being degrading, and you gave them the slip.”“But you’ll send a report to my father and uncle, so that they can lay the matter before the Consul?”“I will if you like; but if I do, it will be a very long business. It will be to maintain the English dignity, but only at the expense of a few poor wretches in a distant part of the country, who will be taken and bastinadoed—perhaps decapitated.”“Oh! I don’t wish that,” cried Stan quickly.“Whether you wish it or not it will be done, to quiet the foreign settlers and traders and to keep up our prestige. It may be right, only the mischief is that the right men will not be punished.”“What! not the soldiers?”“No,” said Blunt; “they’ll escape for certain. The mandarins will never catch them.”“Then I shouldn’t like to feel that I had been the cause of the punishment of innocent people. But I do feel that such a crime as the murder of poor Wing ought not to go unpunished.”“So do I,” said Blunt; “and it must not. But, as I say, we don’t know that he is dead yet.”“But where is he?”“I don’t know: Let’s wait a bit and see. It is quite possible that he is making his way back by land, as the boat was sent home, and it may be days yet before we see him. It is quite as possible that we may not see him for a long time, for he will be afraid to show his face here on account of losing you.”“But he’ll get to know that I escaped,” cried Stan.“Some day, perhaps. Then he’ll come—delighted. Let’s wait, for it may be some days or weeks, hanging about as he will be in the country, which is terribly unsettled, as I have just learned, by a fresh incursion of pirates and disbanded soldiers. Wait, my lad—wait. By-and-by perhaps I may be able to come down heavily upon one of the up-country mandarins for compensation; but we shall see. China is a place where matters move very slowly, and law and order are very seldom at home. I don’t like the news at all that I have been hearing about what is going on up-country. It hinders trade, too. I’m very glad, however, that you are safely back, instead of being weeks wandering about from plantation to plantation.”“Then you feel pretty sure that Wing is not dead?”“No, not pretty sure,” replied Blunt; “only very hopeful about his being alive. What do you think of that?”“That I feel much better satisfied. It would have been bad enough if any poor servant of thehonghad suffered, but horrible for Wing to have come to so sudden an end. I liked Wing.”“So did—So do I,” said Blunt, correcting himself. “Cheer up. He’ll come along smiling some day, as soon as he hears you are back.”Something happened much sooner than either of the Europeans at thehonganticipated.The next day Stan talked a good deal with Lawrence, the foreman of the coolies, and several of the clerks about Wing’s absence, and could not find one who believed that the man was dead.“Unless he has fallen amongst pirates,” said Lawrence. “That would be different. He had charge of you, and he lost you.Ergo, as the old fellow in Shakespeare says, he’s afraid to meet Mr Blunt. I should feel just the same if I were Mr Wing.”Stan felt more encouraged still; and the very next morning, as he was going through the big warehouse, his attention was suddenly caught by a figure stepping out of a smallsampanwhich had just reached the side after crossing the river.“Hi! Mr Blunt!” cried Stan. “Look through that window. Isn’t that Wing?”“Wing?” replied the manager thoughtfully as he bent down to examine the Chinese brand on one of a stack of tea-chests. “Not likely yet. He has a long way to come overland.”“But I’m sure I saw him step out of a boat on to the wharf.”“Hardly likely. These fellows look so much alike in their blue frocks and glazed hats. Where did you see him?—Why, hullo! Well done! It is he after all.”For just then the object of their conversation came slowly in through the open door, ragged, worn out, and dejected, the very shadow of the trim, neat Chinaman familiar to Stan. Coming out of the bright sunshine, he stood with puckered face blinking and looking about, and so weak and weary that he seemed to be glad to hold on by the first pile of bales he reached.There he stood, peering about till he dimly made out the tall, upright, unmistakable figure of the manager in his white garb, when he made a deprecating movement with his hands as if about to salaam like a Hindu, and he was in the act of bending down when he suddenly saw Stan.In an instant the man’s whole manner was changed. Throwing up his hands, he uttered a hoarse cry, and ran forward to throw himself upon his knees at the lad’s feet, flinging his arms about his legs, and then burst forth into a fit of sobbing, crying like a woman, and the next minute laughing hysterically.“Wing t’ink young Lynn go dead. Wing t’ink bad soljee man killee dead young Lynn. Oh deah! oh deah! Come along. Walkee allee way tellee Misteh Blunt. Ha, ha, ha! Allee light now. Give poo’ Wing eatee dlinkee. Feel dleadful bad. Allee light now. Oolay! oolay! oolay!”The poor fellow began his cheer fairly, but ended it in a miserable squeak, and then loosened his grasp of Lynn, and pressing his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to stifle the hysterical cries struggling to escape, he began to rock himself to and fro; while Stan, who felt touched by the poor fellow’s display of emotion, stood patting his shoulder and trying to calm him.“No, no, Wing; not a bit dead,” he said, with a husky laugh. “They took me prisoner and shut me up. Why, I’ve been thinking you were killed. What became of you? How did you get away from the brutes?”“Wing tellee soon. Wing tellee soon. Allee chokee chokee. Got floatee velly full. Makee cly like big boy so glad young Lynn allee ’live.”“Well, it makes me ready to laugh to find you’re alive,” said Stan, though his features did not endorse his words. “Here, tell us where you have been.”“Evelywheh,” said the poor fellow. “Bad soljee put big pitchfolks to Wing, makee lun away. Keep folly Wing. Wing tly come back. Soljee put pitch-folk to Wing back and dlive light away. Makee lun velly fass. Come light away tell Misteh Blunt. Allee way soljee, allee way pilate. Wing wantee lie down and die. Wantee come tellee young Lynn plisneh. Wing t’inkee nevah get back tohong. Come at las’ find young Lynn allee ’live. Wing leady lie down die now.”The poor fellow sank over sideways as he said the last words very feebly, and it was quite evident that he was not very far from death’s door through his exhaustion.“Poor beggar!” said Blunt gruffly. “There’s no deception here. Get something out for the poor fellow at once, Lawrence. Look at him; he must have suffered horribly. He looks as if he has been travelling night and day. My word! I’ll never think him a coward again. Fancy coming to meet me with such news as that! I should have been ready to kill him if it had been true.”
“What will you do about poor Wing?” said Stan the morning after his return, when he was out on the wharf, all the better for bed, bath, and breakfast.
“Wait,” said Blunt, frowning.
“Wait? In such an emergency, with the poor fellow regularly murdered?”
“We don’t know that yet, youngster,” said the manager. “You did not see him murdered, and you did not see his body.”
“No; but—”
“Exactly; but I’ve known Wing longer than you have. He is a very quiet fellow, but he is full of resource, and being amongst his fellow-countrymen, I think it very doubtful about his having been killed.”
“I only hope you are right,” said Stan; “but there was a desperate fight.”
“No—not desperate. You see that though you were one they looked upon as an enemy they did not kill you, and evidently never intended anything of the kind.”
“Well, no; I don’t think they meant to kill me.”
“I’m sure they did not. If they had, they would have done it. In fact, I hardly know why they took you at all. It seems to me more out of idle recklessness than anything else; a party of rough soldiery with nothing to do, and under very little control. They have some discipline, but it is very slight. It’s a rarity for them to get any pay, even when they are on duty. There seems to have been a detachment hanging about the gate of the city, doing as they pleased, and dependent upon the people coming in to the market for their supplies. They saw you, a stranger, passing the place; and as there was no one to check them, they followed and pounced upon you.”
