Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty.“To Certain Death?”In the minutes that elapsed before the enemy could make their way into the deserted portion of the defences Stan and his Englishmen worked hard, making the coolies bring in a sufficiency of water for the hot and thirsty, while watch and ward was kept, and wonder was expressed as to what had been done with the stink-pots.“I’m expecting,” said the lieutenant, “that we shall know by the crackling of burning wood what has become of them.”But there was nothing to break the silence, no rush to indicate that the enemy had climbed in, and all attempts made to take an observation from the chinks of the boarded-up windows of the office were useless; for these latter only resulted in the examiners seeing the far-stretching verdant country, no sweep of the river being visible from that portion of the building.“What does it mean?” said Stan at last. “Some trap?”All listened again for some minutes before Stan, pistol in hand, led the way to the foot of the warehouse stairs, where they stood listening for a few minutes before the lad planted his foot on the first step.“No, no, sir; let me lead,” whispered his lieutenant—“let me go this time. The first thing you’ll hear will be the swish of one of their great swords. They’re lying ready to take off the heads of all who begin to show.”“But we must get to know what they’re doing,” said Stan.“Then let the carpenters take down the top plank of one of the doors, sir; it’s only screwed, and we can see everything then. If they begin with their spears, a volley from our pistols will drive them back till the board is screwed on.”“But I don’t believe that any one can be upstairs after all,” cried Stan impatiently. “How foolish to have all the windows closed up without leaving a hole!”“Hasn’t proved very foolish, sir,” said the lieutenant dryly, “according to my ideas. Holes for us to peep out at mean places for the enemy to send spears through. Where we could reach from inside they could get at from outside.”“Listen,” said Stan; and for nearly five minutes silence was maintained, without a sound being heard.“There!” whispered Stan triumphantly; “do you mean to tell me that the enemy would be able to keep as still as that if they were up there?”“I’m afraid they would if they had laid a trap for us.”“Oh, impossible!” replied Stan.“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but I’ve been working out here in China for the last twenty years, mixing with the people and learning their ways, and I’m ready to say that they’re about the most artful beggars under the sun.”“Then you really believe that they are upstairs in hiding?”“I do, sir. What is it they want to do?”“Murder us, of course.”“Exactly; and they’ve been trying to do that for the last hour, losing men heavily all the time. Force has done no good, and now they’re trying some artful trick to get hold of us without losing any more men.”“Then why don’t they burn us out? That seems to be the most likely thing to do.”“Yes; only they’d burn all the rich loot they want to take. They haven’t attacked us here for nothing. Of course, they’d go back rejoicing after hacking us to pieces, but they don’t want to sail away back with empty junks.”“There’s something in that,” said Stan thoughtfully.“It’s a trap, sir, and if you want any proof of their cunning, you’ve just had one over those cartridges.”Stan frowned and looked sharply in the speaker’s eyes.“You don’t doubt that it was Chinese work?”“No,” whispered back Stan; “we must have a traitor among us.”“Yes; one who felt that the enemy would get the upper hand.”“Do you know who did it?”“I think so, sir,” was the reply; “and did at first, though I’ve had my doubts since.”“Well, that’s all over. What we want to see now is whether the enemy are on the upper floor.”“I say they are, sir; and if one of us goes up, the next thing we shall hear will be a horrible thud from one of their swords, and we shall be a man short.”Stan stood listening in silence again for a few moments, gazing up the stairs from out of the semi-darkness into the light which came down from above.“I don’t care,” he said at last; “there’s something more in this than you say.”“Perhaps so, sir; but the grim death I can see is quite enough for me.”“You’re all wrong, and I’m going up to see what’s the meaning of this silence.”“What’s the good, sir?”“The good?” cried Stan. “What an absurd question! To know, of course.”“And what’s the good of your knowing when you won’t be able to tell us?”“You mean I should be killed at a blow, and not be able to come back and say what I had seen?”“Of course, sir.”“Ah, well!” said Stan bitterly, “that wouldn’t matter. If you didn’t hear me cry out, you’d know you were right by my not coming back. Now then, lend me another pistol, and I’ll rush up at once.”The lieutenant glanced round at those who were with him, and then stepped before the lad.“You’re not going to run such a risk, sir,” he said.“What! Who’s going to stop me?”“I am, sir; and the rest are going to help me.”“Mr Blunt put me in command, for all of you to obey me.”“Yes, sir, to defend the place—fight for it with us.”“And you are beginning a mutiny,” cried Stan angrily.“No, sir; only going to stop you from doing a mad thing.”“Mad?”“Yes; going to throw your life away, when we want you to help us.”Stan hesitated.“I don’t want to do anything mad,” he said more quietly. “But we must know the meaning of what is going on upstairs and outside. The enemy may be laying a mine to blow us all up.”“No, they may not, sir. In their selfish cunning they will not do anything to destroy the place.”“Absurd!” cried Stan. “Why, they’ve been trying since the beginning to burn the place down.”“Oh no, sir; there you’re wrong. Only to drive us out—stifle us with their stink-pots. As soon as they had done that they would have been the first to drown out any fire that had taken hold. Come, sir; I’ve fought my best and tried to prove to you that I was staunch, so take my advice—wait.”“No one could have been more brave and true,” cried Stan warmly. “Forgive me if I have spoken too hotly, but don’t try and stop me now. I must make a dash for it.”“It’s your duty to Mr Blunt and your people, sir, to stand fast and order us to go up.”“To certain death?”“Yes, if it means it, sir.”“Then you have your doubts,” cried Stan. “There! I’m going to make a rush up. Who’ll follow?”“All of us,” came in a burst.“Ready, then,” cried Stan, cocking his pistol. “Now then; once more—ready?”No one spoke, but there was a sharp clicking of pistol-locks, and then a pause, while Stan stood with his left foot on the second stair, ready to bound up, but listening intently.“No one there,” he said in a sharp whisper, and rushed up into the light.

In the minutes that elapsed before the enemy could make their way into the deserted portion of the defences Stan and his Englishmen worked hard, making the coolies bring in a sufficiency of water for the hot and thirsty, while watch and ward was kept, and wonder was expressed as to what had been done with the stink-pots.

“I’m expecting,” said the lieutenant, “that we shall know by the crackling of burning wood what has become of them.”

But there was nothing to break the silence, no rush to indicate that the enemy had climbed in, and all attempts made to take an observation from the chinks of the boarded-up windows of the office were useless; for these latter only resulted in the examiners seeing the far-stretching verdant country, no sweep of the river being visible from that portion of the building.

“What does it mean?” said Stan at last. “Some trap?”

All listened again for some minutes before Stan, pistol in hand, led the way to the foot of the warehouse stairs, where they stood listening for a few minutes before the lad planted his foot on the first step.

“No, no, sir; let me lead,” whispered his lieutenant—“let me go this time. The first thing you’ll hear will be the swish of one of their great swords. They’re lying ready to take off the heads of all who begin to show.”

“But we must get to know what they’re doing,” said Stan.

“Then let the carpenters take down the top plank of one of the doors, sir; it’s only screwed, and we can see everything then. If they begin with their spears, a volley from our pistols will drive them back till the board is screwed on.”

“But I don’t believe that any one can be upstairs after all,” cried Stan impatiently. “How foolish to have all the windows closed up without leaving a hole!”

“Hasn’t proved very foolish, sir,” said the lieutenant dryly, “according to my ideas. Holes for us to peep out at mean places for the enemy to send spears through. Where we could reach from inside they could get at from outside.”

“Listen,” said Stan; and for nearly five minutes silence was maintained, without a sound being heard.

“There!” whispered Stan triumphantly; “do you mean to tell me that the enemy would be able to keep as still as that if they were up there?”

“I’m afraid they would if they had laid a trap for us.”

“Oh, impossible!” replied Stan.

“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but I’ve been working out here in China for the last twenty years, mixing with the people and learning their ways, and I’m ready to say that they’re about the most artful beggars under the sun.”

“Then you really believe that they are upstairs in hiding?”

“I do, sir. What is it they want to do?”

“Murder us, of course.”

“Exactly; and they’ve been trying to do that for the last hour, losing men heavily all the time. Force has done no good, and now they’re trying some artful trick to get hold of us without losing any more men.”

“Then why don’t they burn us out? That seems to be the most likely thing to do.”

“Yes; only they’d burn all the rich loot they want to take. They haven’t attacked us here for nothing. Of course, they’d go back rejoicing after hacking us to pieces, but they don’t want to sail away back with empty junks.”

“There’s something in that,” said Stan thoughtfully.

“It’s a trap, sir, and if you want any proof of their cunning, you’ve just had one over those cartridges.”

Stan frowned and looked sharply in the speaker’s eyes.

“You don’t doubt that it was Chinese work?”

“No,” whispered back Stan; “we must have a traitor among us.”

“Yes; one who felt that the enemy would get the upper hand.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“I think so, sir,” was the reply; “and did at first, though I’ve had my doubts since.”

“Well, that’s all over. What we want to see now is whether the enemy are on the upper floor.”

“I say they are, sir; and if one of us goes up, the next thing we shall hear will be a horrible thud from one of their swords, and we shall be a man short.”

Stan stood listening in silence again for a few moments, gazing up the stairs from out of the semi-darkness into the light which came down from above.

“I don’t care,” he said at last; “there’s something more in this than you say.”

“Perhaps so, sir; but the grim death I can see is quite enough for me.”

“You’re all wrong, and I’m going up to see what’s the meaning of this silence.”

“What’s the good, sir?”

“The good?” cried Stan. “What an absurd question! To know, of course.”

“And what’s the good of your knowing when you won’t be able to tell us?”

“You mean I should be killed at a blow, and not be able to come back and say what I had seen?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Ah, well!” said Stan bitterly, “that wouldn’t matter. If you didn’t hear me cry out, you’d know you were right by my not coming back. Now then, lend me another pistol, and I’ll rush up at once.”

The lieutenant glanced round at those who were with him, and then stepped before the lad.

“You’re not going to run such a risk, sir,” he said.

“What! Who’s going to stop me?”

“I am, sir; and the rest are going to help me.”

“Mr Blunt put me in command, for all of you to obey me.”

“Yes, sir, to defend the place—fight for it with us.”

“And you are beginning a mutiny,” cried Stan angrily.

“No, sir; only going to stop you from doing a mad thing.”

“Mad?”

“Yes; going to throw your life away, when we want you to help us.”

Stan hesitated.

“I don’t want to do anything mad,” he said more quietly. “But we must know the meaning of what is going on upstairs and outside. The enemy may be laying a mine to blow us all up.”

“No, they may not, sir. In their selfish cunning they will not do anything to destroy the place.”

“Absurd!” cried Stan. “Why, they’ve been trying since the beginning to burn the place down.”

“Oh no, sir; there you’re wrong. Only to drive us out—stifle us with their stink-pots. As soon as they had done that they would have been the first to drown out any fire that had taken hold. Come, sir; I’ve fought my best and tried to prove to you that I was staunch, so take my advice—wait.”

“No one could have been more brave and true,” cried Stan warmly. “Forgive me if I have spoken too hotly, but don’t try and stop me now. I must make a dash for it.”

“It’s your duty to Mr Blunt and your people, sir, to stand fast and order us to go up.”

“To certain death?”

“Yes, if it means it, sir.”

“Then you have your doubts,” cried Stan. “There! I’m going to make a rush up. Who’ll follow?”

“All of us,” came in a burst.

“Ready, then,” cried Stan, cocking his pistol. “Now then; once more—ready?”

No one spoke, but there was a sharp clicking of pistol-locks, and then a pause, while Stan stood with his left foot on the second stair, ready to bound up, but listening intently.

“No one there,” he said in a sharp whisper, and rushed up into the light.

