Chapter Thirty Four.“Wait till the Wretches come.”The landing and stowing away of the cases of ammunition did not last long, for every one joined in it, four men without orders taking charge of a box that one could have carried with ease. In fact, they looked more like a party of schoolboys bringing boxes of fireworks for a fête than stern, energetic men fighting for the privilege of either carrying or simply watching the little chests, the possession of which turned them from helpless, unprotected beings, at the mercy of the next piratical crew that came down the river, to strong, vigorous folk ready for a fleet of junks and eager to fight to any desperate end.The last case was placed in the little magazine, the trap-door shut down and locked, and then there was a burst of cheering which sounded stifled in the great stack-filled store.“Why, I thought at one time,” said Uncle Jeff merrily when the whole party had filed out and the speaker was seated in Blunt’s private room, “that they were all going to break out in a triumphal war-dance.”Stan coloured and laughed.“Well, uncle,” he said, “the men were so excited that I don’t see that I, a boy, need mind owning how I felt. It was something like what one used to experience when one had a present years and years ago.”“What!—ready to jump for joy, Stan?”“Yes, uncle.”“I know the feeling,” said Uncle Jeff, chuckling. “I remember just as well as if it was yesterday. Ready to jump for joy; just, too, when I was so weak from some fever that if I had been out of bed my legs wouldn’t have borne me, let alone jumped. I remember it was fine summer weather, and my father had come down from London and brought me a new fishing-rod—a perfect marvel to my young eyes—reddish-yellow bamboo, with brass ferrules, and having one joint fitting beautifully into the other so as to form a walking-stick; and in addition, just as he had brought them and had them bundled up together in a parcel, there was quite a heap of treasures tangled up together on the big sheet of paper spread out upon the white counterpane, while I sat up with two pillows to support my weak back. Oh, it was grand!“Ha, ha, ha!” chuckled the great stalwart fellow, with his eyes lighting up. “Didn’t I have the window opened so that I could pull joint out from joint and put them together, making the rod grow till I sat holding it out through the drawn-up sash. All the time I was seeing in imagination the great pond sheltered by the willows where the water-lilies grew and the carp and tench sailed about underneath, every now and then lifting a broad dark-green leaf or thrusting a stem aside, with the glistening beetles gliding about on the surface as if they were playing at engine-turning and describing beautiful geometric figures as the big dragon-flies rustled their gauzy wings and darted here and there in chase of flies.“Then, too, I remember that I cried out against the window being shut, because three parts of my rod stood out in the open while I was busy examining a hank of Indian twist, beautiful steel-blue hooks of all sizes, from tiny ones on gut to big, quaintly shaped large ones, loose, but with eyes for attachment to the whipcord-like eel-line.”Uncle Jeff stopped short and turned with a droll look at his nephew.“Here, Stan,” he said, “you had better stop me or I shall go on with my rigmarole about that line with the blue-and-white cork float and the other with a quill, besides the one with the sharp-pointed porcupine which stuck through the bedclothes into my leg. Then there was the box of split shot with the lid which stuck, and when I got it off the contents jumped out, to go everywhere, over the bed, into it, under it, rattling between the jug and basin, and had to be hunted out. Then there was that lovely landing-net that was so rarely required for a big fish, but did splendidly to catch butterflies. And the fishing-creel, too, and—Here, Blunt, my dear fellow, where’s your box of Manilla cigars?—Stan, get me a light. I must put something in my mouth or I shall begin to tell you both about that little pike that I didn’t catch and that big carp that I did—I mean the one that seemed to my boyish eyes as if he wore a suit of armour made of young half-sovereigns overlapping one another from tail to head. Ah, Stan!” cried Uncle Jeff, “you’re a lucky young dog to be a boy, though you don’t know it, and never will till you grow up to be a man.”“Why, uncle,” cried Stan, “haven’t I just had to play at being a man and handle the rifle?”“I’m sorry to say yes, my lad, and I’d a great deal rather have heard that you had spent your time wandering on the banks of this splendid river, catching nothing, perhaps, but filling your young mind with things to remember when you grow old. Ah! life’s a very lovely thing if human beings would not spoil it as they do.”Stan smiled at his uncle’s words, but he did not see life in the same light after his experiences at Hai-Hai and at thehong; though he was quite ready to agree as to the way in which men spoil the world, and he did say this, very tersely, later on:“Especially Chinese pirates, uncle.”“Just so, my boy. But really it is all so beautiful here,” said Uncle Jeff, “that now I have been refreshed and feel rested, it is more than ever hard to believe what a desperate fight you have had. I wish I had been here.”“So do I, uncle,” said Stan merrily; but he turned serious the next moment. “No, I do not, uncle. It was very horrible, and you might have been shot.”“Oh, I don’t know, Stan. You and your men escaped pretty well. However, matters were best as they were—eh, Blunt?”“Certainly,” said the manager. “The defence could not have been in better hands.”“Oh, don’t!” cried Stan, speaking like a pettish girl. “Now you are both sneering at me.”This was of course denied, but the lad was only half-convinced, and too glad to hear the conversation take a different turn.“We must achieve some better means of defence, Blunt,” said Uncle Jeff. “You ought to have a good little piece of artillery here—something that would tell well on a junk—sink her if it was necessary.”“That’s what we were planning, uncle,” cried Stan; “only we had some rather peculiar notions.”The natural result of this remark was that the lad had to explain and give a full account of his ideas, which was received with a grunt.