“But what for?”
“Ah! what for? I can only place one construction upon the act.”
“And what is that?” asked Stan.
“The one you suggested.”
“I? I suggested none.”
“Yes—by your words. What did you say they did?”
“Nothing but behave to me in a very insulting way, and refuse to carry a message or fetch help.”
“Yes, they did.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. The insolent creatures! They treated me just as if I were another monkey.”
“To be sure; and made a show of you.”
“Yes,” said Stan, beginning to swell with indignation. “Brought no end of people into the yard beyond the bars of the prison grating.”
“And who were the people?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Rough-looking country-folk.”
“To be sure. People coming in from the country; and if we knew the truth of the matter, depend upon it, they took some toll in some kind of provisions for giving them a peep at the Tchili monkey and the foreign devil they had caught.”
“Oh, I say, Mr Blunt, don’t!” cried Stan quickly. “It’s horrible. It’s so degrading.”
“Well, it was not pleasant, my lad,” said the manager, smiling; “but you couldn’t help its being degrading, and you gave them the slip.”
“But you’ll send a report to my father and uncle, so that they can lay the matter before the Consul?”
“I will if you like; but if I do, it will be a very long business. It will be to maintain the English dignity, but only at the expense of a few poor wretches in a distant part of the country, who will be taken and bastinadoed—perhaps decapitated.”
“Oh! I don’t wish that,” cried Stan quickly.
“Whether you wish it or not it will be done, to quiet the foreign settlers and traders and to keep up our prestige. It may be right, only the mischief is that the right men will not be punished.”
“What! not the soldiers?”
“No,” said Blunt; “they’ll escape for certain. The mandarins will never catch them.”
“Then I shouldn’t like to feel that I had been the cause of the punishment of innocent people. But I do feel that such a crime as the murder of poor Wing ought not to go unpunished.”
“So do I,” said Blunt; “and it must not. But, as I say, we don’t know that he is dead yet.”
“But where is he?”
“I don’t know: Let’s wait a bit and see. It is quite possible that he is making his way back by land, as the boat was sent home, and it may be days yet before we see him. It is quite as possible that we may not see him for a long time, for he will be afraid to show his face here on account of losing you.”
“But he’ll get to know that I escaped,” cried Stan.
“Some day, perhaps. Then he’ll come—delighted. Let’s wait, for it may be some days or weeks, hanging about as he will be in the country, which is terribly unsettled, as I have just learned, by a fresh incursion of pirates and disbanded soldiers. Wait, my lad—wait. By-and-by perhaps I may be able to come down heavily upon one of the up-country mandarins for compensation; but we shall see. China is a place where matters move very slowly, and law and order are very seldom at home. I don’t like the news at all that I have been hearing about what is going on up-country. It hinders trade, too. I’m very glad, however, that you are safely back, instead of being weeks wandering about from plantation to plantation.”
“Then you feel pretty sure that Wing is not dead?”
“No, not pretty sure,” replied Blunt; “only very hopeful about his being alive. What do you think of that?”
“That I feel much better satisfied. It would have been bad enough if any poor servant of thehonghad suffered, but horrible for Wing to have come to so sudden an end. I liked Wing.”
“So did—So do I,” said Blunt, correcting himself. “Cheer up. He’ll come along smiling some day, as soon as he hears you are back.”
Something happened much sooner than either of the Europeans at thehonganticipated.
The next day Stan talked a good deal with Lawrence, the foreman of the coolies, and several of the clerks about Wing’s absence, and could not find one who believed that the man was dead.
“Unless he has fallen amongst pirates,” said Lawrence. “That would be different. He had charge of you, and he lost you.Ergo, as the old fellow in Shakespeare says, he’s afraid to meet Mr Blunt. I should feel just the same if I were Mr Wing.”
Stan felt more encouraged still; and the very next morning, as he was going through the big warehouse, his attention was suddenly caught by a figure stepping out of a smallsampanwhich had just reached the side after crossing the river.
“Hi! Mr Blunt!” cried Stan. “Look through that window. Isn’t that Wing?”
“Wing?” replied the manager thoughtfully as he bent down to examine the Chinese brand on one of a stack of tea-chests. “Not likely yet. He has a long way to come overland.”
“But I’m sure I saw him step out of a boat on to the wharf.”
“Hardly likely. These fellows look so much alike in their blue frocks and glazed hats. Where did you see him?—Why, hullo! Well done! It is he after all.”
For just then the object of their conversation came slowly in through the open door, ragged, worn out, and dejected, the very shadow of the trim, neat Chinaman familiar to Stan. Coming out of the bright sunshine, he stood with puckered face blinking and looking about, and so weak and weary that he seemed to be glad to hold on by the first pile of bales he reached.
There he stood, peering about till he dimly made out the tall, upright, unmistakable figure of the manager in his white garb, when he made a deprecating movement with his hands as if about to salaam like a Hindu, and he was in the act of bending down when he suddenly saw Stan.
In an instant the man’s whole manner was changed. Throwing up his hands, he uttered a hoarse cry, and ran forward to throw himself upon his knees at the lad’s feet, flinging his arms about his legs, and then burst forth into a fit of sobbing, crying like a woman, and the next minute laughing hysterically.
“Wing t’ink young Lynn go dead. Wing t’ink bad soljee man killee dead young Lynn. Oh deah! oh deah! Come along. Walkee allee way tellee Misteh Blunt. Ha, ha, ha! Allee light now. Give poo’ Wing eatee dlinkee. Feel dleadful bad. Allee light now. Oolay! oolay! oolay!”
The poor fellow began his cheer fairly, but ended it in a miserable squeak, and then loosened his grasp of Lynn, and pressing his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to stifle the hysterical cries struggling to escape, he began to rock himself to and fro; while Stan, who felt touched by the poor fellow’s display of emotion, stood patting his shoulder and trying to calm him.
“No, no, Wing; not a bit dead,” he said, with a husky laugh. “They took me prisoner and shut me up. Why, I’ve been thinking you were killed. What became of you? How did you get away from the brutes?”
“Wing tellee soon. Wing tellee soon. Allee chokee chokee. Got floatee velly full. Makee cly like big boy so glad young Lynn allee ’live.”
“Well, it makes me ready to laugh to find you’re alive,” said Stan, though his features did not endorse his words. “Here, tell us where you have been.”
“Evelywheh,” said the poor fellow. “Bad soljee put big pitchfolks to Wing, makee lun away. Keep folly Wing. Wing tly come back. Soljee put pitch-folk to Wing back and dlive light away. Makee lun velly fass. Come light away tell Misteh Blunt. Allee way soljee, allee way pilate. Wing wantee lie down and die. Wantee come tellee young Lynn plisneh. Wing t’inkee nevah get back tohong. Come at las’ find young Lynn allee ’live. Wing leady lie down die now.”
The poor fellow sank over sideways as he said the last words very feebly, and it was quite evident that he was not very far from death’s door through his exhaustion.
“Poor beggar!” said Blunt gruffly. “There’s no deception here. Get something out for the poor fellow at once, Lawrence. Look at him; he must have suffered horribly. He looks as if he has been travelling night and day. My word! I’ll never think him a coward again. Fancy coming to meet me with such news as that! I should have been ready to kill him if it had been true.”