Chapter Thirty One.“A Traitor.”No movement above him, no swish and horrible thud of a great two-handed sword, but a free course for the lad to spring from the last step into the long room, its blackened, pitch-besmirched floor covered with charred patches, and pieces of pitch, broken pots, and, above all, scores of empty cartridge-cases lying scattered about, and all lit up by the bright sunshine which streamed in through the open barricaded windows, Stan stopped short, with his follower crowding up and pressing upon him, pistol in hand, and gave a sharp look at every barricade to see if any of the enemy were crouching behind the holes in the window-opening; and, satisfied that the place was free, he waved one of the revolvers he held above his head and led off in a wild and excited—“Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!”The shout was taken up and repeated with all the force of his companions’ lungs, while as the lad made a rush to the nearest window and gazed out on to the river, his lips parted for another cheer and his revolver-armed hand rose for a fresh wave.But his lips closed again, his hand dropped to his side, and nothing but a hoarse, murmuring sound came forth in the words:“I can’t—I can’t; I’m dead-beat now.”“Hold up, my lad!” cried the lieutenant wildly as he sprang forward just in time to catch Stan as he reeled, and eased him down into a sitting position upon one of the bales, supporting the lad’s head against his breast. “Where are you hurt?”“Nowhere,” said Stan in half-suffocated tones. “Done up, I suppose—too much for me. Water, please. Here,” he added feebly, “give the cowards one more cheer. No, no,” he added huskily and with more animation; “we’ve all done enough. Thank you!”He took the tin of water dipped for him from one of the buckets brought up for extinguishing fire, drank with avidity, and then rose and staggered to the bucket-side, dropped upon his knees, and bent over to bathe his burning temples and smarting eyes.“Hah!” he ejaculated as he rose and began drying his face with his blackened handkerchief. “It was very weak and cowardly, but I couldn’t help it. Sort of reaction, I suppose, after such a strain. I can’t help feeling a bit ashamed.”“Of being so cowardly, sir?” said the lieutenant dryly.“Yes; it was very weak,” replied Stan.“Oh yes, very,” said the lieutenant, with a curious croak in his throat. “I never saw such a cowardly lot as we all are in my life.—Eh, lads?”A wild, half-hysterical laugh arose from the party, and the next minute a most absurd performance was gone through, the men all beginning to shake hands with one another, the biggest fellow present with tears running down his cheeks.“Shocking cowards, all of us, Mr Lynn,” said the lieutenant huskily; “but we’ve sent them flying with fleas in their ears.”“Yes, yes,” cried Stan excitedly now, as he fast recovered from his weakness. “Oh! it was bravely done, but you ought to have had a man to lead you. Here, we must go down and let Mr Blunt hear the news.”“Yes, directly,” said the lieutenant; “but when I tell him—I mean,wetell him—all that has been done, I think I know what he’ll say.”“Say?” cried Stan, staring at the speaker. “What will he say?”“That he couldn’t have done it better himself.”A tremendous cheer arose at this, and the colour began to return to the young leader’s face, while to turn the conversation, which was growing painful, Stan suddenly said, addressing all:“Why, it must have been that last volley!”“Yes,” said the lieutenant; “that was too much for them. They stopped, though, to carry off all their wounded.”This last was said as they stood gazing out of the windows at the six great junks gliding slowly up against the current with all sail set, but no remark was made about the way in which the broad river was dotted with ghastly-looking objects floating away with the stream and, fortunately for those at thehong, fast growing more distant; but all knew how busy the defeated enemy must have been plunging those who had fallen into the river before they sailed away.“Now let us go down, sir, and see if Mr Blunt is well enough to hear the news.”“Yes; he ought to have been told before.”“We left him half-asleep,” said the lieutenant meaningly. “I wouldn’t wake a wounded man, sir, even to give him the best of news.”“Perhaps it would be best to wait,” said Stan wearily, and looking as if all the spirit in him before had completely gone.“Feel done up, sir?”“Yes, horribly,” replied Stan as they reached the head of the stairs, and both glanced round and then looked in each other’s eyes.“What were you looking round for?” said Stan.“To see that there was no sign of fire anywhere about. Weren’t you?”“Yes,” said Stan. “How horribly the place smells!” Then, with his thoughts reverting to the late engagement: “I say, the enemy must have lost very heavily.”“Awfully, sir,” said the man; and then meaningly, “Didn’t you see the crows?”Stan’s brave companion was alluding to a long line of dusky birds that were following the dismal objects floating in direful procession down the river, and coming up from all directions to join their friends.“Yes,” said the lad, with a shudder, “I saw them;” and at the same minute a voice came from behind, one of the party calling the attention of another to the same strange piece of animal instinct.“I say,” he said, “look how the crows are coming up. How can they know when there is a fight?”He called them crows—the common term—but he meant vultures, the scavengers of the Chinese villages and towns.Blunt was sleeping heavily, or rather, he was lying back in a state of semi-stupor, the result of his wounds and the exertion of moving when in so weak a state. Wing was at his side, busily wafting the fan to and fro, but closing it quickly from time to time to make a blow at some troublesome, obtrusive fly, but never hitting once.“Still asleep?” said Stan in a whisper.“Yes, sleep velly fast,” replied the man. “Velly bad indeed. Hot in head now. Keep talkee. Say silly pidgin nonsense. Wanted get up and go ’way while all fight. Heah pilate shout. Wanted go see. Wing tly to ’top him. Say knock Wing down not get out o’ way.—You been killee all pilate?”“All? Nonsense,” said Stan wearily. “But we’ve driven them away.”“Dlive allee ’way? Yes,” said Wing, nodding his head a good deal. “Shoot, killee, flighten. Fly ’way like clows when shoot. But soon fo’get. Come back again like clows.”“Come back like the crows?” said Stan.“Yes. Shoot gun, all fly ’way. Fo’get soon; come back again to get good t’ings.”“Do you mean you think the pirates will come back and attack?”“Yes. Wing suah. Some day.”“Do you think he is right?” said Stan, turning to his lieutenant.“Yes, I’m afraid so,” was the reply. “Not for some days, of course; but they have been disappointed of the plunder, and knowing it is here, they’ll come again to try and get it and to pay us out for the number we have killed and wounded. There! don’t talk about it now. Let’s see about a meal being got ready.—You, Wing, I think you could leave Mr Blunt as he is. He can’t do better than sleep.”“No do betteh,” said the Chinaman. “You say, go get dinneh leady? Wing glad. Do evelybody muchee good.”“See about it, then,” said Stan, “while we go and say a few words to the coolies—eh? Don’t you think they ought to be praised for what they have done?”“Yes,” was the lieutenant’s reply; “come and say a few words to them—not many—and tell them you are pleased with the way they fought. But tell them, too, that you’ll have a good supper got ready for them by-and-by. That’ll please them better than any amount of words.”Stan led the way to where the Chinamen were chatting together about the fight and the way in which the enemy had been driven off; but they were eager enough to turn and listen to the lad’s words. Their round faces brightened upon hearing the announcement about the feast they were to have, and they indulged in a hoarse cheer when their visitors left to join their companions. Then, after one of the doors had been opened, the little party stepped out into the bloodstained alley between the building and the impromptu wall, which, besides being splashed with molten pitch and charred here and there, was horribly blotched in places by the gore of some wretched pirate who had been wounded or met his end.“After what has been said, then,” said Stan sadly, “it will not be safe to pull down these chests?”“Well, I don’t know yet. I think I’d leave them up till Mr Blunt has had a word or two to say to-morrow. I hope he’ll be well enough to take a little interest in matters by then. There’s no hurry. We’ll have them put straight here and there to repair damages, but they may very well wait afterwards, as there’s not likely to be any rain. But I say, Mr Lynn, what do you think about that bit of treachery? I was of opinion that it was Wing.”“So was I at first, but he seems so calm and innocent.”“Ah, yes! But you mustn’t think a Chinaman innocent because he looks so. He’s a mystery, you know. But still I have my doubts, and it worries me lest it should be one of the coolies. It would be so much worse then.”“Why?” said Stan, looking wonderingly at his companion.“Because they all belong to the same gang—are all members of one club—and if one of them proves to be a traitor, the bad sheep corrupts the whole flock.”“What is to be done?” said Stan after a short, thoughtful pause.“Nothing now, sir. We know there is a traitor amongst our men, but there is nothing to fear from that until the enemy come again. On further thought, however, I don’t think it was Wing.”“I’m very glad,” said Stan, “for I believed in him, and I’m sure my father and uncle did. It must be one of the coolies, then. How are we to find out?”“By going on quietly and not appearing to suspect. As I say, there is no immediate danger, and we have other things to think about. What do you propose doing first?”“Asking your advice about Mr Blunt. I want to send for a doctor at once.”“Ah, yes! But you ask my advice. Well, it is that you wait till the morning.”“Wait till the morning? I want to send a boat with a messenger down the river to the port to bring back a doctor.”“He could only bring a native one, and he has one now.”“What! Wing? He is not a surgeon.”“No; but he knows a great deal of that sort of thing. He has helped Mr Blunt to doctor the men often enough here, and I’d as soon trust him if I were wounded as I would an ordinary native surgeon. You see how well he has treated the governor already.”“Roughly bandaged him up,” said Stan impatiently; “but he may bleed to death in the night.”“Not likely, sir. Wing plugged his wounds, and I looked to see that the bleeding had stopped.”“But he may be bleeding internally.”“No; I’m sure of that.”“How can you tell without a proper examination?”“By the state he is in.”“Then you are a hit of a doctor?” said Stan rather dubiously.“More of a surgeon, sir. We’re obliged to be in these out-of-the-way places,” said his lieutenant, smiling.“I know nothing, but I’m horribly anxious. How can you tell?”“Simply enough, sir,” said the other. “Where is his wound?”“Right through the shoulder.”“Very well; where would he bleed if it was not outside?”“Why, inside, of course,” said Stan.“Certainly; but where?”“As I said—inside.”“Inside is rather a vague term, sir. Well, look here; the wounds are quite high up?”“Yes, very.”“Then if he bled anywhere, it would be into the cavity of the chest.”“I don’t know anything about cavities, but of course it must be into the chest.”“Exactly. Well, we know his heart isn’t touched.”“How?” said Stan.“Because if it had been he would be a dead man.”“I see.”“Then no big arteries or veins are wounded. If they had been he would have been suffocated by the blood long enough ago.”“Would he?”“Of course. His lungs would have been choked with blood, so we know that they are not injured.”“I see,” said Stan; “but it’s very horrible, isn’t it?”“I think not. Any one who learns things like this may find them very useful in an emergency. I do; and it gives a man confidence. I don’t think Mr Blunt’s wound is dangerous at all.”“I do,” said Stan shortly. “See how delirious he seems to have been.”“That’s only natural, sir. Fever sets in generally after a wound.”“Oh, but you make too light of it,” cried Stan. “He is shot right through the shoulder.”“So much the better.”“What!” cried Stan angrily. “How can that be so much the better?”“There is no fear of dangerous inflammation caused by the presence of the bullet, for we know that it isn’t in him, and Nature has set to work before now to begin healing him up.”“Without a doctor?”“To be sure. She’s a splendid surgeon, sir.”“I wish I could feel as confident as you do,” said Stan.“Well, learn all you can; you soon will.”“Then you think we might wait till the morning?”“Certainly. You and I will take it in turns to watch him through the night, and in the morning we shall see.”“Very well,” said Stan; “perhaps you are right, but I feel very anxious about Mr Blunt.”“So do I, sir; but I feel sure that we are doing right.”Right or wrong, a little thought taught the lad that he was helpless. Night was at hand, and it would have been impossible to despatch a message till morning, for the presence of the pirates and the sound of the firing had put every owner of a boat to flight.Hence it was, then, that the inevitable was cheerfully accepted.That night darkness soon hid the towering sails of the retreating pirates; and in the morning watch, when Stan left Blunt’s side to go to the roof and look out in the grey dawn, glad to breathe the fresh, cool air after some hours in the heated office where he had shared the watch by Blunt’s rough couch, there was no sign of danger, scan the distant windings of the river how he would, while sunrise endorsed the fact that the enemy had sailed on all through the night for their rendezvous, scores of miles away.