“There’s a lot in it that sounds well, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff after listening for some time in silence, “but too much of the toy-shop and Fifth of November about the rest. That kite-flying would never do.”“Why, it would be so simple, uncle!”“Very simple indeed, my boy—Simple Simony. Why, Stan, how do you think you are going to fly kites with the enemy in front?”“But they’re only to raise burning things like the pirates’ stink-pots.”“I should have a deal more faith in something of that sort. But how would you guide your kite with a fiery tail over the junk you meant to destroy?”“By means of the string. I could easily manage one, by pulling in and letting out till it was just over a junk; and then I should pull the second string, for of course there would be two; and then I should let one go, and down would fall the fiery shell right upon the junk’s deck.”“If it didn’t go down splash into the river—eh?”“Oh, I should manage it better than that,” said the lad confidently.“So I suppose,” said Uncle Jeff sarcastically; “and of course the wind would be setting in the right direction—that is to say, straight from you and over the enemy’s junks.”“Of course, uncle,” said Stan confidently.“Of course! Why, you too sanguine young enthusiast, the chances would be five-and-twenty to one that the wind would not be right on the day the enemy came. Won’t do, Stan. Try again.”“Oh, I can’t if you go on like that, uncle,” said the lad in an aggrieved tone. “You’re not half such a good listener as Mr Blunt. He thinks a good deal of my ideas.”“Then it was quite time I came. He’d spoil you. I will not, you may depend. Now then, let’s have a better idea than that.”“Well, uncle,” said the boy rather grumpily, “I did think something of having a boat always moored among the reeds—one filled with dangerous combustibles—that I could steal up to after the junks had stopped to kill and plunder us, apply a match, and, after lashing the rudder, cause it to float down with the stream right amongst the junks and set them on fire.”“Splendid idea!” cried Uncle Jeff, clapping his hands.“You like that, then?” said Stan, brightening up.“I think the idea would be glorious. Deadly in the extreme to the enemy, but—”“Oh uncle! don’t saybut,” cried the lad, growing crestfallen again.“Very well, my boy; I will not if you do not wish it. All the same, however, there’s a defect in it that would be fatal.”“What’s that?” said the boy rather dismally.“The Chinese are very weak-minded, but they’re not idiots.”“No—of course not; but tell me what you mean.”“Pooh! Can’t you see for yourself? The enemy would see that the fire-boat was coming, and of course they’d either heave anchor or cast their cables and slip away, if they didn’t send your fire-boat to the bottom with a shot from one of their swivel-guns. Try again.”“Oh, it’s of no use to try, uncle.”“Yes, it is. You’ve got gumption enough to make a pot without a hole in the bottom. You’re last idea is manageable; the kite-flying was not. Now then, you’ve got a better idea than that up your sleeve or in that noddle of yours, I’m sure.—Hasn’t he, Blunt?”“Yes—a far better one.”“I thought so.—Now then, boy, let’s have it.”Stan stood looking gloomy and silent.“Well, why don’t you go on?” said Uncle Jeff.“Because I feel as if you are laughing at me for trying to invent something.”“I am not, Stan—honour bright!” cried Uncle Jeff. “But even if I was laughing, what right have you to kick against it? Every inventor gets laughed at if he brings out something new, and then stupid people who grinned because they had never seen anything like it before are the first to praise. There! out with it, Stan; the third shot must be a good one.”The gloom passed off the lad’s countenance, and he laid bare his idea of contriving a kind of torpedo to sink off the wharf and connect by means of a wire with an electric battery in the office, ready for firing as soon as one of the junks was well over it.“Ah! that sounds better,” cried Uncle Jeff eagerly; “but could it be done?”“Oh yes,” said Blunt. “I think the idea is capital.”“So do I,” said Uncle Jeff; “but there’s an old proverb about the engineer being hoist with his own petard, and however willing I might be to blow up a junk full of murderous pirates, I shouldn’t like to go up with them.”“Oh, that would be easy enough, uncle,” said Stan. “We should have to fill a big, perfectly waterproof canister with powder or some other combustible, make a hole in the side or top, and pass a copper wire through so that it is right in the powder, then solder up the hole, and after the canister has been sunk, bring the wire ashore ready.”“Yes, and what then? I must confess that I know nothing about electricity.”“I’ll tell you,” said Stan. “You fetch the copper wire ashore and bring it in, say, through that window. There! like this piece of string,” continued the lad, illustrating his plans with a string-box which he took from the office table, and after drawing out a sufficiency of the twine, he dropped the string-box outside the window. “Now, uncle,” he said, “that thing represents the canister of blasting-powder, and the string is the wire. You see, I shut down the window to hold the wire fast, and bring the end here on to the office table.”“I see,” said Uncle Jeff; “but what next?”“I’ll show you directly,” continued Stan, with his forehead puckered up in lines as if it were a mental Clapham Junction. “Now then, this stationery-case is my battery of cells, each charged with acid and stuff.”“We don’t want to put a dangerous battery on Mr Blunt’s table to blow him up,” said Uncle Jeff. “He’s too useful.”“Of course he is, uncle; but we couldn’t blow him up, because the battery isn’t dangerous.”“Then what’s the good of it?”“Ah! you don’t see yet; you will directly,” cried the boy. “There’s no danger at all till it is connected with the wire; and the wire, you know, is connected with the canister of explosive, uncle. And don’t you see that it will be sunk right away there off the wharf? When we connect the wire with the battery, it is not that which goes off, but the powder in the canister under the junk.”“Oh, I see!” said Uncle Jeff. “Good; but when it is connected what does it do?”“Sends a current of electricity along the wire.”“Of course; I do understand that. Sends an electric spark through the powder and blows it up.”