Chapter Nineteen.“Big Junk Boat.”Poor Wing lay for about a couple of hours, during which everything possible was done, and then he began to recover rapidly, when, after superintending, the manager insisted upon the poor fellow doing nothing but try and sleep.“Wing wantee tell Misteh Blunt evelyting,” he said, with a piteous look.“Not now,” said Blunt sharply. “Get well first.”“Allee velly dleadful,” said the poor fellow feebly.“Yes, I know; but I’m not going to blame you, my man. You did your best. Get strong again, and tell me all about the troubles then.”Wing gave him a horrified look, glanced at Stan and then back at Blunt, his countenance looking drawn and his complexion more sallow than ever, while his lips moved as if he was speaking, but no sound came.“Well, why don’t you rest?” cried Blunt. “What’s the matter with you? Been so much frightened?”Wing nodded sharply, and gave Stan a look full of horror and despair.“Why, what’s the matter with the fellow? Not been wounded, have you?”Wing shook his head.“Why don’t you speak?” cried Blunt, so roughly that the man held out his hands in a gesture evidently intended to mean deprecation. It was as if he meant to say, “Don’t be angry with me; it is not my fault.”“Well, I see you’re upset, my man,” cried the manager, softening his manner. “Perhaps you had better ease your mind. Speak out. Now then, what’s the matter? Have you lost the money I gave you?”“No, no, no,” cried Wing, shaking his head violently. “Velly solly—velly solly,” he murmured.“Very sorry for what?” cried Blunt, catching the man’s arm and looking at him sternly.Wing, who seemed weak in the extreme, shivered as he shrank from the manager’s eyes, and turned appealingly to Stan as if begging him to intercede.“The poor fellow doesn’t seem to know what he is saying,” said Stan quietly, “and he’s frightened of you.”“Humph!” replied Blunt. “I thought I spoke gently enough to him.—Here, Wing, don’t look at me in that scared way. I told you that I was not going to blame you. Speak out. What is it? You have something else to say?”The man nodded.“Bad news?”Wing nodded again sharply.“Out with it, then, and let’s know the worst.”The trembling Chinaman hesitated for a few moments more, and then pressed up towards his chief and whispered something quickly in his ear.“What!” roared the manager, catching him fiercely by the shoulders and making the poor fellow utter a piteous wail as he turned to Stan as if for help.“Wing can’t help,” he cried. “Wing no want tell baddee news.”“Then you’ve brought bad news?” said Stan excitedly.“Velly bad news. Wing can’t help. T’ink bes’ come tell Misteh young Lynn dead and allee bad news.”“Yes, yes,” said Stan impatiently.—“The poor fellow’s half-frightened out of his wits, Mr Blunt. You’re too harsh with him now he’s in such a weak state.—Look here, Wing; it’s all right. You see matters are not so bad. I’m not hurt, and Mr Blunt does not blame you.”“But Wing can’t help,” pleaded the poor fellow. He waved his hands and looked round at the clerks and warehousemen, who were drawing up wondering why their chief had seized the returned agent so fiercely; while some of his fellow-countrymen also began to draw near, the sight of “the Boss,” as they called him, apparently about to punish one of them being irresistible, and whispers ran round in two languages, Anglo-Saxon and the base alloy known as “Pidgin,” inquiring what Wing had done.There was silence now for quite half-a-minute, during which time the pressure of the manager’s hands, or that of poor Wing’s feelings, had the effect of squeezing out a few tears, which swelled and swelled till they were big enough to roll over the man’s eyelashes and find their way into a couple of curved creases which made his mouth look as if it had been placed between parentheses.Down these gullies in the Chinaman’s skin the tears ran till they dripped from his chin, and possibly it was the sight of them that brought Blunt out of his stern fit of thinking, for he suddenly loosed his hold and dropped his hands to his sides, saying hoarsely:“Now then, say that out aloud for every one to hear.”“Wing speakee quitee loud?” said the Chinaman, rolling his head slowly like a ball in its socket, as if he were trying to find out where any damage had been done to the mechanism.“Yes; let’s have it. Look sharp.”Evidently satisfied that none of his vertebra were damaged, a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles in Wing’s face, which became round again, and in place of the painful parenthetic curves, pleasantly mirthful lines began to appear; his eyes became two diagonal slits with something twinkling between the edges, and he reached up both hands to take hold of his ribbon-tied pigtail, which he gave a whisk to right and left before he let it fall down between his shoulders.“Misteh Blunt wantee Wing tell evelybody whole tluth?”“Yes; and be sharp about it,” was the angry reply.“Misteh Blunt no knockee Wing head on tea-box, makee sore?”“No, I shall not touch you again, however bad the news is,” said the manager gravely.“Misteh Blunt plomise like gentleman no killee poo’ Chinaman?”“No, I tell you! Now then, out with it! But mind this: if what you say is not true, sir, you may make tracks out of this place, and never show your face here again.”“Yes,” said Wing calmly enough. “Make tlack an’ lun away velly fass.”“For look here, sir; if you create a bad scare to frighten every one here you deserve to be hung.”“Flighten me too. Flighten velly much. But Misteh Blunt no hang poo’ Chinaman?”“As sure as I’m here, I will, sir—by your pigtail—”Wing’s hand went up to the black appendage, and he took hold and gave it a gentle pull as he glanced at Stan, to say softly:“Make poo’ Chinaman cly. Oh deah! oh deah! Misteh Blunt hang Wing up so?”“Yes, to the crane, and give you a few dips in the river to wash the lies out of you.”“Wing no got tell lie. Allee velly tlue. Gleat tlouble come. Soljee gleat many up livah-side; pilate man gleat many up livah. Big junk. Allee buln missionaly house, killee foleign devil, killee evelybody. Buln village, pull up tea-bush, stealee tea-box, buln go-down. Gleat many fightee; cuttee float, dlown. Oh, velly, velly dleadful up livah! Wing lun away, come tell Misteh Blunt, evelybody. Come down livah velly soon.”“Nice bit of news this, Mr Lynn,” said Blunt, turning his frowning face to Stan, who noted that there was a fierce, lowering glow in the half-shut eyes.“Yes,” replied the lad; “but perhaps very much exaggerated.—Here, Wing, is all this quite true?”“Oh, allee quitee tlue. Wing nevah tellee big thumpy. Too much ’flaid Misteh Blunt find out. Knock down.”“One reason for telling the truth,” said Blunt bitterly. “But that is quite true; I should if I found him out.”“Plenty man lun away up to mountain; soljee, pilate come lob house, buln evelyting up. Shoot bang. Wing, only lun away like evelybody.”“I’m afraid it’s all true,” said Blunt sombrely.“Eh? No!” cried Wing excitedly. “Blunt tell big lie now; not ’flaid a bit. Makee Chinee pilate muchee flighten. Makee lun away.”“Perhaps,” said the manager grimly. “But how far away are these people, Wing?”“Come velly soon. Big junk sail down livah. Wing see um.”“Well, you all hear?” said the manager sternly. “No; you are not all here. Call every one. I want everybody to hear how we stand.—You, Wing, if you’re well enough, get all the Chinamen together.”Wing went off to the far end of the warehouse and wharf, one of the clerks to the offices, and in a few minutes every man, European and Asiatic, was present, and heard of the threatened attack; after which the manager looked in Stan’s direction and said sharply:“There! you have all heard how we stand, and there are two courses open. One is to crowd on board the river-boat and set all sail down to the port, and get out to sea and coast along north for Hai-Hai.”