No movement above him, no swish and horrible thud of a great two-handed sword, but a free course for the lad to spring from the last step into the long room, its blackened, pitch-besmirched floor covered with charred patches, and pieces of pitch, broken pots, and, above all, scores of empty cartridge-cases lying scattered about, and all lit up by the bright sunshine which streamed in through the open barricaded windows, Stan stopped short, with his follower crowding up and pressing upon him, pistol in hand, and gave a sharp look at every barricade to see if any of the enemy were crouching behind the holes in the window-opening; and, satisfied that the place was free, he waved one of the revolvers he held above his head and led off in a wild and excited—“Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!”

The shout was taken up and repeated with all the force of his companions’ lungs, while as the lad made a rush to the nearest window and gazed out on to the river, his lips parted for another cheer and his revolver-armed hand rose for a fresh wave.

But his lips closed again, his hand dropped to his side, and nothing but a hoarse, murmuring sound came forth in the words:

“I can’t—I can’t; I’m dead-beat now.”

“Hold up, my lad!” cried the lieutenant wildly as he sprang forward just in time to catch Stan as he reeled, and eased him down into a sitting position upon one of the bales, supporting the lad’s head against his breast. “Where are you hurt?”

“Nowhere,” said Stan in half-suffocated tones. “Done up, I suppose—too much for me. Water, please. Here,” he added feebly, “give the cowards one more cheer. No, no,” he added huskily and with more animation; “we’ve all done enough. Thank you!”

He took the tin of water dipped for him from one of the buckets brought up for extinguishing fire, drank with avidity, and then rose and staggered to the bucket-side, dropped upon his knees, and bent over to bathe his burning temples and smarting eyes.

“Hah!” he ejaculated as he rose and began drying his face with his blackened handkerchief. “It was very weak and cowardly, but I couldn’t help it. Sort of reaction, I suppose, after such a strain. I can’t help feeling a bit ashamed.”

“Of being so cowardly, sir?” said the lieutenant dryly.

“Yes; it was very weak,” replied Stan.

“Oh yes, very,” said the lieutenant, with a curious croak in his throat. “I never saw such a cowardly lot as we all are in my life.—Eh, lads?”

A wild, half-hysterical laugh arose from the party, and the next minute a most absurd performance was gone through, the men all beginning to shake hands with one another, the biggest fellow present with tears running down his cheeks.

“Shocking cowards, all of us, Mr Lynn,” said the lieutenant huskily; “but we’ve sent them flying with fleas in their ears.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Stan excitedly now, as he fast recovered from his weakness. “Oh! it was bravely done, but you ought to have had a man to lead you. Here, we must go down and let Mr Blunt hear the news.”

“Yes, directly,” said the lieutenant; “but when I tell him—I mean,wetell him—all that has been done, I think I know what he’ll say.”

“Say?” cried Stan, staring at the speaker. “What will he say?”

“That he couldn’t have done it better himself.”

A tremendous cheer arose at this, and the colour began to return to the young leader’s face, while to turn the conversation, which was growing painful, Stan suddenly said, addressing all:

“Why, it must have been that last volley!”

“Yes,” said the lieutenant; “that was too much for them. They stopped, though, to carry off all their wounded.”

This last was said as they stood gazing out of the windows at the six great junks gliding slowly up against the current with all sail set, but no remark was made about the way in which the broad river was dotted with ghastly-looking objects floating away with the stream and, fortunately for those at thehong, fast growing more distant; but all knew how busy the defeated enemy must have been plunging those who had fallen into the river before they sailed away.

“Now let us go down, sir, and see if Mr Blunt is well enough to hear the news.”

“Yes; he ought to have been told before.”

“We left him half-asleep,” said the lieutenant meaningly. “I wouldn’t wake a wounded man, sir, even to give him the best of news.”

“Perhaps it would be best to wait,” said Stan wearily, and looking as if all the spirit in him before had completely gone.

“Feel done up, sir?”

“Yes, horribly,” replied Stan as they reached the head of the stairs, and both glanced round and then looked in each other’s eyes.

“What were you looking round for?” said Stan.

“To see that there was no sign of fire anywhere about. Weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Stan. “How horribly the place smells!” Then, with his thoughts reverting to the late engagement: “I say, the enemy must have lost very heavily.”

“Awfully, sir,” said the man; and then meaningly, “Didn’t you see the crows?”

Stan’s brave companion was alluding to a long line of dusky birds that were following the dismal objects floating in direful procession down the river, and coming up from all directions to join their friends.

“Yes,” said the lad, with a shudder, “I saw them;” and at the same minute a voice came from behind, one of the party calling the attention of another to the same strange piece of animal instinct.

“I say,” he said, “look how the crows are coming up. How can they know when there is a fight?”

He called them crows—the common term—but he meant vultures, the scavengers of the Chinese villages and towns.

Blunt was sleeping heavily, or rather, he was lying back in a state of semi-stupor, the result of his wounds and the exertion of moving when in so weak a state. Wing was at his side, busily wafting the fan to and fro, but closing it quickly from time to time to make a blow at some troublesome, obtrusive fly, but never hitting once.

“Still asleep?” said Stan in a whisper.

“Yes, sleep velly fast,” replied the man. “Velly bad indeed. Hot in head now. Keep talkee. Say silly pidgin nonsense. Wanted get up and go ’way while all fight. Heah pilate shout. Wanted go see. Wing tly to ’top him. Say knock Wing down not get out o’ way.—You been killee all pilate?”

“All? Nonsense,” said Stan wearily. “But we’ve driven them away.”

“Dlive allee ’way? Yes,” said Wing, nodding his head a good deal. “Shoot, killee, flighten. Fly ’way like clows when shoot. But soon fo’get. Come back again like clows.”

“Come back like the crows?” said Stan.

“Yes. Shoot gun, all fly ’way. Fo’get soon; come back again to get good t’ings.”

“Do you mean you think the pirates will come back and attack?”

“Yes. Wing suah. Some day.”

“Do you think he is right?” said Stan, turning to his lieutenant.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” was the reply. “Not for some days, of course; but they have been disappointed of the plunder, and knowing it is here, they’ll come again to try and get it and to pay us out for the number we have killed and wounded. There! don’t talk about it now. Let’s see about a meal being got ready.—You, Wing, I think you could leave Mr Blunt as he is. He can’t do better than sleep.”

“No do betteh,” said the Chinaman. “You say, go get dinneh leady? Wing glad. Do evelybody muchee good.”

“See about it, then,” said Stan, “while we go and say a few words to the coolies—eh? Don’t you think they ought to be praised for what they have done?”

“Yes,” was the lieutenant’s reply; “come and say a few words to them—not many—and tell them you are pleased with the way they fought. But tell them, too, that you’ll have a good supper got ready for them by-and-by. That’ll please them better than any amount of words.”

Stan led the way to where the Chinamen were chatting together about the fight and the way in which the enemy had been driven off; but they were eager enough to turn and listen to the lad’s words. Their round faces brightened upon hearing the announcement about the feast they were to have, and they indulged in a hoarse cheer when their visitors left to join their companions. Then, after one of the doors had been opened, the little party stepped out into the bloodstained alley between the building and the impromptu wall, which, besides being splashed with molten pitch and charred here and there, was horribly blotched in places by the gore of some wretched pirate who had been wounded or met his end.

“After what has been said, then,” said Stan sadly, “it will not be safe to pull down these chests?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. I think I’d leave them up till Mr Blunt has had a word or two to say to-morrow. I hope he’ll be well enough to take a little interest in matters by then. There’s no hurry. We’ll have them put straight here and there to repair damages, but they may very well wait afterwards, as there’s not likely to be any rain. But I say, Mr Lynn, what do you think about that bit of treachery? I was of opinion that it was Wing.”

“So was I at first, but he seems so calm and innocent.”

“Ah, yes! But you mustn’t think a Chinaman innocent because he looks so. He’s a mystery, you know. But still I have my doubts, and it worries me lest it should be one of the coolies. It would be so much worse then.”

“Why?” said Stan, looking wonderingly at his companion.

“Because they all belong to the same gang—are all members of one club—and if one of them proves to be a traitor, the bad sheep corrupts the whole flock.”

“What is to be done?” said Stan after a short, thoughtful pause.

“Nothing now, sir. We know there is a traitor amongst our men, but there is nothing to fear from that until the enemy come again. On further thought, however, I don’t think it was Wing.”

“I’m very glad,” said Stan, “for I believed in him, and I’m sure my father and uncle did. It must be one of the coolies, then. How are we to find out?”

“By going on quietly and not appearing to suspect. As I say, there is no immediate danger, and we have other things to think about. What do you propose doing first?”

“Asking your advice about Mr Blunt. I want to send for a doctor at once.”

“Ah, yes! But you ask my advice. Well, it is that you wait till the morning.”

“Wait till the morning? I want to send a boat with a messenger down the river to the port to bring back a doctor.”

“He could only bring a native one, and he has one now.”

“What! Wing? He is not a surgeon.”

“No; but he knows a great deal of that sort of thing. He has helped Mr Blunt to doctor the men often enough here, and I’d as soon trust him if I were wounded as I would an ordinary native surgeon. You see how well he has treated the governor already.”

“Roughly bandaged him up,” said Stan impatiently; “but he may bleed to death in the night.”

“Not likely, sir. Wing plugged his wounds, and I looked to see that the bleeding had stopped.”

“But he may be bleeding internally.”

“No; I’m sure of that.”

“How can you tell without a proper examination?”

“By the state he is in.”

“Then you are a hit of a doctor?” said Stan rather dubiously.

“More of a surgeon, sir. We’re obliged to be in these out-of-the-way places,” said his lieutenant, smiling.

“I know nothing, but I’m horribly anxious. How can you tell?”

“Simply enough, sir,” said the other. “Where is his wound?”

“Right through the shoulder.”

“Very well; where would he bleed if it was not outside?”

“Why, inside, of course,” said Stan.

“Certainly; but where?”

“As I said—inside.”

“Inside is rather a vague term, sir. Well, look here; the wounds are quite high up?”

“Yes, very.”

“Then if he bled anywhere, it would be into the cavity of the chest.”

“I don’t know anything about cavities, but of course it must be into the chest.”

“Exactly. Well, we know his heart isn’t touched.”

“How?” said Stan.

“Because if it had been he would be a dead man.”

“I see.”

“Then no big arteries or veins are wounded. If they had been he would have been suffocated by the blood long enough ago.”

“Would he?”

“Of course. His lungs would have been choked with blood, so we know that they are not injured.”

“I see,” said Stan; “but it’s very horrible, isn’t it?”

“I think not. Any one who learns things like this may find them very useful in an emergency. I do; and it gives a man confidence. I don’t think Mr Blunt’s wound is dangerous at all.”

“I do,” said Stan shortly. “See how delirious he seems to have been.”

“That’s only natural, sir. Fever sets in generally after a wound.”

“Oh, but you make too light of it,” cried Stan. “He is shot right through the shoulder.”

“So much the better.”

“What!” cried Stan angrily. “How can that be so much the better?”

“There is no fear of dangerous inflammation caused by the presence of the bullet, for we know that it isn’t in him, and Nature has set to work before now to begin healing him up.”

“Without a doctor?”

“To be sure. She’s a splendid surgeon, sir.”