“That’s right, uncle; only, instead of sending a spark along the wire, it sends a current to the end of the wire, and that end begins to glow till it turns white-hot. But long before that it has set the powder off, and if all goes right we should have a great junk blown all to pieces.”“Bravo!” cried Uncle Jeff. “Three cheers for our inventor, Blunt!”“Nonsense, uncle! I didn’t invent that. It’s only what one has read in books on electricity. Now you can see, of course, that there is no danger at the battery end of the wire.”“If you tell me there is no danger, Stan, of course I am bound to believe it; but I don’t quite see why the wire should not carry us the message of the blow-up, and blow us up into the bargain.”“Ah! but that would be outside the bargain, uncle,” said Stan, laughing. “It would be a good bargain for us.”“And a horribly bad one for the Chinamen,” said Uncle Jeff.—“Look here, Blunt, this seems to be quite feasible.”“Quite,” was the reply. “There is only one risk in it that I see.”“And that is—”“Making a mistake: some one connecting the wire at the wrong time for the friendly junk instead of an enemy. It wouldn’t do to blow up Mao or old Wing.”“No, uncle,” said Stan quietly; “and it wouldn’t do to take down rifles and shoot either of them. There would be no danger so long as we took care of the electric battery; nothing else would fire the canister.”“All right,” cried Uncle Jeff in his cheeriest way. “Then the next thing to be done is to get so many tins.”“They ought to be copper,” said Stan.“Very well, then, coppers—ready to ‘sky,’ Stan—eh? You remember skying the copper—the old charwoman putting the gunpowder in the copper flue, as she said, to ‘burn up by degrees’?”“Yes, I remember,” said Stan, laughing; “and when it had exploded she said, ‘Where is the powder blue?’”“Exactly. The result of meddling with explosives which she did not understand. I don’t understand these things, so I feel nervous about handling them; but with the proviso that you two are careful, I shall send an order for all the materials you want, so that we shall have so many mines ready for war-junks which come to meddle with us. But it must take time.”“Yes,” said Blunt, “it will take some months, for everything will have to come from England, I expect. But I honestly believe that it will be long before the enemy get over the defeat they have had, and meanwhile I feel quite happy, for you have brought me four times as large a supply of cartridges as we had before, and yourself as reinforcement. Besides, our men are all veterans now, ready for the savage brutes if they do venture to come.”“Well, the longer they keep off the better,” said Uncle Jeff, “for you will not be out of hospital for a month, Blunt.”“What!” cried the manager fiercely. “Let them come, and they’d find me ready for action now.”Uncle Jeff glanced at him and shook his head.“But I am, I tell you,” cried Blunt excitedly. “My eyes are clear, and my hand is pretty steady. I could manage a rifle now as well as when I practised at a mark.—What do you say, Stan? Don’t you think I could fight?”“I believe you’d try.”“Try: yes. I want to pay off old scores.”“Ah, well!” said Uncle Jeff, “we have no need to fidget about that. Wait till the wretches come and then we’ll see.”
The landing and stowing away of the cases of ammunition did not last long, for every one joined in it, four men without orders taking charge of a box that one could have carried with ease. In fact, they looked more like a party of schoolboys bringing boxes of fireworks for a fête than stern, energetic men fighting for the privilege of either carrying or simply watching the little chests, the possession of which turned them from helpless, unprotected beings, at the mercy of the next piratical crew that came down the river, to strong, vigorous folk ready for a fleet of junks and eager to fight to any desperate end.
The last case was placed in the little magazine, the trap-door shut down and locked, and then there was a burst of cheering which sounded stifled in the great stack-filled store.
“Why, I thought at one time,” said Uncle Jeff merrily when the whole party had filed out and the speaker was seated in Blunt’s private room, “that they were all going to break out in a triumphal war-dance.”
Stan coloured and laughed.
“Well, uncle,” he said, “the men were so excited that I don’t see that I, a boy, need mind owning how I felt. It was something like what one used to experience when one had a present years and years ago.”
“What!—ready to jump for joy, Stan?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“I know the feeling,” said Uncle Jeff, chuckling. “I remember just as well as if it was yesterday. Ready to jump for joy; just, too, when I was so weak from some fever that if I had been out of bed my legs wouldn’t have borne me, let alone jumped. I remember it was fine summer weather, and my father had come down from London and brought me a new fishing-rod—a perfect marvel to my young eyes—reddish-yellow bamboo, with brass ferrules, and having one joint fitting beautifully into the other so as to form a walking-stick; and in addition, just as he had brought them and had them bundled up together in a parcel, there was quite a heap of treasures tangled up together on the big sheet of paper spread out upon the white counterpane, while I sat up with two pillows to support my weak back. Oh, it was grand!
“Ha, ha, ha!” chuckled the great stalwart fellow, with his eyes lighting up. “Didn’t I have the window opened so that I could pull joint out from joint and put them together, making the rod grow till I sat holding it out through the drawn-up sash. All the time I was seeing in imagination the great pond sheltered by the willows where the water-lilies grew and the carp and tench sailed about underneath, every now and then lifting a broad dark-green leaf or thrusting a stem aside, with the glistening beetles gliding about on the surface as if they were playing at engine-turning and describing beautiful geometric figures as the big dragon-flies rustled their gauzy wings and darted here and there in chase of flies.
“Then, too, I remember that I cried out against the window being shut, because three parts of my rod stood out in the open while I was busy examining a hank of Indian twist, beautiful steel-blue hooks of all sizes, from tiny ones on gut to big, quaintly shaped large ones, loose, but with eyes for attachment to the whipcord-like eel-line.”