“No gettee big junk boat,” cried Wing excitedly. “Capen velly muchee flight. Pull up anky. Lun away. Misteh Blunt lookee.”The manager glanced sharply at the window, and, true enough, there was the junk with all sail set, gliding down the river, and now a quarter of a mile away.“Hah!” ejaculated the manager, giving one foot an angry stamp. “That settles one plan. No; we could collect some small boats if we had time. But the other course is to barricade the place, leaving loopholes, and fight to the last. We might beat them off. Now, I am manager here, and responsible for everything, but I feel that I have no right to call upon any man to risk his life against these murderous wretches. But I should like to hear Mr Lynn’s opinion.—This place is the property of your uncle and father, sir, and if we give it up without striking a blow, by to-morrow morning the valuable store of tea and silk, with the building, will be only a heap of ashes. What is your opinion about the matter, Mr Lynn?”“It seems very horrible,” said Stan, with something like a shudder.“Very, sir,” replied Blunt rather sarcastically.“If we escape in boats we shall save all our lives.”“Perhaps,” said Blunt bitterly. “Likely enough, though, we shall be pursued by half-a-dozen junks or so, and shot down or sunk before we could reach the banks; while if we took refuge ashore—”“Pilate lun afteh evelybody, choppee head off.”“Most probably,” said the manager, smiling.—“Now, Mr Lynn, you hear the state of affairs.”“Yes,” said Stan, speaking with a slight quiver in his voice; “but I don’t like to give my opinion. There was, as you know, an attack made upon our place, and my father and uncle fought hard to save it, even when the enemy set it on fire. They held out—”“They? Didn’t you help them, sir?”“Yes, a little,” replied Stan; “and the enemy were kept off till help came from the city. If we defend this place for a time, is it likely that help will come?”“Not a bit,” said the manager. “There is no help to be got here for above a week.”“But I don’t think my father and uncle would wish these people here to run such a fearful risk as to fight for the place against terrible odds.”“Sooner lose about ten thousand pounds’ worth of tea, dyewoods, and silk that I have been hard at work collecting with the help of Mr Wing here?”“Yes,” said the Chinaman, nodding his head like an image. “Velly much money. Velly dleadful let pilate man come and buln. Aha, ha, ha! Ayah, ayah, ayah!”Stan stared. It seemed as if the poor fellow had suddenly gone mad; for after uttering a series of piercing yells, evidently intended for a war-whoop, he clapped his hands together as hard as he could, and then made a run at a big, half-nude coolie, whom he caught by the waist, twining his arms round him, and, to the astonishment of all present, lifted him from the floor and tried to throw him.But Wing had reckoned without his host. He was a plump, soft man, unaccustomed to hard work, while the adversary he sought to overthrow was tough-muscled and hard, besides proving to be an adept at wrestling. Instead of falling, he came cleverly down upon his feet, attacked in turn, and before any one had time to interfere in poor Wing’s favour, there was defeat, the latter being hurled staggering backward; while with a yell the man who had freed himself made a dash, vaulted through the window, ran across the wharf, jumped down into a boat, cut the rope which held it swinging in the river, and thrust it forth into the stream, where he seized a long oar and began to paddle the boat along.As Wing recovered himself he shouted to the coolies to follow, and made for the door.“No; stop!” said the manager sternly. “The fellow would have got too long a start before we could get a boat off. Let him go. Why, it’s that new man I took on a few days ago.”“Yes,” said Wing, shaking his fists in the air. “Baddee man, got blue malk on aim. Come spy, see how muchee tea, silk in go-down. Lun away now tell pilate. Misteh Blunt no askee Wing whetheh new man good man. Wing su’e spy pilate come to see.”“Yes; I made a mistake there,” said Blunt bitterly; and as Stan watched the escaped man and saw him lay down his oar and hoist a matting sail, which filled at once and sent the boat gliding away up-stream, he suddenly became aware of the fact that Blunt had disappeared.But the next minute he was back with a rifle in his hand, busily thrusting in a cartridge.“Are you going to shoot him?” said Stan huskily as he saw the manager drop on one knee, lay the rifle-barrel across the window-sill, and take aim.“If I can,” said the manager gruffly. “Why not?”“It seems so cold-blooded: an unarmed man.”“It may mean our lives or his, sir.”“Yes, but—”“Very well,” said the manager roughly; “but we needn’t argue the point. Look there at the man’s artfulness. Or rather, don’t look, for you can’t. I shouldn’t hit him if I tried. It takes a good shot to hit so small a mark as a hand in a fast-sailing boat—eh?”“Yes,” said Stan, with a feeling of relief, for he felt a horror of seeing the poor wretch flying for his life shot down.“An Englishman wouldn’t have thought of that,” continued Blunt as he rose from his knee and let the butt of his rifle rest upon the floor, while all watched the cunning of the escaped spy, who was now lying down in the boat, holding the sheet of the sail with his left hand, and the steering-oar with his right, nothing of him being visible but the fingers which grasped the oar.“Now then,” said Blunt sternly, “we have settled nothing. What is it to be, Mr Lynn? You are the governor’s son: is it to be run for our lives like cowards and, if we escape, face the principals with the best tale we can tell, or fight?”“If we defend the place and are not able to beat them off, I suppose they will burn thehongand us in it?”“Most likely,” said Blunt savagely; “but some of them will not live to see the flames rising. I’m afraid you don’t want to fight, Mr Lynn.”“I don’t,” said Stan frankly. “The idea of shedding a fellow-creature’s blood is horrible.”“Yes, of course,” said Blunt, with something like a sneer. “You ought to jump into one of the boats yonder and run down-stream as hard as you can to fetch help if the warehouse is to be saved.”Yes, that would be grand. I could have a boat?“Oh yes, you can have a boat.”“Wing get boat, Wing hoise sail, stee’ boat beautifully.”“I could bring back a lot of armed men to your assistance,” said Stan eagerly.“To be sure,” said Blunt coolly. “Only you’ll have to be pretty sharp about it.”He turned his back upon the lad and took a step towards the excited group of men, who were talking hurriedly in whispers.“Now, my lads,” he said, “we can’t give up this place to a mob of savages without making a bold defence for the sake of our employers. Some of you will, I hope, stick to me, but others will like to get out of the scrimmage. So those of you who have no stomach for a fight had better join Mr Lynn here, who is going off to Hai-Hai to fetch help.”“No, I am not,” said Stan quietly.“What! Why, you said you were.”“I said I should like to,” said Stan, “but I said so without thinking of the distance. I see now that it would be impossible to get help in time.”“Quite, sir,” said the manager, staring at the lad. “Well, at all events you are going off in the boat with Wing.”“Indeed I am not,” said Stan, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “It seems to me that we must make as brave a defence as we can. We may be able to beat off the enemy.”“Then you mean to stay?” cried the manager, his eyes lighting up.“Of course.”“And fight?”“As well as I can,” said Stan rather sadly; “but I don’t think I shall—”He got no farther, for his words were drowned by a loud cheer given heartily by the little band of European employees; while the strong gang of sturdy coolies and native workpeople, taking it for granted that they ought to follow their white fellow-workers’ example, cheered lustily as well.