“I wish I could feel as confident as you do,” said Stan.

“Well, learn all you can; you soon will.”

“Then you think we might wait till the morning?”

“Certainly. You and I will take it in turns to watch him through the night, and in the morning we shall see.”

“Very well,” said Stan; “perhaps you are right, but I feel very anxious about Mr Blunt.”

“So do I, sir; but I feel sure that we are doing right.”

Right or wrong, a little thought taught the lad that he was helpless. Night was at hand, and it would have been impossible to despatch a message till morning, for the presence of the pirates and the sound of the firing had put every owner of a boat to flight.

Hence it was, then, that the inevitable was cheerfully accepted.

That night darkness soon hid the towering sails of the retreating pirates; and in the morning watch, when Stan left Blunt’s side to go to the roof and look out in the grey dawn, glad to breathe the fresh, cool air after some hours in the heated office where he had shared the watch by Blunt’s rough couch, there was no sign of danger, scan the distant windings of the river how he would, while sunrise endorsed the fact that the enemy had sailed on all through the night for their rendezvous, scores of miles away.

Chapter Thirty Two.“Shot Silk.”It was the next evening when, after a whole day’s rest passed in a deep sleep quite free from fever—as Stan was made to notice by Wing the Chinaman, who drew his attention to the calmness of the sleep, the absence of all fever and restlessness, and, above all, the soft, fine perspiration which bedewed the patient’s skin—Blunt slowly opened his eyes in the office, now made light and airy by the removal of the barricades, and lay looking up at the ceiling.As Wing pointed out the fact to Stan, the movement he made startled the sufferer, who looked at him sideways and said:“What’s the matter? Where am I?”Stan bent over him and replied.“To be sure. Yes; I remember now. Ah, how weak I am! But tell me, Lynn; how are things going?”Stan explained the position briefly.“Good!” said Blunt. “Excellent! Thoroughly thrashed them?”“For the present; but we all believe that they’ll come back.”“No, no, Lynn,” replied Blunt faintly; “not for long enough, if they ever do. Tell me again; how many did they lose?”“Ought you to talk now?”“Well, no, I suppose not much; but I’m all right, only very weak. I’m not going to die, my lad. There! I will not talk much. Go on telling me. I must hear.”Stan told him, but made no allusion to the bit of treachery; and when he had ended the manager smiled his approval.“Just what I expected,” he said. “Brave lads, all of them.”Hearing the talking, Stan’s lieutenant in the defence came softly in, but not so quietly as to be unheard by the wounded man, who raised his hand on the uninjured side.“Ah, Lawrence!” he said. “I’ve heard all about it. Bravely done, all of you. I’m better, you see. All that feverish muddle I felt in the head is gone.”“That’s right, sir. I came in to see how you were.”“Couldn’t be going on better.”“But what about sending down to Nang Ti for a native doctor?”“What for?”“To attend you, sir.”“Pooh! Absurd! Wing can do anything that a native doctor would suggest. He knows as much as I do, and I know by my symptoms that I’m going on all right.”“But we thought that as soon as you came to it might be better to send for help.”“No need, my man. I must be kept a bit low and quiet, not worried nor allowed to get up too soon, and I shall soon be as well as ever. Now tell me quietly, what have you done about our breastworks and the wall?”“Nothing, sir.”“What! not got the boxes and bales under cover again?”“We thought it better to leave things as they were in case the enemy returned.”“Bah! They will not come. But look here; the ammunition must be getting very low.”“Very, sir,” said Lawrence, with a meaning look at Stan.“To be sure.—Here, Lynn, first thing to-morrow morning write a despatch to your father, telling him of the attack and asking for a fresh supply of cartridges. It must be sent off by Wing in the first boat you can get hold of. At Nang Ti he will soon find a steamer bound for Hai-Hai—You, Lawrence, start the first thing in the morning all hands at work to restore everything that is not damaged.”“Yes, sir.”“That will do. I must not talk any more. Good-night.”To Stan’s surprise, the patient had no sooner closed his eyes than he seemed to be asleep; and it was late morning, just as Stan’s long letter was finished, and Wing, who declared himself well enough, came in to announce that he had picked up a boat from among those which had come stealing back, when Blunt opened his eyes again.Busy days followed, with confidence returning as no further news was heard of the pirates, while the way in which the people of the nearest villages came back to their homes and work in the fields seemed to act as an endorsement of the idea that the terrible raid was over, and the likelihood of there being another attack seemed to be past.The men worked hard; the traces of the fiery trial disappeared from the great storehouse, save that the charring and the pitch-stains refused to be scraped out; barricades disappeared, and partitions and stacks of chests and bales rose again in their old places; the carpenters cut out damaged wood, and with the exception of new-looking patches the place assumed its former aspect, while the business in the office and counting-house went on again as if the whole ugly blood-shedding had been only a feverish dream.Wing had not yet returned, but one afternoon Stan was busy in the office talking to Blunt about a boatload of tea which had come down from the interior—for the manager had progressed so rapidly that he was well on the high-road to complete recovery. Naturally he was a good deal pulled down, hollow of cheek and sunken of eye, and compelled to assist his steps by means of a stout bamboo cane, while the arm nearest to the injury was supported by a silken scarf used as a sling. But he was bright and cheerful, and busy in the office some hours every day, working, as he called it, vicariously, Stan being his deputy, who superintended a great deal of the correspondence that went on.“No news yet of Wing,” he was saying. “Seems a very long time, Lynn.”“Oh no; it’s a long way, and there might be some delay over getting the supplies you want.”“S’pose so,” said Blunt abruptly. “Good job our piratical friends don’t know of it or they’d come down at once. Hullo! What’s that?”Lawrence rose and went to the window to see what was the meaning of a loud gabble of voices coming from the wharf.“It’s a boat coming in,” he said.“Oh, Wing at last!” said Blunt. “Well, I’m very glad. A good supply of ammunition is just the tonic that will pull me round.”“It may be, sir, but I hardly think so,” replied Lawrence. “It’s theChee-hocome back.”“With that miserable sneak Mao. Cowardly hound to slip off as he did. Here, I’ll have a talk with him when he comes ashore. No more boatloads for him, he’ll find.—What say, Lynn? I’m weak yet—not get in a passion?”“It wouldn’t be wise,” whispered Stan.“Well, perhaps not; but the thought of that fat, smooth, comfortable-looking poodle coming in here smiling and rubbing his hands puts me in a perspiration.”“Perhaps he’ll be ashamed to show himself.”“What!” cried Blunt. “Mao ashamed? You don’t know him. You see if he doesn’t come cringing in, just as if nothing had happened, to ask if there is a load ready for him to take down to the port.—What do you say, Lawrence?”“The same as you do, sir.”Half-an-hour later the matter discussed was put to the proof, for there was the soft, shuffling sound of a Chinaman’s boots in the passage, and thetindalof the boat in which Stan had arrived with Wing gave a gentle tap, pushed the door, and entered, smiling profusely and bowing to Blunt and Stan, before taking up his post half-way to the desks, hat in hand, waiting to be addressed.Blunt heard him, but paid no heed for a minute or so; then looking up sternly, he saluted the man with a deep-toned—“Well, sir, what do you want?”“Come see when load leady fo’Chee-hoboat.”“How dare you come and ask after deserting us as you did? Why, we might have been all massacred, you cowardly scoundrel, for all you’d have done to save us. What have you got to say for yourself?”“Me t’inkChee-hob’long me. If stop, pilate man flow ’tink-pot. Set fi’ and cuttee Mao float,” said the man deprecatingly.“And so you set sail and got out of the way?”“Yes. Velly fast.Chee-honicee big boat b’long me. Takee ca’e. Hold plenty tea-box, plenty silk. Bluntee want—”“Look here, you scoundrel,” cried the manager angrily; “I am Mr Blunt, your employer, and if you call me Bluntee again I’ll throw this ruler at you.”As he spoke the manager caught his big ruler from the desk and made so fierce an “offer” with it that the Chinese boat-captain dropped upon his knees and bowed his head almost to the floor. “Get up!” shouted the manager. “No flow t’ick stick?” whined the man. “I will if you don’t get up this moment. Stand up like a man.”“Oh deah!” said the shivering Chinaman, getting up slowly and painfully, and displaying a couple of great tears running down his fat cheeks. “Misteh Blunt wantee Mao stop havee float cut?”“No, but to stay and help us, sir. How did you know but what we might want to escape in your boat down to Nang Ti?”“Mao quite suah not do so. Know Misteh Blunt big man. Velly angly. Can’tee flighten um and makee lun away. Mao know he stop fightee.”“And so you sailed away and left us in the lurch.”“Yes. Pilate man velly dleadful. Killee evelybody and cut Mao head off. Cut all men and flow um ove’boa’d.”“And so you ran away—eh?”“Yes. Velly much aflaid. Mao tly save boatee fo’ Misteh Blunt. Boat b’long Mao.”“Ah, well! you saved it.”“Yes. Tookee long way. Sail up cleek. Hide till Mao quitee suah pilate junk allee gone ’way. Then come again. You got plenty bale plenty tea-box fo’ Mao take down livah—eh?”“Be off!” said Blunt shortly. “I’ll think about it.”“Yes, Misteh Blunt t’ink gleat deal. See Mao ’blige lun away.Chee-hoboat b’long Mao. No do let pilate buln, sink. B’long Mao—b’long Misteh Blunt—b’long evelybody.”“Be off!” shouted Blunt; and the man went away, nodding and smiling, to join his crew upon the wharf.“Shall you employ him any more?” said Stan as the door closed and the captain’s blue frock was seen to balloon out in the pleasant breeze as he marched complacently along the river-front.“Oh yes,” replied Blunt. “He’s a very honest fellow, and can’t help being a thorough coward. Suppose I dismiss him, I shall have to engage another, who would possibly turn out dishonest and a greater humbug than this one.”“But he seems to be utterly without courage.”“Pooh! We all are at first. I was horribly frightened when we were attacked.”“It didn’t seem like it,” said Stan, smiling.“Oh no, of course not. I wasn’t going to let any one see what a stew I was in. That’s the result of education and one’s love of keeping up appearances. You owned to being frightened too—at first.”“I was,” said Stan frankly. “Enough to make one.”“Of course it was. But, you see, we’re Britons, and when a job of this sort comes to a head, why, we say, ‘Well, it’s no use to make any bones about it; the thing has to be done;’ and we do it as well as we can. And, as you see, the job was done.”“Only half-done,” said Stan, with a sigh.“What! I think it was splendidly well done. What do you mean by your ‘half-done’?”“Why, you said the enemy would come back again.”“Ye-es; so I did; but I don’t feel so sure now.”“How is that?” asked Stan, impressed by his companion’s manner.“Well, you see, one often judges how the weather is going to be by the behaviour of the animals about one. Birds, cattle, reptiles, insects, fish, if one studies them, give one hints of what sort of a season one is going to have. Chinese, too, are not slow in that way. You see Mao has come back.”“Yes; but what has that to do with it?”“A good deal. He has a sort of instinctive as well as experienced knowledge that the trouble is at an end, or else he wouldn’t have shown his nose here now. I shouldn’t wonder if he had a hint that the enemy were coming, some time before they arrived.”“But if he had he would have warned you.”“So he did, in a quiet sort of way, but I didn’t believe him. Yes, I begin to think that you gave the enemy such an awful thrashing—”“I?” cried Stan. “Why, I only carried out your orders.”“And well, too, my lad; and as I was about to say when you interrupted me so rudely, you gave them such an awful thrashing that in the future they will look out for some nut to crack that has a thinner shell and leave us most carefully alone. Mao has come back, and that means the storm is well over.”“But you’ll be well prepared in case they do come again?”“Trust me, my lad. You and I will begin to play chess of an evening in future.”“Have you a set of chess-men?”“No; nor do I want them. We’ll make thehongour chess-board, and play the game of defiance with our brains.”“I have some idea of what you mean,” said Stan, laughing, “but it is not quite clear.”“I mean, we’ll set to and scheme how to meet our friends if they do come again. You see, one is sure to have warning. They can’t come down the river without; and I can’t help thinking that you and I ought to be able to contrive some kind of floating dodge which we could let down amongst the junks, and which would blow them up or set fire to them.”“Yes; I see,” cried Stan eagerly. “Or why not try something with a big kite that we could drop down to explode on their decks. But of course I don’t know how.”“There you are!” cried Blunt, clapping him on the back. “Bravo! The very thing!”“Oh no,” said Stan quickly. “That was just the ghost of an idea.”“True; but we’ll set to and make it something solid. The people here have wonderful kites, and I’ll be bound to say that you and I could contrive something chemical that we could send up and manage with a string till it was just over them, and then drop it where it would explode, so that it would scare them off even if it did not set fire to their junks. But wait a bit. We’ll see.”“Yes; if you take it like that, I think we might contrive something. I say, why not some kind of torpedo that we could sink just off the wharf, connect it here with a wire, and have an electric battery to fire the charge? Why, if I had had such a thing here when the junks were all together off the place, I could have—”“Blown them to smithereens, my lad,” cried Blunt. “Bravo! And we’ll have a little gun, too, that we can work easily—one that will send explosive shells. There! that will do. I’m going to fill up an order for one battery of cells, thirteen as twelve torpedoes, so many yards of insulated wire, and—Here, I say, we ought out of common humanity to send word up the river to all pirates to make their wills before they come for their next attack.”“Or put up a big hoarding with a notice written in Chinese for all who come up and down the river to read.”“What about?”“New patent steel traps and spring-guns are set in these grounds,” said Stan, laughing.“All right, my lad. Joke away; but I’m on my mettle, and if we can’t contrive something better than walls and barricades of tea-chests and silk it’s very strange.”“Well, we ought to, certainly.”“And we will. Just think of what a lot of good stuff has been made absolutely worthless. There is, I should say, a couple or three hundred pounds’ worth of tea and silk—more perhaps—perfectly unsaleable.”“Couldn’t you send it to market under another name?” said Stan, laughing.“Name? What name?” growled Blunt contemptuously. “You can’t sell tea that has been exposed to fire. What would you call it—coffee?”“No; gunpowder tea,” cried Stan merrily.“One to you,” said Blunt, with a grim laugh. “But what about your silk?”“Oh, that’s easy!” said Stan. “Call that shot silk.”“Good gracious!” cried Blunt, with mock solemnity. “The poor fellow is going wrong. Overstrain, I suppose, from the excitement of the fight. There! try and be calm. It’s a bad sign when a fellow begins to make feeble jokes. Don’t try again, Lynn. Keep on with some nice, light, playful idea or two, such as the flying kites and contriving busters for the Chinese junks. Those would be gentle, innocent pursuits. But seriously, though, the more I think of what you say the more I am taken by it. You see, it would be quite new and startling for the enemy. Those junks are as fragile as can be, and a very little would send them to the bottom. Here, I say, I think I have it. Isn’t there a chemical that we could squirt over them from an engine of some kind?”“What for?”“To burn them. I once saw a chemical experiment in which such stuff was thrown on to some light wood, and it burst into flame at once. That’s the stuff we want. If we can set one junk on fire, it will set more in the same condition. What do you say to that?”“Splendid, if it could be done.”“Could be done? It must be done, and we’re going to do it. Oh, there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it. Let the pigtails come. They shall find that I’m not going to have any more of our chests and bales spoiled. I think—”“So do I,” said Stan firmly—“that you’ve been talking twice as much as you ought to do; so now have a rest.”“Well, I am a bit husky,” said Blunt, “but not like the same man to-day. Humph! Perhaps you are right.”