Uncle Jeff stopped short and turned with a droll look at his nephew.
“Here, Stan,” he said, “you had better stop me or I shall go on with my rigmarole about that line with the blue-and-white cork float and the other with a quill, besides the one with the sharp-pointed porcupine which stuck through the bedclothes into my leg. Then there was the box of split shot with the lid which stuck, and when I got it off the contents jumped out, to go everywhere, over the bed, into it, under it, rattling between the jug and basin, and had to be hunted out. Then there was that lovely landing-net that was so rarely required for a big fish, but did splendidly to catch butterflies. And the fishing-creel, too, and—Here, Blunt, my dear fellow, where’s your box of Manilla cigars?—Stan, get me a light. I must put something in my mouth or I shall begin to tell you both about that little pike that I didn’t catch and that big carp that I did—I mean the one that seemed to my boyish eyes as if he wore a suit of armour made of young half-sovereigns overlapping one another from tail to head. Ah, Stan!” cried Uncle Jeff, “you’re a lucky young dog to be a boy, though you don’t know it, and never will till you grow up to be a man.”
“Why, uncle,” cried Stan, “haven’t I just had to play at being a man and handle the rifle?”
“I’m sorry to say yes, my lad, and I’d a great deal rather have heard that you had spent your time wandering on the banks of this splendid river, catching nothing, perhaps, but filling your young mind with things to remember when you grow old. Ah! life’s a very lovely thing if human beings would not spoil it as they do.”
Stan smiled at his uncle’s words, but he did not see life in the same light after his experiences at Hai-Hai and at thehong; though he was quite ready to agree as to the way in which men spoil the world, and he did say this, very tersely, later on:
“Especially Chinese pirates, uncle.”
“Just so, my boy. But really it is all so beautiful here,” said Uncle Jeff, “that now I have been refreshed and feel rested, it is more than ever hard to believe what a desperate fight you have had. I wish I had been here.”
“So do I, uncle,” said Stan merrily; but he turned serious the next moment. “No, I do not, uncle. It was very horrible, and you might have been shot.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Stan. You and your men escaped pretty well. However, matters were best as they were—eh, Blunt?”
“Certainly,” said the manager. “The defence could not have been in better hands.”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Stan, speaking like a pettish girl. “Now you are both sneering at me.”
This was of course denied, but the lad was only half-convinced, and too glad to hear the conversation take a different turn.
“We must achieve some better means of defence, Blunt,” said Uncle Jeff. “You ought to have a good little piece of artillery here—something that would tell well on a junk—sink her if it was necessary.”
“That’s what we were planning, uncle,” cried Stan; “only we had some rather peculiar notions.”
The natural result of this remark was that the lad had to explain and give a full account of his ideas, which was received with a grunt.
“There’s a lot in it that sounds well, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff after listening for some time in silence, “but too much of the toy-shop and Fifth of November about the rest. That kite-flying would never do.”
“Why, it would be so simple, uncle!”
“Very simple indeed, my boy—Simple Simony. Why, Stan, how do you think you are going to fly kites with the enemy in front?”
“But they’re only to raise burning things like the pirates’ stink-pots.”
“I should have a deal more faith in something of that sort. But how would you guide your kite with a fiery tail over the junk you meant to destroy?”
“By means of the string. I could easily manage one, by pulling in and letting out till it was just over a junk; and then I should pull the second string, for of course there would be two; and then I should let one go, and down would fall the fiery shell right upon the junk’s deck.”
“If it didn’t go down splash into the river—eh?”
“Oh, I should manage it better than that,” said the lad confidently.
“So I suppose,” said Uncle Jeff sarcastically; “and of course the wind would be setting in the right direction—that is to say, straight from you and over the enemy’s junks.”
“Of course, uncle,” said Stan confidently.
“Of course! Why, you too sanguine young enthusiast, the chances would be five-and-twenty to one that the wind would not be right on the day the enemy came. Won’t do, Stan. Try again.”
“Oh, I can’t if you go on like that, uncle,” said the lad in an aggrieved tone. “You’re not half such a good listener as Mr Blunt. He thinks a good deal of my ideas.”
“Then it was quite time I came. He’d spoil you. I will not, you may depend. Now then, let’s have a better idea than that.”
“Well, uncle,” said the boy rather grumpily, “I did think something of having a boat always moored among the reeds—one filled with dangerous combustibles—that I could steal up to after the junks had stopped to kill and plunder us, apply a match, and, after lashing the rudder, cause it to float down with the stream right amongst the junks and set them on fire.”
“Splendid idea!” cried Uncle Jeff, clapping his hands.
“You like that, then?” said Stan, brightening up.
“I think the idea would be glorious. Deadly in the extreme to the enemy, but—”
“Oh uncle! don’t saybut,” cried the lad, growing crestfallen again.
“Very well, my boy; I will not if you do not wish it. All the same, however, there’s a defect in it that would be fatal.”
“What’s that?” said the boy rather dismally.
“The Chinese are very weak-minded, but they’re not idiots.”
“No—of course not; but tell me what you mean.”
“Pooh! Can’t you see for yourself? The enemy would see that the fire-boat was coming, and of course they’d either heave anchor or cast their cables and slip away, if they didn’t send your fire-boat to the bottom with a shot from one of their swivel-guns. Try again.”
“Oh, it’s of no use to try, uncle.”