“Do I understand you to mean that you will stop with us and fight it out?” said Blunt.“Yes.”“Don’t be deceived. Do you understand the danger?”“I think I do.”“You don’t, my lad, and I will not keep it back from you. Fight with Europeans, and if you are beaten you are taken prisoners; fight with the lower order Chinese, and you will have a set-to with some of the most savagely unmerciful people on the face of the earth. You had better think again. It may mean lying wounded and seeing the flames creeping towards you while you can’t raise hand or foot to get away.”“Don’t talk like that, Mr Blunt, please,” cried the lad, “or you’ll make me a greater coward than I feel I am.”“I want you to know what you may expect to meet,” said the manager coldly.“But I don’t want to know. I know more now than I can bear.”“Then you will go?”“Yes, if you do,” cried Stan eagerly.“I’m going to stay and do my best to save the place and goods I have in my charge, Mr Lynn,” said the manager sternly.“And I’m going to help you, then,” said Stan quietly.“Do you mean it, in spite of all I have said?” cried Blunt.“Yes.”Stan’s hand was seized in such a grip that he flinched and the blood flushed into his cheeks.“Thank you, my lad,” cried the manager hoarsely.“I can’t say thank you,” said Stan, whose face was twitching from the pain he felt. “I say, don’t shake hands again like that.”“Hurt?”“Horribly.”“I beg your pardon, then. But look here: ’pon my word, Mr Lynn, I don’t understand you a bit. For the last ten minutes I’ve been thinking that you were a downright coward.”“That’s quite right,” said Stan quietly; “I am. My hands are all of a tremble.”“Well, then, all I can say is that you’re the most curious coward I ever saw.”“That’s because you are right in what you said, Mr Blunt. You don’t understand me a bit.”“Ah, well! perhaps I shall by-and-by,” said the manager.Wing had disappeared during the above little verbal passage, but just then he reappeared, in time to be of use.“You, Wing, come here,” cried the manager. “I shall want you directly.—Now, gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the European employees, “you have been here long enough to know what a fight with a party of Chinese pirates means—hard blows and no quarter. Now’s your time: any of you who feel that you have not stomach for such an encounter will only be in our way here. There’s a boat ready to take you down-stream. Step out, all who want to go.”Quite half the men took a step or two forward, but the others stood fast.Then after a whisper and several uneasy glances back at their companions, one of the forward party acted as spokesman.“You see, Mr Blunt, sir,” he said, “we don’t feel that we should be at home fighting. We are clerks and writers, warehousemen. We all think—”“No, we don’t,” growled one of the men who had stood fast.“But you all agreed just now that it would be better to chance it and go.”“Yes, a bit back,” said another of the men; “but six of us here, after seeing you step out, feel as if it would be un-English to sneak off and leave Mr Blunt and the young partner in the lurch. You fellows look as if you are ashamed of yourselves.”“That’s about what I am,” said one of the party with the spokesman. “I’m going to stop.”As he said these words he stepped back into the rear rank.“Same here,” said another; and he too dropped back.“Oh, I say,” said another; “it’s shabby to leave us here like this.”“Shabby? It’s dirty,” cried the spokesman. “I wouldn’t have said what I did for all of you if I’d known. Hang me if I’m going almost alone!”“Nor I—nor I,” cried two others.“In for a penny, in for a pound,” cried another man. “I’m not going in the boat.”Stan forgot his own nervousness, and burst out laughing, at which the whole party of Europeans broke out into a cheer.“Thank ye, my lads,” said the manager in his grimmest way. “I did feel a bit puzzled.—Now then, Wing, tell the coolies and the rest that we’re in for a big fight. They’ll understand you better than they will me. Tell them that every one who doesn’t mean to stand by us can go off in the boat with you. Be fair with them, and tell them that there’ll be a lot of bad fighting.”Wing nodded, and made a most animated speech to his yellow-looking, sun-tanned audience, who received it with a series of grunts.“What do they say, my man?”“Say wantee big fight. Shalpen knives and cuttee lot heads off.”“You didn’t make them understand how dreadful it is going to be.”“Yes; said velly dleadful—pilate kill plenty men.”“Tell them again.”Wing spoke to the little crowd, and as he finished the coolies set up a tremendous shout.“What do they say now?” cried Blunt.“Say don’tee ca’e half mandalin button fo’ all pilate on livah.”“Well done!” cried the manager. “What else?”“Allee wantee fight velly bad. Knife all cuttee cuttee like lazo’. Wantee shave bad man head off.”“Then they mean to stop and back me up?”“Yes. Say kill plenty mo’e pilate. No habbee big fightee long time ago, and say Wing go in boatee all alonee and get out way.”“Off with you then, my man,” cried Blunt; “they’re quite right. You’ll be in the way.—Well, do you hear?”Wing nodded.“Not go ’long till Misteh young Lynn quite leady.”“But don’t you understand? Mr Lynn is going to stop and fight.”“Yes. Wing stop take ca’e of um.”“What!” cried Stan, laughing.“Yes. Wing tellee old Lynn and Uncle Jeffley takee gleat ca’e young Lynn. How takee gleat ca’e if Wing lun away in boat? Wing go ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”“No, no, Wing. You had better go and get out of danger,” said Stan warmly.“Young Lynn talkee talkee big piecee nonsense stuff. Wing go back in boat Hai-Hai; Uncle Jeff say, ‘Hullo, you! What double dickens you do along young Lynn?’ What Wing say? ‘’Top topside house fightee fightee.’ Misteh Olivee say, ‘Why Wing not ’top topside house fight too, kill pilate, bling young Lynn quite safe?’ Misteh Olivee old Lynn quite light. Wing no go lun away in boat. Young Lynn come, Wing go. Young Lynn no go, Wing ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”“Stop, then,” cried the manager abruptly, “and let’s see whether you can fight.”“Yes,” said the Chinaman coolly enough. “’Top ’long young Lynn. Fight muchee. Kill plenty pilate.”“There! we’ve all talked enough,” cried the manager, turning up his sleeves. “Now then for work.—You, Wing, go right up to the top of the big warehouse and watch the river. As soon as you see the tip of a junk-sail you’ll give us warning.”“Misteh Blunt lendee Wing two-eye pull-out glass?”“My double telescope? Yes, take it; and mind you let us know in time.—Now, Stan Lynn, we’ve got some man’s work to do. You can’t afford to be a boy any longer. This way.—Now, my lads, follow on. If the bloodthirsty wretches will only give us plenty of time they shall have such a reception as will open their diagonal slits of eyes.”Five minutes later Wing was perched at the very top of the great warehouse, with his eyes glued to Blunt’s lorgnette, and his blue cotton frock filling out in the breeze and shrinking again in the most grotesque fashion. One minute the Chinaman was blown out like a man in the transition state of turning into a balloon. The next minute he was convex one side, concave the other, while directly after he seemed to have been furnished with an enormously huge bun upon his shoulders. But he noticed neither wind nor sunshine; his eyes were strained up the main reach of the river, and the glass was sweeping bend after bend in search of the coming danger in the shape of the top of some tall matting junk-sail seen across the country where the great river pursued its serpentine course.
Poor Wing lay for about a couple of hours, during which everything possible was done, and then he began to recover rapidly, when, after superintending, the manager insisted upon the poor fellow doing nothing but try and sleep.