It was the next evening when, after a whole day’s rest passed in a deep sleep quite free from fever—as Stan was made to notice by Wing the Chinaman, who drew his attention to the calmness of the sleep, the absence of all fever and restlessness, and, above all, the soft, fine perspiration which bedewed the patient’s skin—Blunt slowly opened his eyes in the office, now made light and airy by the removal of the barricades, and lay looking up at the ceiling.

As Wing pointed out the fact to Stan, the movement he made startled the sufferer, who looked at him sideways and said:

“What’s the matter? Where am I?”

Stan bent over him and replied.

“To be sure. Yes; I remember now. Ah, how weak I am! But tell me, Lynn; how are things going?”

Stan explained the position briefly.

“Good!” said Blunt. “Excellent! Thoroughly thrashed them?”

“For the present; but we all believe that they’ll come back.”

“No, no, Lynn,” replied Blunt faintly; “not for long enough, if they ever do. Tell me again; how many did they lose?”

“Ought you to talk now?”

“Well, no, I suppose not much; but I’m all right, only very weak. I’m not going to die, my lad. There! I will not talk much. Go on telling me. I must hear.”

Stan told him, but made no allusion to the bit of treachery; and when he had ended the manager smiled his approval.

“Just what I expected,” he said. “Brave lads, all of them.”

Hearing the talking, Stan’s lieutenant in the defence came softly in, but not so quietly as to be unheard by the wounded man, who raised his hand on the uninjured side.

“Ah, Lawrence!” he said. “I’ve heard all about it. Bravely done, all of you. I’m better, you see. All that feverish muddle I felt in the head is gone.”

“That’s right, sir. I came in to see how you were.”

“Couldn’t be going on better.”

“But what about sending down to Nang Ti for a native doctor?”

“What for?”

“To attend you, sir.”

“Pooh! Absurd! Wing can do anything that a native doctor would suggest. He knows as much as I do, and I know by my symptoms that I’m going on all right.”

“But we thought that as soon as you came to it might be better to send for help.”

“No need, my man. I must be kept a bit low and quiet, not worried nor allowed to get up too soon, and I shall soon be as well as ever. Now tell me quietly, what have you done about our breastworks and the wall?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“What! not got the boxes and bales under cover again?”

“We thought it better to leave things as they were in case the enemy returned.”

“Bah! They will not come. But look here; the ammunition must be getting very low.”

“Very, sir,” said Lawrence, with a meaning look at Stan.

“To be sure.—Here, Lynn, first thing to-morrow morning write a despatch to your father, telling him of the attack and asking for a fresh supply of cartridges. It must be sent off by Wing in the first boat you can get hold of. At Nang Ti he will soon find a steamer bound for Hai-Hai—You, Lawrence, start the first thing in the morning all hands at work to restore everything that is not damaged.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will do. I must not talk any more. Good-night.”

To Stan’s surprise, the patient had no sooner closed his eyes than he seemed to be asleep; and it was late morning, just as Stan’s long letter was finished, and Wing, who declared himself well enough, came in to announce that he had picked up a boat from among those which had come stealing back, when Blunt opened his eyes again.

Busy days followed, with confidence returning as no further news was heard of the pirates, while the way in which the people of the nearest villages came back to their homes and work in the fields seemed to act as an endorsement of the idea that the terrible raid was over, and the likelihood of there being another attack seemed to be past.

The men worked hard; the traces of the fiery trial disappeared from the great storehouse, save that the charring and the pitch-stains refused to be scraped out; barricades disappeared, and partitions and stacks of chests and bales rose again in their old places; the carpenters cut out damaged wood, and with the exception of new-looking patches the place assumed its former aspect, while the business in the office and counting-house went on again as if the whole ugly blood-shedding had been only a feverish dream.

Wing had not yet returned, but one afternoon Stan was busy in the office talking to Blunt about a boatload of tea which had come down from the interior—for the manager had progressed so rapidly that he was well on the high-road to complete recovery. Naturally he was a good deal pulled down, hollow of cheek and sunken of eye, and compelled to assist his steps by means of a stout bamboo cane, while the arm nearest to the injury was supported by a silken scarf used as a sling. But he was bright and cheerful, and busy in the office some hours every day, working, as he called it, vicariously, Stan being his deputy, who superintended a great deal of the correspondence that went on.

“No news yet of Wing,” he was saying. “Seems a very long time, Lynn.”

“Oh no; it’s a long way, and there might be some delay over getting the supplies you want.”

“S’pose so,” said Blunt abruptly. “Good job our piratical friends don’t know of it or they’d come down at once. Hullo! What’s that?”

Lawrence rose and went to the window to see what was the meaning of a loud gabble of voices coming from the wharf.

“It’s a boat coming in,” he said.

“Oh, Wing at last!” said Blunt. “Well, I’m very glad. A good supply of ammunition is just the tonic that will pull me round.”

“It may be, sir, but I hardly think so,” replied Lawrence. “It’s theChee-hocome back.”

“With that miserable sneak Mao. Cowardly hound to slip off as he did. Here, I’ll have a talk with him when he comes ashore. No more boatloads for him, he’ll find.—What say, Lynn? I’m weak yet—not get in a passion?”

“It wouldn’t be wise,” whispered Stan.

“Well, perhaps not; but the thought of that fat, smooth, comfortable-looking poodle coming in here smiling and rubbing his hands puts me in a perspiration.”

“Perhaps he’ll be ashamed to show himself.”

“What!” cried Blunt. “Mao ashamed? You don’t know him. You see if he doesn’t come cringing in, just as if nothing had happened, to ask if there is a load ready for him to take down to the port.—What do you say, Lawrence?”

“The same as you do, sir.”

Half-an-hour later the matter discussed was put to the proof, for there was the soft, shuffling sound of a Chinaman’s boots in the passage, and thetindalof the boat in which Stan had arrived with Wing gave a gentle tap, pushed the door, and entered, smiling profusely and bowing to Blunt and Stan, before taking up his post half-way to the desks, hat in hand, waiting to be addressed.

Blunt heard him, but paid no heed for a minute or so; then looking up sternly, he saluted the man with a deep-toned—

“Well, sir, what do you want?”

“Come see when load leady fo’Chee-hoboat.”

“How dare you come and ask after deserting us as you did? Why, we might have been all massacred, you cowardly scoundrel, for all you’d have done to save us. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Me t’inkChee-hob’long me. If stop, pilate man flow ’tink-pot. Set fi’ and cuttee Mao float,” said the man deprecatingly.

“And so you set sail and got out of the way?”

“Yes. Velly fast.Chee-honicee big boat b’long me. Takee ca’e. Hold plenty tea-box, plenty silk. Bluntee want—”

“Look here, you scoundrel,” cried the manager angrily; “I am Mr Blunt, your employer, and if you call me Bluntee again I’ll throw this ruler at you.”

As he spoke the manager caught his big ruler from the desk and made so fierce an “offer” with it that the Chinese boat-captain dropped upon his knees and bowed his head almost to the floor. “Get up!” shouted the manager. “No flow t’ick stick?” whined the man. “I will if you don’t get up this moment. Stand up like a man.”

“Oh deah!” said the shivering Chinaman, getting up slowly and painfully, and displaying a couple of great tears running down his fat cheeks. “Misteh Blunt wantee Mao stop havee float cut?”

“No, but to stay and help us, sir. How did you know but what we might want to escape in your boat down to Nang Ti?”

“Mao quite suah not do so. Know Misteh Blunt big man. Velly angly. Can’tee flighten um and makee lun away. Mao know he stop fightee.”

“And so you sailed away and left us in the lurch.”

“Yes. Pilate man velly dleadful. Killee evelybody and cut Mao head off. Cut all men and flow um ove’boa’d.”

“And so you ran away—eh?”

“Yes. Velly much aflaid. Mao tly save boatee fo’ Misteh Blunt. Boat b’long Mao.”