“Yes, it is. You’ve got gumption enough to make a pot without a hole in the bottom. You’re last idea is manageable; the kite-flying was not. Now then, you’ve got a better idea than that up your sleeve or in that noddle of yours, I’m sure.—Hasn’t he, Blunt?”
“Yes—a far better one.”
“I thought so.—Now then, boy, let’s have it.”
Stan stood looking gloomy and silent.
“Well, why don’t you go on?” said Uncle Jeff.
“Because I feel as if you are laughing at me for trying to invent something.”
“I am not, Stan—honour bright!” cried Uncle Jeff. “But even if I was laughing, what right have you to kick against it? Every inventor gets laughed at if he brings out something new, and then stupid people who grinned because they had never seen anything like it before are the first to praise. There! out with it, Stan; the third shot must be a good one.”
The gloom passed off the lad’s countenance, and he laid bare his idea of contriving a kind of torpedo to sink off the wharf and connect by means of a wire with an electric battery in the office, ready for firing as soon as one of the junks was well over it.
“Ah! that sounds better,” cried Uncle Jeff eagerly; “but could it be done?”
“Oh yes,” said Blunt. “I think the idea is capital.”
“So do I,” said Uncle Jeff; “but there’s an old proverb about the engineer being hoist with his own petard, and however willing I might be to blow up a junk full of murderous pirates, I shouldn’t like to go up with them.”
“Oh, that would be easy enough, uncle,” said Stan. “We should have to fill a big, perfectly waterproof canister with powder or some other combustible, make a hole in the side or top, and pass a copper wire through so that it is right in the powder, then solder up the hole, and after the canister has been sunk, bring the wire ashore ready.”
“Yes, and what then? I must confess that I know nothing about electricity.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Stan. “You fetch the copper wire ashore and bring it in, say, through that window. There! like this piece of string,” continued the lad, illustrating his plans with a string-box which he took from the office table, and after drawing out a sufficiency of the twine, he dropped the string-box outside the window. “Now, uncle,” he said, “that thing represents the canister of blasting-powder, and the string is the wire. You see, I shut down the window to hold the wire fast, and bring the end here on to the office table.”
“I see,” said Uncle Jeff; “but what next?”
“I’ll show you directly,” continued Stan, with his forehead puckered up in lines as if it were a mental Clapham Junction. “Now then, this stationery-case is my battery of cells, each charged with acid and stuff.”
“We don’t want to put a dangerous battery on Mr Blunt’s table to blow him up,” said Uncle Jeff. “He’s too useful.”
“Of course he is, uncle; but we couldn’t blow him up, because the battery isn’t dangerous.”
“Then what’s the good of it?”
“Ah! you don’t see yet; you will directly,” cried the boy. “There’s no danger at all till it is connected with the wire; and the wire, you know, is connected with the canister of explosive, uncle. And don’t you see that it will be sunk right away there off the wharf? When we connect the wire with the battery, it is not that which goes off, but the powder in the canister under the junk.”
“Oh, I see!” said Uncle Jeff. “Good; but when it is connected what does it do?”
“Sends a current of electricity along the wire.”
“Of course; I do understand that. Sends an electric spark through the powder and blows it up.”
“That’s right, uncle; only, instead of sending a spark along the wire, it sends a current to the end of the wire, and that end begins to glow till it turns white-hot. But long before that it has set the powder off, and if all goes right we should have a great junk blown all to pieces.”
“Bravo!” cried Uncle Jeff. “Three cheers for our inventor, Blunt!”
“Nonsense, uncle! I didn’t invent that. It’s only what one has read in books on electricity. Now you can see, of course, that there is no danger at the battery end of the wire.”
“If you tell me there is no danger, Stan, of course I am bound to believe it; but I don’t quite see why the wire should not carry us the message of the blow-up, and blow us up into the bargain.”
“Ah! but that would be outside the bargain, uncle,” said Stan, laughing. “It would be a good bargain for us.”
“And a horribly bad one for the Chinamen,” said Uncle Jeff.—“Look here, Blunt, this seems to be quite feasible.”
“Quite,” was the reply. “There is only one risk in it that I see.”
“And that is—”
“Making a mistake: some one connecting the wire at the wrong time for the friendly junk instead of an enemy. It wouldn’t do to blow up Mao or old Wing.”
“No, uncle,” said Stan quietly; “and it wouldn’t do to take down rifles and shoot either of them. There would be no danger so long as we took care of the electric battery; nothing else would fire the canister.”
“All right,” cried Uncle Jeff in his cheeriest way. “Then the next thing to be done is to get so many tins.”
“They ought to be copper,” said Stan.
“Very well, then, coppers—ready to ‘sky,’ Stan—eh? You remember skying the copper—the old charwoman putting the gunpowder in the copper flue, as she said, to ‘burn up by degrees’?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Stan, laughing; “and when it had exploded she said, ‘Where is the powder blue?’”
“Exactly. The result of meddling with explosives which she did not understand. I don’t understand these things, so I feel nervous about handling them; but with the proviso that you two are careful, I shall send an order for all the materials you want, so that we shall have so many mines ready for war-junks which come to meddle with us. But it must take time.”
“Yes,” said Blunt, “it will take some months, for everything will have to come from England, I expect. But I honestly believe that it will be long before the enemy get over the defeat they have had, and meanwhile I feel quite happy, for you have brought me four times as large a supply of cartridges as we had before, and yourself as reinforcement. Besides, our men are all veterans now, ready for the savage brutes if they do venture to come.”
“Well, the longer they keep off the better,” said Uncle Jeff, “for you will not be out of hospital for a month, Blunt.”