“Wing wantee tell Misteh Blunt evelyting,” he said, with a piteous look.
“Not now,” said Blunt sharply. “Get well first.”
“Allee velly dleadful,” said the poor fellow feebly.
“Yes, I know; but I’m not going to blame you, my man. You did your best. Get strong again, and tell me all about the troubles then.”
Wing gave him a horrified look, glanced at Stan and then back at Blunt, his countenance looking drawn and his complexion more sallow than ever, while his lips moved as if he was speaking, but no sound came.
“Well, why don’t you rest?” cried Blunt. “What’s the matter with you? Been so much frightened?”
Wing nodded sharply, and gave Stan a look full of horror and despair.
“Why, what’s the matter with the fellow? Not been wounded, have you?”
Wing shook his head.
“Why don’t you speak?” cried Blunt, so roughly that the man held out his hands in a gesture evidently intended to mean deprecation. It was as if he meant to say, “Don’t be angry with me; it is not my fault.”
“Well, I see you’re upset, my man,” cried the manager, softening his manner. “Perhaps you had better ease your mind. Speak out. Now then, what’s the matter? Have you lost the money I gave you?”
“No, no, no,” cried Wing, shaking his head violently. “Velly solly—velly solly,” he murmured.
“Very sorry for what?” cried Blunt, catching the man’s arm and looking at him sternly.
Wing, who seemed weak in the extreme, shivered as he shrank from the manager’s eyes, and turned appealingly to Stan as if begging him to intercede.
“The poor fellow doesn’t seem to know what he is saying,” said Stan quietly, “and he’s frightened of you.”
“Humph!” replied Blunt. “I thought I spoke gently enough to him.—Here, Wing, don’t look at me in that scared way. I told you that I was not going to blame you. Speak out. What is it? You have something else to say?”
The man nodded.
“Bad news?”
Wing nodded again sharply.
“Out with it, then, and let’s know the worst.”
The trembling Chinaman hesitated for a few moments more, and then pressed up towards his chief and whispered something quickly in his ear.
“What!” roared the manager, catching him fiercely by the shoulders and making the poor fellow utter a piteous wail as he turned to Stan as if for help.
“Wing can’t help,” he cried. “Wing no want tell baddee news.”
“Then you’ve brought bad news?” said Stan excitedly.
“Velly bad news. Wing can’t help. T’ink bes’ come tell Misteh young Lynn dead and allee bad news.”
“Yes, yes,” said Stan impatiently.—“The poor fellow’s half-frightened out of his wits, Mr Blunt. You’re too harsh with him now he’s in such a weak state.—Look here, Wing; it’s all right. You see matters are not so bad. I’m not hurt, and Mr Blunt does not blame you.”
“But Wing can’t help,” pleaded the poor fellow. He waved his hands and looked round at the clerks and warehousemen, who were drawing up wondering why their chief had seized the returned agent so fiercely; while some of his fellow-countrymen also began to draw near, the sight of “the Boss,” as they called him, apparently about to punish one of them being irresistible, and whispers ran round in two languages, Anglo-Saxon and the base alloy known as “Pidgin,” inquiring what Wing had done.
There was silence now for quite half-a-minute, during which time the pressure of the manager’s hands, or that of poor Wing’s feelings, had the effect of squeezing out a few tears, which swelled and swelled till they were big enough to roll over the man’s eyelashes and find their way into a couple of curved creases which made his mouth look as if it had been placed between parentheses.
Down these gullies in the Chinaman’s skin the tears ran till they dripped from his chin, and possibly it was the sight of them that brought Blunt out of his stern fit of thinking, for he suddenly loosed his hold and dropped his hands to his sides, saying hoarsely:
“Now then, say that out aloud for every one to hear.”
“Wing speakee quitee loud?” said the Chinaman, rolling his head slowly like a ball in its socket, as if he were trying to find out where any damage had been done to the mechanism.
“Yes; let’s have it. Look sharp.”
Evidently satisfied that none of his vertebra were damaged, a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles in Wing’s face, which became round again, and in place of the painful parenthetic curves, pleasantly mirthful lines began to appear; his eyes became two diagonal slits with something twinkling between the edges, and he reached up both hands to take hold of his ribbon-tied pigtail, which he gave a whisk to right and left before he let it fall down between his shoulders.
“Misteh Blunt wantee Wing tell evelybody whole tluth?”
“Yes; and be sharp about it,” was the angry reply.
“Misteh Blunt no knockee Wing head on tea-box, makee sore?”
“No, I shall not touch you again, however bad the news is,” said the manager gravely.
“Misteh Blunt plomise like gentleman no killee poo’ Chinaman?”
“No, I tell you! Now then, out with it! But mind this: if what you say is not true, sir, you may make tracks out of this place, and never show your face here again.”
“Yes,” said Wing calmly enough. “Make tlack an’ lun away velly fass.”
“For look here, sir; if you create a bad scare to frighten every one here you deserve to be hung.”
“Flighten me too. Flighten velly much. But Misteh Blunt no hang poo’ Chinaman?”
“As sure as I’m here, I will, sir—by your pigtail—”
Wing’s hand went up to the black appendage, and he took hold and gave it a gentle pull as he glanced at Stan, to say softly:
“Make poo’ Chinaman cly. Oh deah! oh deah! Misteh Blunt hang Wing up so?”
“Yes, to the crane, and give you a few dips in the river to wash the lies out of you.”
“Wing no got tell lie. Allee velly tlue. Gleat tlouble come. Soljee gleat many up livah-side; pilate man gleat many up livah. Big junk. Allee buln missionaly house, killee foleign devil, killee evelybody. Buln village, pull up tea-bush, stealee tea-box, buln go-down. Gleat many fightee; cuttee float, dlown. Oh, velly, velly dleadful up livah! Wing lun away, come tell Misteh Blunt, evelybody. Come down livah velly soon.”
“Nice bit of news this, Mr Lynn,” said Blunt, turning his frowning face to Stan, who noted that there was a fierce, lowering glow in the half-shut eyes.
“Yes,” replied the lad; “but perhaps very much exaggerated.—Here, Wing, is all this quite true?”
“Oh, allee quitee tlue. Wing nevah tellee big thumpy. Too much ’flaid Misteh Blunt find out. Knock down.”
“One reason for telling the truth,” said Blunt bitterly. “But that is quite true; I should if I found him out.”
“Plenty man lun away up to mountain; soljee, pilate come lob house, buln evelyting up. Shoot bang. Wing, only lun away like evelybody.”
“I’m afraid it’s all true,” said Blunt sombrely.
“Eh? No!” cried Wing excitedly. “Blunt tell big lie now; not ’flaid a bit. Makee Chinee pilate muchee flighten. Makee lun away.”
“Perhaps,” said the manager grimly. “But how far away are these people, Wing?”
“Come velly soon. Big junk sail down livah. Wing see um.”
“Well, you all hear?” said the manager sternly. “No; you are not all here. Call every one. I want everybody to hear how we stand.—You, Wing, if you’re well enough, get all the Chinamen together.”
Wing went off to the far end of the warehouse and wharf, one of the clerks to the offices, and in a few minutes every man, European and Asiatic, was present, and heard of the threatened attack; after which the manager looked in Stan’s direction and said sharply:
“There! you have all heard how we stand, and there are two courses open. One is to crowd on board the river-boat and set all sail down to the port, and get out to sea and coast along north for Hai-Hai.”