“Ah, well! you saved it.”

“Yes. Tookee long way. Sail up cleek. Hide till Mao quitee suah pilate junk allee gone ’way. Then come again. You got plenty bale plenty tea-box fo’ Mao take down livah—eh?”

“Be off!” said Blunt shortly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yes, Misteh Blunt t’ink gleat deal. See Mao ’blige lun away.Chee-hoboat b’long Mao. No do let pilate buln, sink. B’long Mao—b’long Misteh Blunt—b’long evelybody.”

“Be off!” shouted Blunt; and the man went away, nodding and smiling, to join his crew upon the wharf.

“Shall you employ him any more?” said Stan as the door closed and the captain’s blue frock was seen to balloon out in the pleasant breeze as he marched complacently along the river-front.

“Oh yes,” replied Blunt. “He’s a very honest fellow, and can’t help being a thorough coward. Suppose I dismiss him, I shall have to engage another, who would possibly turn out dishonest and a greater humbug than this one.”

“But he seems to be utterly without courage.”

“Pooh! We all are at first. I was horribly frightened when we were attacked.”

“It didn’t seem like it,” said Stan, smiling.

“Oh no, of course not. I wasn’t going to let any one see what a stew I was in. That’s the result of education and one’s love of keeping up appearances. You owned to being frightened too—at first.”

“I was,” said Stan frankly. “Enough to make one.”

“Of course it was. But, you see, we’re Britons, and when a job of this sort comes to a head, why, we say, ‘Well, it’s no use to make any bones about it; the thing has to be done;’ and we do it as well as we can. And, as you see, the job was done.”

“Only half-done,” said Stan, with a sigh.

“What! I think it was splendidly well done. What do you mean by your ‘half-done’?”

“Why, you said the enemy would come back again.”

“Ye-es; so I did; but I don’t feel so sure now.”

“How is that?” asked Stan, impressed by his companion’s manner.

“Well, you see, one often judges how the weather is going to be by the behaviour of the animals about one. Birds, cattle, reptiles, insects, fish, if one studies them, give one hints of what sort of a season one is going to have. Chinese, too, are not slow in that way. You see Mao has come back.”

“Yes; but what has that to do with it?”

“A good deal. He has a sort of instinctive as well as experienced knowledge that the trouble is at an end, or else he wouldn’t have shown his nose here now. I shouldn’t wonder if he had a hint that the enemy were coming, some time before they arrived.”

“But if he had he would have warned you.”

“So he did, in a quiet sort of way, but I didn’t believe him. Yes, I begin to think that you gave the enemy such an awful thrashing—”

“I?” cried Stan. “Why, I only carried out your orders.”

“And well, too, my lad; and as I was about to say when you interrupted me so rudely, you gave them such an awful thrashing that in the future they will look out for some nut to crack that has a thinner shell and leave us most carefully alone. Mao has come back, and that means the storm is well over.”

“But you’ll be well prepared in case they do come again?”

“Trust me, my lad. You and I will begin to play chess of an evening in future.”

“Have you a set of chess-men?”

“No; nor do I want them. We’ll make thehongour chess-board, and play the game of defiance with our brains.”

“I have some idea of what you mean,” said Stan, laughing, “but it is not quite clear.”

“I mean, we’ll set to and scheme how to meet our friends if they do come again. You see, one is sure to have warning. They can’t come down the river without; and I can’t help thinking that you and I ought to be able to contrive some kind of floating dodge which we could let down amongst the junks, and which would blow them up or set fire to them.”

“Yes; I see,” cried Stan eagerly. “Or why not try something with a big kite that we could drop down to explode on their decks. But of course I don’t know how.”

“There you are!” cried Blunt, clapping him on the back. “Bravo! The very thing!”

“Oh no,” said Stan quickly. “That was just the ghost of an idea.”

“True; but we’ll set to and make it something solid. The people here have wonderful kites, and I’ll be bound to say that you and I could contrive something chemical that we could send up and manage with a string till it was just over them, and then drop it where it would explode, so that it would scare them off even if it did not set fire to their junks. But wait a bit. We’ll see.”

“Yes; if you take it like that, I think we might contrive something. I say, why not some kind of torpedo that we could sink just off the wharf, connect it here with a wire, and have an electric battery to fire the charge? Why, if I had had such a thing here when the junks were all together off the place, I could have—”

“Blown them to smithereens, my lad,” cried Blunt. “Bravo! And we’ll have a little gun, too, that we can work easily—one that will send explosive shells. There! that will do. I’m going to fill up an order for one battery of cells, thirteen as twelve torpedoes, so many yards of insulated wire, and—Here, I say, we ought out of common humanity to send word up the river to all pirates to make their wills before they come for their next attack.”

“Or put up a big hoarding with a notice written in Chinese for all who come up and down the river to read.”

“What about?”

“New patent steel traps and spring-guns are set in these grounds,” said Stan, laughing.

“All right, my lad. Joke away; but I’m on my mettle, and if we can’t contrive something better than walls and barricades of tea-chests and silk it’s very strange.”

“Well, we ought to, certainly.”

“And we will. Just think of what a lot of good stuff has been made absolutely worthless. There is, I should say, a couple or three hundred pounds’ worth of tea and silk—more perhaps—perfectly unsaleable.”

“Couldn’t you send it to market under another name?” said Stan, laughing.

“Name? What name?” growled Blunt contemptuously. “You can’t sell tea that has been exposed to fire. What would you call it—coffee?”

“No; gunpowder tea,” cried Stan merrily.

“One to you,” said Blunt, with a grim laugh. “But what about your silk?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” said Stan. “Call that shot silk.”

“Good gracious!” cried Blunt, with mock solemnity. “The poor fellow is going wrong. Overstrain, I suppose, from the excitement of the fight. There! try and be calm. It’s a bad sign when a fellow begins to make feeble jokes. Don’t try again, Lynn. Keep on with some nice, light, playful idea or two, such as the flying kites and contriving busters for the Chinese junks. Those would be gentle, innocent pursuits. But seriously, though, the more I think of what you say the more I am taken by it. You see, it would be quite new and startling for the enemy. Those junks are as fragile as can be, and a very little would send them to the bottom. Here, I say, I think I have it. Isn’t there a chemical that we could squirt over them from an engine of some kind?”

“What for?”

“To burn them. I once saw a chemical experiment in which such stuff was thrown on to some light wood, and it burst into flame at once. That’s the stuff we want. If we can set one junk on fire, it will set more in the same condition. What do you say to that?”

“Splendid, if it could be done.”

“Could be done? It must be done, and we’re going to do it. Oh, there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it. Let the pigtails come. They shall find that I’m not going to have any more of our chests and bales spoiled. I think—”

“So do I,” said Stan firmly—“that you’ve been talking twice as much as you ought to do; so now have a rest.”

“Well, I am a bit husky,” said Blunt, “but not like the same man to-day. Humph! Perhaps you are right.”