“What!” cried the manager fiercely. “Let them come, and they’d find me ready for action now.”
Uncle Jeff glanced at him and shook his head.
“But I am, I tell you,” cried Blunt excitedly. “My eyes are clear, and my hand is pretty steady. I could manage a rifle now as well as when I practised at a mark.—What do you say, Stan? Don’t you think I could fight?”
“I believe you’d try.”
“Try: yes. I want to pay off old scores.”
“Ah, well!” said Uncle Jeff, “we have no need to fidget about that. Wait till the wretches come and then we’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty Five.“Quite Safe Till Dawn.”“It seems rather absurd for us to settle down to talk about making what people call infernal machines, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff, and he pointed through the open window of the office to the scene being enacted on the wharf, with a lovely background of river, cultivated ground covered with corn, rice, and fruit-trees, and beyond these hill and mountain of every shade of delicious blue. “Why, everything looks as peaceful as can be. Look at those trading-craft with the stores they are bringing in, and the village boats piled up with fruit, vegetables, and grain. Hullo! What’s that next one?”“Oh, that’s the one that brings milk and eggs, poultry and little pigs,” said Stan, smiling. “We call it theDairy.”“I really cannot realise the horrors you talked about, Stan, and in the midst of such a beautiful scene of peace and content I can’t talk about torpedoes. Here, I want some of those bright golden bananas from that boat.”Stan’s forehead puckered up again, and he did not even glance at the boat with golden bananas, oranges, and scarlet tomatoes.“But you wouldn’t say it was absurd to talk about umbrellas because we’d had three or four lovely days, uncle. Storms are sure to come.”“Snubbed!” exclaimed Uncle Jeff.“Uncle!”“Well, I am, Stan—regularly snubbed; and I deserve it, boy. Never mind your umbrella simile; let’s have a better one. Suppose we say it’s foolish to build a house on the slope of a volcano because the mountain has been quiet for a few years. That’s better. Yes, it would be foolish to settle down in the belief of there being peace when that lady of the doves doesn’t seem to be indigenous to Chinese soil. We’ll see about the torpedoes at once, Stan; but let us moderate our transports, and begin with a couple. They’ll be easier to manage, and we might find that we could improve upon them.”“Yes, that is most likely, uncle,” said Stan. “Let it be two, then.”“Take a sheet of paper, and we’ll make out a list of the things we want sent out.”“Yes, uncle,” said the lad eagerly; and he took a big sheet of ruled foolscap, dipped a pen, and sat ready to take down his uncle’s words.But none came, for Uncle Jeff was filling a pipe now and looking thoughtfully before him in silence.“It seems to me,” he said at last, “that—Hullo, Blunt! We’re jotting down some notions for our torpedoes.”“You haven’t any ready, I suppose?”“Ready?” said Uncle Jeff, staring. “Of course not.”“Then they’ll be of no use to us this time.”“Is anything the matter, Mr Blunt?” said Stan, whose late experiences had made him ready to take alarm.“Yes, Lynn; a tea-grower from up-country has come down to warn me that some junks have been prepared, filled with men, and are coming down the river again.”“A false alarm, perhaps.”“No; I have too much faith in my informant, one of those with whom I have done most business since I have been here. He tells me that he had a hint that the pirates were on the way again so as to have revenge for their late defeat, and he came across country to warn me.”“Then we can’t be ready for them this time, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Never mind; put your paper away, and we’ll prepare for our visitors. We’ll take it out again and finish it when they have gone.”The evil news was unexpected; there had been no warning giving time for preparation, and upon further inquiry it proved that the enemy were not coming slowly down the river, plundering villages on their way, but were making straight for thehong, bent upon revenge.Every one there felt this, and knowing full well the mercilessness of the foe, all set to work in desperate earnest. There was no time for building up the outwork of chests and bales, but Stan declared that to be of no consequence, for all it did on the last occasion was to delay the enemy for a while, and when they did make a rush it did more harm than good, as it provided shelter for the attacking party, close up to the warehouse, from which they could assail in security, as well as supplying a platform from which to hurl the stink-pots.“But it must have been a splendid place from which to fire,” said Uncle Jeff.“Yes, uncle; but it was horrible when the assault came, and I was in doubt as to whether we could all get in and close up the two doors.”“Oh yes, let it go,” said Blunt glumly. “I hated the place. Didn’t I get shot down there? Don’t speak up for it, Mr Lynn. We can barricade all the lower windows and the doors, and be all shut in here safely before the enemy can land, while all our fighting can be done from the first floor, quite out of reach of their spears.”“I give up,” said Uncle Jeff; and he worked hard with the rest in securing all the lower windows, and holding planks for the Chinese carpenters to screw up, before wedging up the windows with a lining of tea-chests.The doors were blocked up as on the previous occasion; water-casks were got on to the upper floor, as well as placed in the lower, and an ample supply of the fire-quenching element brimmed them, as well as every bucket that could be obtained.There was plenty of time for this, the labour that would have been bestowed upon the outwork being utilised here in strengthening the keep, as Uncle Jeff called it, and making it as secure as it was possible to be.There was a curious look in Blunt’s eyes as he opened the cartridge-boxes and placed a couple of them on tables and chests in the lower floor, as far apart as he could to be handy.“I haven’t forgotten my dreamy fancy about the stink-pots rolling down the stairs, Lynn,” he said. “If one should come and by any strange accident fire one box, I’m not going to have that set off the rest.”“But suppose a burning pot did happen to fall into an open chest of cartridges,” said Stan, “what would happen?”“I never had the ill-fortune to be by when such an event occurred,” said Blunt rather sarcastically, “but you may depend upon it something would.”“Well, I know that,” cried Stan; “but what? Cartridges wouldn’t go off like so much loose powder.”“Of course not.”