“No gettee big junk boat,” cried Wing excitedly. “Capen velly muchee flight. Pull up anky. Lun away. Misteh Blunt lookee.”
The manager glanced sharply at the window, and, true enough, there was the junk with all sail set, gliding down the river, and now a quarter of a mile away.
“Hah!” ejaculated the manager, giving one foot an angry stamp. “That settles one plan. No; we could collect some small boats if we had time. But the other course is to barricade the place, leaving loopholes, and fight to the last. We might beat them off. Now, I am manager here, and responsible for everything, but I feel that I have no right to call upon any man to risk his life against these murderous wretches. But I should like to hear Mr Lynn’s opinion.—This place is the property of your uncle and father, sir, and if we give it up without striking a blow, by to-morrow morning the valuable store of tea and silk, with the building, will be only a heap of ashes. What is your opinion about the matter, Mr Lynn?”
“It seems very horrible,” said Stan, with something like a shudder.
“Very, sir,” replied Blunt rather sarcastically.
“If we escape in boats we shall save all our lives.”
“Perhaps,” said Blunt bitterly. “Likely enough, though, we shall be pursued by half-a-dozen junks or so, and shot down or sunk before we could reach the banks; while if we took refuge ashore—”
“Pilate lun afteh evelybody, choppee head off.”
“Most probably,” said the manager, smiling.—“Now, Mr Lynn, you hear the state of affairs.”
“Yes,” said Stan, speaking with a slight quiver in his voice; “but I don’t like to give my opinion. There was, as you know, an attack made upon our place, and my father and uncle fought hard to save it, even when the enemy set it on fire. They held out—”
“They? Didn’t you help them, sir?”
“Yes, a little,” replied Stan; “and the enemy were kept off till help came from the city. If we defend this place for a time, is it likely that help will come?”
“Not a bit,” said the manager. “There is no help to be got here for above a week.”
“But I don’t think my father and uncle would wish these people here to run such a fearful risk as to fight for the place against terrible odds.”
“Sooner lose about ten thousand pounds’ worth of tea, dyewoods, and silk that I have been hard at work collecting with the help of Mr Wing here?”
“Yes,” said the Chinaman, nodding his head like an image. “Velly much money. Velly dleadful let pilate man come and buln. Aha, ha, ha! Ayah, ayah, ayah!”
Stan stared. It seemed as if the poor fellow had suddenly gone mad; for after uttering a series of piercing yells, evidently intended for a war-whoop, he clapped his hands together as hard as he could, and then made a run at a big, half-nude coolie, whom he caught by the waist, twining his arms round him, and, to the astonishment of all present, lifted him from the floor and tried to throw him.
But Wing had reckoned without his host. He was a plump, soft man, unaccustomed to hard work, while the adversary he sought to overthrow was tough-muscled and hard, besides proving to be an adept at wrestling. Instead of falling, he came cleverly down upon his feet, attacked in turn, and before any one had time to interfere in poor Wing’s favour, there was defeat, the latter being hurled staggering backward; while with a yell the man who had freed himself made a dash, vaulted through the window, ran across the wharf, jumped down into a boat, cut the rope which held it swinging in the river, and thrust it forth into the stream, where he seized a long oar and began to paddle the boat along.
As Wing recovered himself he shouted to the coolies to follow, and made for the door.
“No; stop!” said the manager sternly. “The fellow would have got too long a start before we could get a boat off. Let him go. Why, it’s that new man I took on a few days ago.”
“Yes,” said Wing, shaking his fists in the air. “Baddee man, got blue malk on aim. Come spy, see how muchee tea, silk in go-down. Lun away now tell pilate. Misteh Blunt no askee Wing whetheh new man good man. Wing su’e spy pilate come to see.”
“Yes; I made a mistake there,” said Blunt bitterly; and as Stan watched the escaped man and saw him lay down his oar and hoist a matting sail, which filled at once and sent the boat gliding away up-stream, he suddenly became aware of the fact that Blunt had disappeared.
But the next minute he was back with a rifle in his hand, busily thrusting in a cartridge.
“Are you going to shoot him?” said Stan huskily as he saw the manager drop on one knee, lay the rifle-barrel across the window-sill, and take aim.
“If I can,” said the manager gruffly. “Why not?”
“It seems so cold-blooded: an unarmed man.”
“It may mean our lives or his, sir.”
“Yes, but—”
“Very well,” said the manager roughly; “but we needn’t argue the point. Look there at the man’s artfulness. Or rather, don’t look, for you can’t. I shouldn’t hit him if I tried. It takes a good shot to hit so small a mark as a hand in a fast-sailing boat—eh?”
“Yes,” said Stan, with a feeling of relief, for he felt a horror of seeing the poor wretch flying for his life shot down.
“An Englishman wouldn’t have thought of that,” continued Blunt as he rose from his knee and let the butt of his rifle rest upon the floor, while all watched the cunning of the escaped spy, who was now lying down in the boat, holding the sheet of the sail with his left hand, and the steering-oar with his right, nothing of him being visible but the fingers which grasped the oar.
“Now then,” said Blunt sternly, “we have settled nothing. What is it to be, Mr Lynn? You are the governor’s son: is it to be run for our lives like cowards and, if we escape, face the principals with the best tale we can tell, or fight?”
“If we defend the place and are not able to beat them off, I suppose they will burn thehongand us in it?”
“Most likely,” said Blunt savagely; “but some of them will not live to see the flames rising. I’m afraid you don’t want to fight, Mr Lynn.”
“I don’t,” said Stan frankly. “The idea of shedding a fellow-creature’s blood is horrible.”
“Yes, of course,” said Blunt, with something like a sneer. “You ought to jump into one of the boats yonder and run down-stream as hard as you can to fetch help if the warehouse is to be saved.”
Yes, that would be grand. I could have a boat?
“Oh yes, you can have a boat.”
“Wing get boat, Wing hoise sail, stee’ boat beautifully.”
“I could bring back a lot of armed men to your assistance,” said Stan eagerly.
“To be sure,” said Blunt coolly. “Only you’ll have to be pretty sharp about it.”
He turned his back upon the lad and took a step towards the excited group of men, who were talking hurriedly in whispers.
“Now, my lads,” he said, “we can’t give up this place to a mob of savages without making a bold defence for the sake of our employers. Some of you will, I hope, stick to me, but others will like to get out of the scrimmage. So those of you who have no stomach for a fight had better join Mr Lynn here, who is going off to Hai-Hai to fetch help.”
“No, I am not,” said Stan quietly.
“What! Why, you said you were.”
“I said I should like to,” said Stan, “but I said so without thinking of the distance. I see now that it would be impossible to get help in time.”
“Quite, sir,” said the manager, staring at the lad. “Well, at all events you are going off in the boat with Wing.”
“Indeed I am not,” said Stan, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “It seems to me that we must make as brave a defence as we can. We may be able to beat off the enemy.”
“Then you mean to stay?” cried the manager, his eyes lighting up.
“Of course.”
“And fight?”
“As well as I can,” said Stan rather sadly; “but I don’t think I shall—”
He got no farther, for his words were drowned by a loud cheer given heartily by the little band of European employees; while the strong gang of sturdy coolies and native workpeople, taking it for granted that they ought to follow their white fellow-workers’ example, cheered lustily as well.