Chapter Thirty Three.“Wing’s A—Chinaman.”Several anxious days were passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept for the return of Wing with the ammunition; but still it did not come, and, as Blunt reasonably said, they could not settle down comfortably to invention and forms of defence by schemes until they could feel prepared temporarily for an emergency.“Once we have two or three cases of cartridges in hand we’ll go to work at our plans. But this waiting takes it out of a man.”“It is giving you time to get a little stronger,” replied Stan.“Oh, bother that! I could grow stronger fast enough if my mind were quite at rest I’m beginning to think that poor old Wing has come to grief, and if he doesn’t reach here by to-morrow night I shall make up a little cargo and send Mao with an urgent despatch to the principals. It’s growing serious. Here, come and let us plan what to send.”“You had better rest patiently,” said Stan. “Who’s to rest patiently with not a dozen rifle-cartridges on the premises?”“You,” said Stan, smiling.“What! Do you know the enemy may even now be on their way to make a fresh attack?”“No, they mayn’t,” replied Stan.“What! How do you know?”“By seeing your weather-glass point to fine weather.”“My weather-glass?”“Yes—old Mao. He seems to be as satisfied as possible, sitting smoking his opium-pipe and watching his men caulk and varnish theChee-ho.”“Well, he does look pretty well content; but it’s weary work waiting, and I feel convinced that the message has never reached the principals.”“I can see a proof,” cried Stan excitedly, “that you are only looking on the black side of things.”“What do you mean?” said Blunt, staring at the way in which the lad had sprung to his feet to run to the open window looking down the river.“Here’s the boat in sight, sir,” cried Lawrence, hurriedly opening the door.“What! our boat?” cried Blunt excitedly.“Yes, sir, with Wing showing his signal. Try the glass, sir.”Blunt snatched the glass offered to him, but before he could get to the window and focus it with his trembling hands, Stan had taken down his own binocular and was leaning out, bringing the matting-sailed boat close into the room, as it were.“Yes,” he cried, “there’s Wing holding up a little flag so that it blows straight out.”“A pocket-handkerchief Union-jack?” cried Blunt.“Yes, that’s it; and there’s some one else on board beside the boatmen. Why—yes—no—yes—no.—Oh, do stand still, whoever you are! I can’t see if you bob about so.—Yes, it is. Look, Mr Blunt—look! Here’s Uncle Jeff come so as to see everything for himself.”“Right, Lynn, right,” cried the manager; “so it is. Three cheers for him. We’ll give them when he’s close up. Well, hurrah for one thing! We’re not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with our burnt bodies.”“Ugh!” cried Stan. “What a gruesome idea! Let’s get out and have the flag hoisted on the pole.”“Ah! and we’ll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome. But are you quite sure it is your uncle?”“Certain,” cried Stan proudly. “You never saw anybody but Uncle Jeff standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn’t care a snap of the fingers for the whole world.”“Yes, that’s Mr Jeffrey,” said Blunt, lowering his glass and drawing in a deep breath; “the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good. Out with you, Lynn, and send Lawrence to hail the boys. We’ll all turn out and man the edge of the wharf. I want your uncle to see that I haven’t lost a man.”A few minutes later clerks, warehousemen, and coolies were all standing at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole; while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance Lawrence acted as fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. These, in spite of the admixture of Chinese squeak from the throats of the coolies—a squeak which ended with a hoarse croak—sounded so pleasant to Uncle Jeff’s anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty British hurrah, while, not to be outdone, Wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed head to wave his lacquered, shining black hat, and echoed the shout with his alto pipe.In another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat glided up against the wharf, Stan sprang on board, to have his hands grasped by his big, manly relative.“Why, Stan, boy,” he cried, “we never thought we were going to send you out of the Hai-Hai frying-pan into the Nang Ti fire. But you were not burnt?”He held the lad back at arm’s-length and uttered a loud puff like a whale getting rid of its confined breath.“No, I can see you were not. Eyes bright, colour fresh, and hearty as can be. Hah! that’s a comfort. We shouldn’t have sent you if we had known.—Here, Blunt,” he continued, “do you call this management, bringing down all the ruffians of the river to attack the place! Why, hang it, man! you do look as if you have had more than your share of trouble. You’ve lost pounds since I saw you last. Coming round again, though, I can see.”“Yes; there’s nothing much wrong now,” was the reply as the pair shook hands heartily. “The wound’s healing up nicely, thanks to Wing here.—Well, Wing, how are you?”“Badly,” was the reply. “Been fletting.”“Fretting? What about?”“Misteh Blunt and young Lynn. S’posee pilate come back and Wing not bling ca’tlidge.”“But you’ve brought them now?” said Blunt eagerly.“Yes, plenty big box full. Bling Misteh Jeffley too. All leady fightee when pilate come.”“And a very welcome recruit if needed,” said Blunt, smiling. “But we don’t want any more of that work—at any rate till I get strong again.—You’ve heard, Mr Lynn, how I caved in and left your nephew to fight the battle?”“Oh yes. I’ve heard all about it from Wing,” said Uncle Jeff dryly. “I gave him a lesson in the use of the revolver before he left home, but I didn’t know he was going to turn out such an awful fire-eater as he has.”“Don’t you think you had better come in and have something to eat, uncle?” said Stan quietly. “It will do you more good than making fun of me.”“Fun, Stan, my lad? Oh! I don’t call this fun. Wing says you’ve become quite a general.”“Wing’s a—Chinaman,” said Stan, with a laugh full of annoyance, which made the two men exchange glances—looks which the lad interpreted to mean, “Hadn’t we better leave off?”And in this spirit Uncle Jeff clapped his hand upon the boy’s shoulder and said heartily:“Take me round and show me the damage done by the enemy, my boy.”“There’s very little to see, uncle, but the chipped stone and the leaden bullets and pieces of iron the enemy poured in.”“The bullets—eh? What! in the stone?”“No, no, uncle,” cried the lad. “Stuck in the door-posts and woodwork.”“What about the windows where the stink-pots came flying in as if all the stars in the sky had broken loose?”“Oh, they must have been flying across the office, uncle, when Wing was nursing Mr Blunt. We didn’t see those upstairs.”“But a great many did come in?”“Yes, uncle, and burned great patches in the floor.”“Come, that’s something; you must take me up and show me.”“I can’t show you much, uncle,” was the reply, “for the bales have been stacked in their places again.”“Oh, come! this is disappointing,” cried Uncle Jeff. “No ruins; no wounds but Mr Blunt’s; no burnt-out warehouses! Why, after such a scare I expected to find the whole place crippled. Where’s Wing?”“Oh, I must have a word here,” said Blunt. “I dare say Master Wing painted the affair up pretty well, but it was as bad as it could be.”“Why, I thought you were bowled out at the first ball,” said Uncle Jeff sharply.“So I was; but the other players had their innings, and told me all about it afterwards. Old Lawrence says it was awful.”“So it was, uncle,” cried Stan; “nothing could have been worse.”“Well, all I can say is,” said Uncle Jeff some time later, “that you have cleared away wonderfully. But there’s one thing I don’t like. It sticks in my memory very tightly, and it seems to me that it is the one weak spot in our armour if we are again attacked.”“And what’s that, uncle?” asked Stan, for there was a pause.“The traitor in the camp, my lad. You can’t go on like this. What is the use of making all kinds of preparations when there is an enemy in the midst who is ready to spoil all and, as it were, sell you to the enemy?”“You mean about the water poured over the ammunition?” said Blunt, speaking rather excitedly.“Yes—of course. Now whom do you suspect?”“At first I thought Wing might be the guilty party.”“Wing!” cried Uncle Jeff, starting. “Ah, to be sure!” he continued after but a few moments’ thought. “He was my informant, and very eager to tell me all about it. Tried hard, I remember now, to make me understand it must have been some one at thehong. Here, Stan, it’s a long time since I was at school; you’ve only just come away. What’s that French proverb about the man who tries to clear himself making matters worse?”“He who excuses himself accuses himself,” said Stan promptly.“Humph! Yes. But it sounds better in French. Here, I don’t like to think old Wing guilty; he has been such a true and faithful servant to the ‘foreign devils,’ as they call us. Besides, he is so much one of us, and has been so well paid and treated. You’ve had no quarrel with him, Blunt?”“Not the slightest. Always the best of friends. Of course, you know my way—short, sharp, and decisive.”“Yes; you always were a bit of a bully, Blunt.”“But I’m always just, sir.”“Perfectly; and I believe the people like you at bottom, even if you have a rough side to your tongue.”“Oh yes, uncle,” put in Stan eagerly, to be rewarded by a grateful glance. “I’m sure there isn’t a man here who wouldn’t fight to the death for Mr Blunt.”“I wouldn’t go so far as that, Lynn,” said Blunt, with the hot blood colouring his pallid, sunken cheeks.“But they’ve proved it,” cried Stan energetically.“I’m thinking it was more for you, Lynn,” said Blunt quietly.“Well, let that rest,” cried Uncle Jeff; “and let’s go on with the trial of Master Wing. You have been good friends with him, Blunt?”“Excellent.”“No sudden quarrel?”“Oh no.”“Given him no cause of offence? These Asiatics are rather fond of nursing up a bit of revenge.”“Oh no,” repeated Blunt.“What about the coolies, then? Any knocking down or punishing any of them?”“Nothing of the kind, sir. I am quite at a loss to think of anything that could have prompted a Chinaman here to retaliate.—You can think of nothing, can you, Lynn, in the short time you have been here?”Lynn remained silent and looked very conscious, while Uncle Jeff watched him sideways.“Hah!” he said at last. “Dumb. Now, Stan, lad, what are you thinking of? Out with it.”The lad tried to clear his throat, but in vain, for his voice sounded husky as he said:“I was thinking about Wing being on the watch, uncle—about my shooting at him, Mr Blunt, and his tumble.”“Puss! puss! puss! puss! puss!” said Uncle Jeff softly, and he looked towards the door.It was the turn of Stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind.But he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks.“What are you staring at, Stan?” he said at last.“I—I couldn’t make out what you meant, uncle. Do you want the cat? She’s generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of the river-bank.”“Oh no; I wasn’t alluding to that one, but to the other.”“There is no other cat on the premises, sir,” said Blunt, staring in turn.“Oh yes, there is. I mean the metaphorical cat. She’s out of the bag now, and I was calling her back. Why, hang it, man! there’s the cause of the plot. Tell us all about it.”The incident was repeated to the end.“A great pity,” said Uncle Jeff gravely.“Yes, sir, it was,” said Blunt. “I acted on the impulse of the moment, and of course I alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner I insisted upon your nephew firing. Of course, I only meant, in my annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. But I’ve felt sorry ever since.”“I am sorry too,” said Uncle Jeff.“And I too, uncle.”“You are, I know, Stan. Well, it’s of no use to cry over spilt milk. The thing’s done and can’t be undone. But there’s the motive, and now the poor weak fellow has gratified his revengeful bit of spite let us hope he is satisfied and that all will go smoothly. Still, it is a painful thought that we have had a traitor in the camp.”“I don’t care,” said Stan firmly.“It is of no use to care, my lad; but if we have the enemy back I should certainly lock Master Wing where he could do no mischief.”“You misunderstand me, uncle,” said Stan. “I didn’t finish what I meant to say.”“Let’s have it, then, boy.”“I meant to say, I don’t care; I don’t believe Wing would do such a thing.”“Neither do I,” said Blunt warmly. “The poor fellow is too true. He was quite affectionate to me in attending to my wounds, and nothing could have been better than the plucky way in which he ran all risks through the fight, and afterwards undertook the commission to go and fetch the cartridges. No; I say Wing was not the guilty party.”“Well,” said Uncle Jeff, “I want to be with you, for I like old Wing. There’s a something about him that puts me in mind of a faithful dog. We’ll agree that it was not he, and that drives us to suspect the coolies.”“Yes,” said Blunt; “and I don’t like suspecting them, for a better set of fellows never lived.”“There couldn’t be,” said Stan. “They almost worship Mr Blunt, uncle.”“Hah!” said the latter. “It’s a puzzle, then, and I can’t help thinking that the best way will be to drop the matter and be watchful. If we begin investigating we may not find out the guilty, but we’re bound to upset the innocent by our suspicions. I say, Blunt, I wouldn’t wake up sleeping Chinese again with the rifle.”“You may depend upon it I shall not, sir,” said Blunt frankly. “And now, if I may change the subject, I want to be put out of my misery.”“With a rifle, Blunt?” said Uncle Jeff dryly.“No, no; not in that way, though I do want it done with cartridges. I shall be in misery till we get those ashore and in the magazine.”“Quite right; we’ll have them seen to at once. We must be ready if the enemy do come.”“I say, uncle,” cried Stan merrily, “how you keep onweing! Any one would think you meant to stop.”“I do mean to stop, my boy,” said Uncle Jeff sharply.—“No, no, no, no, Blunt; don’t take it like that,” he continued as he saw the change in the manager’s countenance. “I have not come to supersede you, only as a humble recruit, ready if wanted, which I fervently hope I shall not be. I should have brought half-a-dozen good fighting-men with me, only there are none in stock at Hai-Hai. It is getting to be every man for himself, too, and we shall be very unsettled until our Government makes a move and puts a few men-of-war on the station for the protection of the mercantile folk. My brother and several more are bestirring themselves, however, and I hope something will be done before long.”“But you will take the lead, sir, while you stay, of course,” said Blunt rather coldly. “As you see, I am weak.”“I shall do nothing of the kind, Blunt. My brother and I are only too well satisfied with your management. I have come here to help to take care of Nephew Stanley, and when the care is not necessary I am going to have a rest, fishing, botanising, and shooting—in other words, to have a spell of idleness, for I don’t think you will be attacked again after the taste you have given the miscreants of our quality here at thehong. Now then, Blunt,” he added, “are you satisfied?”The manager hesitated and still looked doubtful, but the look that accompanied Uncle Jeff’s outstretched hand was sufficient, and he brightened up at once.“Yes, sir,” he said warmly—“quite.”

Several anxious days were passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept for the return of Wing with the ammunition; but still it did not come, and, as Blunt reasonably said, they could not settle down comfortably to invention and forms of defence by schemes until they could feel prepared temporarily for an emergency.

“Once we have two or three cases of cartridges in hand we’ll go to work at our plans. But this waiting takes it out of a man.”

“It is giving you time to get a little stronger,” replied Stan.

“Oh, bother that! I could grow stronger fast enough if my mind were quite at rest I’m beginning to think that poor old Wing has come to grief, and if he doesn’t reach here by to-morrow night I shall make up a little cargo and send Mao with an urgent despatch to the principals. It’s growing serious. Here, come and let us plan what to send.”

“You had better rest patiently,” said Stan. “Who’s to rest patiently with not a dozen rifle-cartridges on the premises?”

“You,” said Stan, smiling.

“What! Do you know the enemy may even now be on their way to make a fresh attack?”

“No, they mayn’t,” replied Stan.

“What! How do you know?”

“By seeing your weather-glass point to fine weather.”

“My weather-glass?”

“Yes—old Mao. He seems to be as satisfied as possible, sitting smoking his opium-pipe and watching his men caulk and varnish theChee-ho.”

“Well, he does look pretty well content; but it’s weary work waiting, and I feel convinced that the message has never reached the principals.”

“I can see a proof,” cried Stan excitedly, “that you are only looking on the black side of things.”

“What do you mean?” said Blunt, staring at the way in which the lad had sprung to his feet to run to the open window looking down the river.

“Here’s the boat in sight, sir,” cried Lawrence, hurriedly opening the door.

“What! our boat?” cried Blunt excitedly.

“Yes, sir, with Wing showing his signal. Try the glass, sir.”

Blunt snatched the glass offered to him, but before he could get to the window and focus it with his trembling hands, Stan had taken down his own binocular and was leaning out, bringing the matting-sailed boat close into the room, as it were.

“Yes,” he cried, “there’s Wing holding up a little flag so that it blows straight out.”

“A pocket-handkerchief Union-jack?” cried Blunt.

“Yes, that’s it; and there’s some one else on board beside the boatmen. Why—yes—no—yes—no.—Oh, do stand still, whoever you are! I can’t see if you bob about so.—Yes, it is. Look, Mr Blunt—look! Here’s Uncle Jeff come so as to see everything for himself.”

“Right, Lynn, right,” cried the manager; “so it is. Three cheers for him. We’ll give them when he’s close up. Well, hurrah for one thing! We’re not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with our burnt bodies.”