“What I want to know is, would they go off one at a time?”“There’s only one way of knowing for certain, Lynn: stand by and watch.”“But the cartridges couldn’t do much mischief unless one stood opposite to the bullet-ends.”“I shouldn’t like to try, my lad. It seems to me that, according to how the cartridges are packed, one would have to undergo the fusillade of what would seem like so many tiny guns, each loaded with a conical bullet; and I think we shall spare no pains to keep fire away.”“How are you getting on here?” said Uncle Jeff, coming up, wiping his wet brow.“Oh, pretty well, sir,” replied Blunt. “I have been arranging the other cases ready for supplying the men’s bandoliers when empty, and your nephew and I have been discussing what would be the consequences if a fire-pot came down into an open case.”“Never mind discussions now,” said Uncle Jeff. “I want to know if there’s anything more that I can do to strengthen the upper works.”“I’ll come round with you now,” said Blunt.“Come along, then.—Come too, Stan, my lad.—But let us have a word with the lookout man.”They passed out through the nearest doorway to hail the watch, which once more proved to be Wing, who this time was keenly on the alert, and ready to announce that the enemy were not yet in sight.“What a change!” said Uncle Jeff as he paused upon the wharf to look round. The scene was the same as he had gazed upon when seated at the table with Stan making plans; but the river was deserted, every boat being hurried away in panic as soon as the coming danger was known.The little party turned in again, noting that the planks and chests for screwing up and barricading the door through which they passed were ready for use as soon as the necessity came. The other door had already been closed up, after the last window.A visit then to the upper floor showed everything in readiness for receiving the attack, and nothing was left but to wait; while, the last shades of evening showing no sign of the approaching enemy, it was concluded that no attack need be expected till morning.“They are bound to be some hours coming down after being sighted,” said Blunt.“Of course, with the river winding as it does; but we’ll be ready all the same. I say, though, Blunt, is there any possibility of an attack being made from the shore?”“I don’t think so,” was the reply; “but we’ll be prepared all the same, every one sleeping with his arms by his side. But it would mean a tremendous march along dikes and through swampy paddy-fields. No, I do not think it is likely. The enemy are boatmen, and do not care to tramp.”“Then you can feel safe for some hours,” said Uncle Jeff.“Yes, quite safe till dawn.”“Then I vote for every one getting as good a sleep as possible before then, so that we may be in good fighting trim by the morning.”“Sleep, uncle!” cried Stan. “Who could possibly sleep at a time like this?”“I could, and will if I have the chance. I want steady hands for aiming to-morrow.”“You had better sleep, sir,” said Blunt. “Lynn here and I will divide the watch between us.”“No,” said Uncle Jeff; “I don’t mean to be left out in the cold. I shall divide the watch, taking one-third. You’re weak, Blunt, so you and Stan go and lie down. In three hours I’ll wake Stan, and he shall have his three hours’ watch and then come and rouse you. Then you ought to be fresher and stronger. There! no arguing; I’m going to be master over this. You send all the fellows off but two to keep watch with me, and do so at once.”Uncle Jeff’s tones endorsed his words, being masterful in the extreme. Very shortly after the great building was silent as could be, and the only sounds that broke the night were the cries of distant wild birds, the splashings of feeding fish, and the steady tramp of the chief watcher. His big burly figure loomed up as he walked to and fro along the paved wharf, his two companions preferring to pass their time whispering together, straining their eyes for any dark, shadowy vessel that might come stealing down the river, the subject of their discussion being the desperate fight through which they had gone so short a time before, while they wondered what would have happened by that time the next night.The three hours passed away, and to the minute Uncle Jeff sent his companions to rouse Stan and the two men who were to take their places.Three more hours passed, and in turn Stan sent one man to rouse up the two next sentries and went himself to awaken Blunt.“Yes, Lynn; all right. Hah! I’ve had such a sleep. What of the night?”“All calm and still. It’s getting misty now, though, and a bit chilly.”“That means a greatcoat for this poor weak invalid. There! turn in and have another sleep till breakfast-time.”Stan did not stop to enter into any discussion, but the moment he had seen the manager take his place with his followers he threw himself upon the rough couch so lately vacated, and dropped asleep at once.The next minute he was awake again, or so it seemed to him, to find Blunt’s hand upon his arm.“Up with you,” he said, “and help to rouse the rest. Every man is to go to his station without a sound.”“Are the enemy upon us, then?”“No,” said Blunt shortly. “You said it was misty, and that has gone on, till the river is covered by a white fog so dense that it looks as if you could cut it. You can see nothing half-a-dozen yards away, and I was wondering whether it would disperse when the sun rose, when Wing came close up behind me. ‘See, misteh?’ he whispered, and he pointed down the river into the thick white fog. ‘No,’ I said. ‘What is it?’ He pointed again down-stream, and at that moment the mist, which floated like smoke on the surface of the water, lifted a little. Lynn, I felt stunned, for there were six junks in sight.”“So close?” whispered Stan.“Yes; and the next minute the mist shut in again and they were gone as silently as they had come.”“But they had seen thehong?”“No, I think not, or they would have set to and used their sweeps. We must wait now till they begin to come back, unless we are so lucky that they run aground on the other side. Quick! I’m going back to the wharf.”Stan made no reply, but hurried to where Uncle Jeff was sleeping soundly. He sprang up at a touch.“Come?” he said sharply.“Yes. I’m going to rouse up the others. Blunt wants you on the wharf.”So well had the plans been made that in an incredibly short space of time the whole of the defenders had gathered in silence, to find that the place was completely shut in by the thick white mist, neither warehouse nor river being visible, even those who were two yards distant being quite invisible to their friends.