“Do I understand you to mean that you will stop with us and fight it out?” said Blunt.
“Yes.”
“Don’t be deceived. Do you understand the danger?”
“I think I do.”
“You don’t, my lad, and I will not keep it back from you. Fight with Europeans, and if you are beaten you are taken prisoners; fight with the lower order Chinese, and you will have a set-to with some of the most savagely unmerciful people on the face of the earth. You had better think again. It may mean lying wounded and seeing the flames creeping towards you while you can’t raise hand or foot to get away.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mr Blunt, please,” cried the lad, “or you’ll make me a greater coward than I feel I am.”
“I want you to know what you may expect to meet,” said the manager coldly.
“But I don’t want to know. I know more now than I can bear.”
“Then you will go?”
“Yes, if you do,” cried Stan eagerly.
“I’m going to stay and do my best to save the place and goods I have in my charge, Mr Lynn,” said the manager sternly.
“And I’m going to help you, then,” said Stan quietly.
“Do you mean it, in spite of all I have said?” cried Blunt.
“Yes.”
Stan’s hand was seized in such a grip that he flinched and the blood flushed into his cheeks.
“Thank you, my lad,” cried the manager hoarsely.
“I can’t say thank you,” said Stan, whose face was twitching from the pain he felt. “I say, don’t shake hands again like that.”
“Hurt?”
“Horribly.”
“I beg your pardon, then. But look here: ’pon my word, Mr Lynn, I don’t understand you a bit. For the last ten minutes I’ve been thinking that you were a downright coward.”
“That’s quite right,” said Stan quietly; “I am. My hands are all of a tremble.”
“Well, then, all I can say is that you’re the most curious coward I ever saw.”
“That’s because you are right in what you said, Mr Blunt. You don’t understand me a bit.”
“Ah, well! perhaps I shall by-and-by,” said the manager.
Wing had disappeared during the above little verbal passage, but just then he reappeared, in time to be of use.
“You, Wing, come here,” cried the manager. “I shall want you directly.—Now, gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the European employees, “you have been here long enough to know what a fight with a party of Chinese pirates means—hard blows and no quarter. Now’s your time: any of you who feel that you have not stomach for such an encounter will only be in our way here. There’s a boat ready to take you down-stream. Step out, all who want to go.”
Quite half the men took a step or two forward, but the others stood fast.
Then after a whisper and several uneasy glances back at their companions, one of the forward party acted as spokesman.
“You see, Mr Blunt, sir,” he said, “we don’t feel that we should be at home fighting. We are clerks and writers, warehousemen. We all think—”
“No, we don’t,” growled one of the men who had stood fast.
“But you all agreed just now that it would be better to chance it and go.”
“Yes, a bit back,” said another of the men; “but six of us here, after seeing you step out, feel as if it would be un-English to sneak off and leave Mr Blunt and the young partner in the lurch. You fellows look as if you are ashamed of yourselves.”
“That’s about what I am,” said one of the party with the spokesman. “I’m going to stop.”
As he said these words he stepped back into the rear rank.
“Same here,” said another; and he too dropped back.
“Oh, I say,” said another; “it’s shabby to leave us here like this.”
“Shabby? It’s dirty,” cried the spokesman. “I wouldn’t have said what I did for all of you if I’d known. Hang me if I’m going almost alone!”
“Nor I—nor I,” cried two others.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” cried another man. “I’m not going in the boat.”
Stan forgot his own nervousness, and burst out laughing, at which the whole party of Europeans broke out into a cheer.
“Thank ye, my lads,” said the manager in his grimmest way. “I did feel a bit puzzled.—Now then, Wing, tell the coolies and the rest that we’re in for a big fight. They’ll understand you better than they will me. Tell them that every one who doesn’t mean to stand by us can go off in the boat with you. Be fair with them, and tell them that there’ll be a lot of bad fighting.”
Wing nodded, and made a most animated speech to his yellow-looking, sun-tanned audience, who received it with a series of grunts.
“What do they say, my man?”
“Say wantee big fight. Shalpen knives and cuttee lot heads off.”
“You didn’t make them understand how dreadful it is going to be.”
“Yes; said velly dleadful—pilate kill plenty men.”
“Tell them again.”
Wing spoke to the little crowd, and as he finished the coolies set up a tremendous shout.
“What do they say now?” cried Blunt.
“Say don’tee ca’e half mandalin button fo’ all pilate on livah.”
“Well done!” cried the manager. “What else?”
“Allee wantee fight velly bad. Knife all cuttee cuttee like lazo’. Wantee shave bad man head off.”
“Then they mean to stop and back me up?”
“Yes. Say kill plenty mo’e pilate. No habbee big fightee long time ago, and say Wing go in boatee all alonee and get out way.”
“Off with you then, my man,” cried Blunt; “they’re quite right. You’ll be in the way.—Well, do you hear?”
Wing nodded.
“Not go ’long till Misteh young Lynn quite leady.”
“But don’t you understand? Mr Lynn is going to stop and fight.”
“Yes. Wing stop take ca’e of um.”
“What!” cried Stan, laughing.
“Yes. Wing tellee old Lynn and Uncle Jeffley takee gleat ca’e young Lynn. How takee gleat ca’e if Wing lun away in boat? Wing go ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”
“No, no, Wing. You had better go and get out of danger,” said Stan warmly.
“Young Lynn talkee talkee big piecee nonsense stuff. Wing go back in boat Hai-Hai; Uncle Jeff say, ‘Hullo, you! What double dickens you do along young Lynn?’ What Wing say? ‘’Top topside house fightee fightee.’ Misteh Olivee say, ‘Why Wing not ’top topside house fight too, kill pilate, bling young Lynn quite safe?’ Misteh Olivee old Lynn quite light. Wing no go lun away in boat. Young Lynn come, Wing go. Young Lynn no go, Wing ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”
“Stop, then,” cried the manager abruptly, “and let’s see whether you can fight.”
“Yes,” said the Chinaman coolly enough. “’Top ’long young Lynn. Fight muchee. Kill plenty pilate.”
“There! we’ve all talked enough,” cried the manager, turning up his sleeves. “Now then for work.—You, Wing, go right up to the top of the big warehouse and watch the river. As soon as you see the tip of a junk-sail you’ll give us warning.”
“Misteh Blunt lendee Wing two-eye pull-out glass?”
“My double telescope? Yes, take it; and mind you let us know in time.—Now, Stan Lynn, we’ve got some man’s work to do. You can’t afford to be a boy any longer. This way.—Now, my lads, follow on. If the bloodthirsty wretches will only give us plenty of time they shall have such a reception as will open their diagonal slits of eyes.”
Five minutes later Wing was perched at the very top of the great warehouse, with his eyes glued to Blunt’s lorgnette, and his blue cotton frock filling out in the breeze and shrinking again in the most grotesque fashion. One minute the Chinaman was blown out like a man in the transition state of turning into a balloon. The next minute he was convex one side, concave the other, while directly after he seemed to have been furnished with an enormously huge bun upon his shoulders. But he noticed neither wind nor sunshine; his eyes were strained up the main reach of the river, and the glass was sweeping bend after bend in search of the coming danger in the shape of the top of some tall matting junk-sail seen across the country where the great river pursued its serpentine course.