“Ugh!” cried Stan. “What a gruesome idea! Let’s get out and have the flag hoisted on the pole.”

“Ah! and we’ll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome. But are you quite sure it is your uncle?”

“Certain,” cried Stan proudly. “You never saw anybody but Uncle Jeff standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn’t care a snap of the fingers for the whole world.”

“Yes, that’s Mr Jeffrey,” said Blunt, lowering his glass and drawing in a deep breath; “the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good. Out with you, Lynn, and send Lawrence to hail the boys. We’ll all turn out and man the edge of the wharf. I want your uncle to see that I haven’t lost a man.”

A few minutes later clerks, warehousemen, and coolies were all standing at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole; while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance Lawrence acted as fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. These, in spite of the admixture of Chinese squeak from the throats of the coolies—a squeak which ended with a hoarse croak—sounded so pleasant to Uncle Jeff’s anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty British hurrah, while, not to be outdone, Wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed head to wave his lacquered, shining black hat, and echoed the shout with his alto pipe.

In another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat glided up against the wharf, Stan sprang on board, to have his hands grasped by his big, manly relative.

“Why, Stan, boy,” he cried, “we never thought we were going to send you out of the Hai-Hai frying-pan into the Nang Ti fire. But you were not burnt?”

He held the lad back at arm’s-length and uttered a loud puff like a whale getting rid of its confined breath.

“No, I can see you were not. Eyes bright, colour fresh, and hearty as can be. Hah! that’s a comfort. We shouldn’t have sent you if we had known.—Here, Blunt,” he continued, “do you call this management, bringing down all the ruffians of the river to attack the place! Why, hang it, man! you do look as if you have had more than your share of trouble. You’ve lost pounds since I saw you last. Coming round again, though, I can see.”

“Yes; there’s nothing much wrong now,” was the reply as the pair shook hands heartily. “The wound’s healing up nicely, thanks to Wing here.—Well, Wing, how are you?”

“Badly,” was the reply. “Been fletting.”

“Fretting? What about?”

“Misteh Blunt and young Lynn. S’posee pilate come back and Wing not bling ca’tlidge.”

“But you’ve brought them now?” said Blunt eagerly.

“Yes, plenty big box full. Bling Misteh Jeffley too. All leady fightee when pilate come.”

“And a very welcome recruit if needed,” said Blunt, smiling. “But we don’t want any more of that work—at any rate till I get strong again.—You’ve heard, Mr Lynn, how I caved in and left your nephew to fight the battle?”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard all about it from Wing,” said Uncle Jeff dryly. “I gave him a lesson in the use of the revolver before he left home, but I didn’t know he was going to turn out such an awful fire-eater as he has.”

“Don’t you think you had better come in and have something to eat, uncle?” said Stan quietly. “It will do you more good than making fun of me.”

“Fun, Stan, my lad? Oh! I don’t call this fun. Wing says you’ve become quite a general.”

“Wing’s a—Chinaman,” said Stan, with a laugh full of annoyance, which made the two men exchange glances—looks which the lad interpreted to mean, “Hadn’t we better leave off?”

And in this spirit Uncle Jeff clapped his hand upon the boy’s shoulder and said heartily:

“Take me round and show me the damage done by the enemy, my boy.”

“There’s very little to see, uncle, but the chipped stone and the leaden bullets and pieces of iron the enemy poured in.”

“The bullets—eh? What! in the stone?”

“No, no, uncle,” cried the lad. “Stuck in the door-posts and woodwork.”

“What about the windows where the stink-pots came flying in as if all the stars in the sky had broken loose?”

“Oh, they must have been flying across the office, uncle, when Wing was nursing Mr Blunt. We didn’t see those upstairs.”

“But a great many did come in?”

“Yes, uncle, and burned great patches in the floor.”

“Come, that’s something; you must take me up and show me.”

“I can’t show you much, uncle,” was the reply, “for the bales have been stacked in their places again.”

“Oh, come! this is disappointing,” cried Uncle Jeff. “No ruins; no wounds but Mr Blunt’s; no burnt-out warehouses! Why, after such a scare I expected to find the whole place crippled. Where’s Wing?”

“Oh, I must have a word here,” said Blunt. “I dare say Master Wing painted the affair up pretty well, but it was as bad as it could be.”

“Why, I thought you were bowled out at the first ball,” said Uncle Jeff sharply.

“So I was; but the other players had their innings, and told me all about it afterwards. Old Lawrence says it was awful.”

“So it was, uncle,” cried Stan; “nothing could have been worse.”

“Well, all I can say is,” said Uncle Jeff some time later, “that you have cleared away wonderfully. But there’s one thing I don’t like. It sticks in my memory very tightly, and it seems to me that it is the one weak spot in our armour if we are again attacked.”

“And what’s that, uncle?” asked Stan, for there was a pause.

“The traitor in the camp, my lad. You can’t go on like this. What is the use of making all kinds of preparations when there is an enemy in the midst who is ready to spoil all and, as it were, sell you to the enemy?”

“You mean about the water poured over the ammunition?” said Blunt, speaking rather excitedly.

“Yes—of course. Now whom do you suspect?”

“At first I thought Wing might be the guilty party.”

“Wing!” cried Uncle Jeff, starting. “Ah, to be sure!” he continued after but a few moments’ thought. “He was my informant, and very eager to tell me all about it. Tried hard, I remember now, to make me understand it must have been some one at thehong. Here, Stan, it’s a long time since I was at school; you’ve only just come away. What’s that French proverb about the man who tries to clear himself making matters worse?”

“He who excuses himself accuses himself,” said Stan promptly.

“Humph! Yes. But it sounds better in French. Here, I don’t like to think old Wing guilty; he has been such a true and faithful servant to the ‘foreign devils,’ as they call us. Besides, he is so much one of us, and has been so well paid and treated. You’ve had no quarrel with him, Blunt?”

“Not the slightest. Always the best of friends. Of course, you know my way—short, sharp, and decisive.”

“Yes; you always were a bit of a bully, Blunt.”

“But I’m always just, sir.”

“Perfectly; and I believe the people like you at bottom, even if you have a rough side to your tongue.”

“Oh yes, uncle,” put in Stan eagerly, to be rewarded by a grateful glance. “I’m sure there isn’t a man here who wouldn’t fight to the death for Mr Blunt.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as that, Lynn,” said Blunt, with the hot blood colouring his pallid, sunken cheeks.

“But they’ve proved it,” cried Stan energetically.

“I’m thinking it was more for you, Lynn,” said Blunt quietly.

“Well, let that rest,” cried Uncle Jeff; “and let’s go on with the trial of Master Wing. You have been good friends with him, Blunt?”

“Excellent.”

“No sudden quarrel?”

“Oh no.”

“Given him no cause of offence? These Asiatics are rather fond of nursing up a bit of revenge.”

“Oh no,” repeated Blunt.

“What about the coolies, then? Any knocking down or punishing any of them?”

“Nothing of the kind, sir. I am quite at a loss to think of anything that could have prompted a Chinaman here to retaliate.—You can think of nothing, can you, Lynn, in the short time you have been here?”

Lynn remained silent and looked very conscious, while Uncle Jeff watched him sideways.

“Hah!” he said at last. “Dumb. Now, Stan, lad, what are you thinking of? Out with it.”

The lad tried to clear his throat, but in vain, for his voice sounded husky as he said:

“I was thinking about Wing being on the watch, uncle—about my shooting at him, Mr Blunt, and his tumble.”

“Puss! puss! puss! puss! puss!” said Uncle Jeff softly, and he looked towards the door.

It was the turn of Stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind.

But he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks.

“What are you staring at, Stan?” he said at last.

“I—I couldn’t make out what you meant, uncle. Do you want the cat? She’s generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of the river-bank.”

“Oh no; I wasn’t alluding to that one, but to the other.”

“There is no other cat on the premises, sir,” said Blunt, staring in turn.

“Oh yes, there is. I mean the metaphorical cat. She’s out of the bag now, and I was calling her back. Why, hang it, man! there’s the cause of the plot. Tell us all about it.”

The incident was repeated to the end.

“A great pity,” said Uncle Jeff gravely.

“Yes, sir, it was,” said Blunt. “I acted on the impulse of the moment, and of course I alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner I insisted upon your nephew firing. Of course, I only meant, in my annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. But I’ve felt sorry ever since.”

“I am sorry too,” said Uncle Jeff.

“And I too, uncle.”

“You are, I know, Stan. Well, it’s of no use to cry over spilt milk. The thing’s done and can’t be undone. But there’s the motive, and now the poor weak fellow has gratified his revengeful bit of spite let us hope he is satisfied and that all will go smoothly. Still, it is a painful thought that we have had a traitor in the camp.”

“I don’t care,” said Stan firmly.

“It is of no use to care, my lad; but if we have the enemy back I should certainly lock Master Wing where he could do no mischief.”

“You misunderstand me, uncle,” said Stan. “I didn’t finish what I meant to say.”

“Let’s have it, then, boy.”

“I meant to say, I don’t care; I don’t believe Wing would do such a thing.”

“Neither do I,” said Blunt warmly. “The poor fellow is too true. He was quite affectionate to me in attending to my wounds, and nothing could have been better than the plucky way in which he ran all risks through the fight, and afterwards undertook the commission to go and fetch the cartridges. No; I say Wing was not the guilty party.”

“Well,” said Uncle Jeff, “I want to be with you, for I like old Wing. There’s a something about him that puts me in mind of a faithful dog. We’ll agree that it was not he, and that drives us to suspect the coolies.”

“Yes,” said Blunt; “and I don’t like suspecting them, for a better set of fellows never lived.”

“There couldn’t be,” said Stan. “They almost worship Mr Blunt, uncle.”

“Hah!” said the latter. “It’s a puzzle, then, and I can’t help thinking that the best way will be to drop the matter and be watchful. If we begin investigating we may not find out the guilty, but we’re bound to upset the innocent by our suspicions. I say, Blunt, I wouldn’t wake up sleeping Chinese again with the rifle.”

“You may depend upon it I shall not, sir,” said Blunt frankly. “And now, if I may change the subject, I want to be put out of my misery.”

“With a rifle, Blunt?” said Uncle Jeff dryly.

“No, no; not in that way, though I do want it done with cartridges. I shall be in misery till we get those ashore and in the magazine.”

“Quite right; we’ll have them seen to at once. We must be ready if the enemy do come.”

“I say, uncle,” cried Stan merrily, “how you keep onweing! Any one would think you meant to stop.”

“I do mean to stop, my boy,” said Uncle Jeff sharply.—“No, no, no, no, Blunt; don’t take it like that,” he continued as he saw the change in the manager’s countenance. “I have not come to supersede you, only as a humble recruit, ready if wanted, which I fervently hope I shall not be. I should have brought half-a-dozen good fighting-men with me, only there are none in stock at Hai-Hai. It is getting to be every man for himself, too, and we shall be very unsettled until our Government makes a move and puts a few men-of-war on the station for the protection of the mercantile folk. My brother and several more are bestirring themselves, however, and I hope something will be done before long.”

“But you will take the lead, sir, while you stay, of course,” said Blunt rather coldly. “As you see, I am weak.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind, Blunt. My brother and I are only too well satisfied with your management. I have come here to help to take care of Nephew Stanley, and when the care is not necessary I am going to have a rest, fishing, botanising, and shooting—in other words, to have a spell of idleness, for I don’t think you will be attacked again after the taste you have given the miscreants of our quality here at thehong. Now then, Blunt,” he added, “are you satisfied?”

The manager hesitated and still looked doubtful, but the look that accompanied Uncle Jeff’s outstretched hand was sufficient, and he brightened up at once.

“Yes, sir,” he said warmly—“quite.”

Back to IndexNext