“It seems rather absurd for us to settle down to talk about making what people call infernal machines, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff, and he pointed through the open window of the office to the scene being enacted on the wharf, with a lovely background of river, cultivated ground covered with corn, rice, and fruit-trees, and beyond these hill and mountain of every shade of delicious blue. “Why, everything looks as peaceful as can be. Look at those trading-craft with the stores they are bringing in, and the village boats piled up with fruit, vegetables, and grain. Hullo! What’s that next one?”
“Oh, that’s the one that brings milk and eggs, poultry and little pigs,” said Stan, smiling. “We call it theDairy.”
“I really cannot realise the horrors you talked about, Stan, and in the midst of such a beautiful scene of peace and content I can’t talk about torpedoes. Here, I want some of those bright golden bananas from that boat.”
Stan’s forehead puckered up again, and he did not even glance at the boat with golden bananas, oranges, and scarlet tomatoes.
“But you wouldn’t say it was absurd to talk about umbrellas because we’d had three or four lovely days, uncle. Storms are sure to come.”
“Snubbed!” exclaimed Uncle Jeff.
“Uncle!”
“Well, I am, Stan—regularly snubbed; and I deserve it, boy. Never mind your umbrella simile; let’s have a better one. Suppose we say it’s foolish to build a house on the slope of a volcano because the mountain has been quiet for a few years. That’s better. Yes, it would be foolish to settle down in the belief of there being peace when that lady of the doves doesn’t seem to be indigenous to Chinese soil. We’ll see about the torpedoes at once, Stan; but let us moderate our transports, and begin with a couple. They’ll be easier to manage, and we might find that we could improve upon them.”
“Yes, that is most likely, uncle,” said Stan. “Let it be two, then.”
“Take a sheet of paper, and we’ll make out a list of the things we want sent out.”
“Yes, uncle,” said the lad eagerly; and he took a big sheet of ruled foolscap, dipped a pen, and sat ready to take down his uncle’s words.
But none came, for Uncle Jeff was filling a pipe now and looking thoughtfully before him in silence.
“It seems to me,” he said at last, “that—Hullo, Blunt! We’re jotting down some notions for our torpedoes.”
“You haven’t any ready, I suppose?”
“Ready?” said Uncle Jeff, staring. “Of course not.”
“Then they’ll be of no use to us this time.”
“Is anything the matter, Mr Blunt?” said Stan, whose late experiences had made him ready to take alarm.
“Yes, Lynn; a tea-grower from up-country has come down to warn me that some junks have been prepared, filled with men, and are coming down the river again.”
“A false alarm, perhaps.”
“No; I have too much faith in my informant, one of those with whom I have done most business since I have been here. He tells me that he had a hint that the pirates were on the way again so as to have revenge for their late defeat, and he came across country to warn me.”
“Then we can’t be ready for them this time, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Never mind; put your paper away, and we’ll prepare for our visitors. We’ll take it out again and finish it when they have gone.”
The evil news was unexpected; there had been no warning giving time for preparation, and upon further inquiry it proved that the enemy were not coming slowly down the river, plundering villages on their way, but were making straight for thehong, bent upon revenge.
Every one there felt this, and knowing full well the mercilessness of the foe, all set to work in desperate earnest. There was no time for building up the outwork of chests and bales, but Stan declared that to be of no consequence, for all it did on the last occasion was to delay the enemy for a while, and when they did make a rush it did more harm than good, as it provided shelter for the attacking party, close up to the warehouse, from which they could assail in security, as well as supplying a platform from which to hurl the stink-pots.
“But it must have been a splendid place from which to fire,” said Uncle Jeff.
“Yes, uncle; but it was horrible when the assault came, and I was in doubt as to whether we could all get in and close up the two doors.”
“Oh yes, let it go,” said Blunt glumly. “I hated the place. Didn’t I get shot down there? Don’t speak up for it, Mr Lynn. We can barricade all the lower windows and the doors, and be all shut in here safely before the enemy can land, while all our fighting can be done from the first floor, quite out of reach of their spears.”
“I give up,” said Uncle Jeff; and he worked hard with the rest in securing all the lower windows, and holding planks for the Chinese carpenters to screw up, before wedging up the windows with a lining of tea-chests.
The doors were blocked up as on the previous occasion; water-casks were got on to the upper floor, as well as placed in the lower, and an ample supply of the fire-quenching element brimmed them, as well as every bucket that could be obtained.
There was plenty of time for this, the labour that would have been bestowed upon the outwork being utilised here in strengthening the keep, as Uncle Jeff called it, and making it as secure as it was possible to be.
There was a curious look in Blunt’s eyes as he opened the cartridge-boxes and placed a couple of them on tables and chests in the lower floor, as far apart as he could to be handy.
“I haven’t forgotten my dreamy fancy about the stink-pots rolling down the stairs, Lynn,” he said. “If one should come and by any strange accident fire one box, I’m not going to have that set off the rest.”
“But suppose a burning pot did happen to fall into an open chest of cartridges,” said Stan, “what would happen?”
“I never had the ill-fortune to be by when such an event occurred,” said Blunt rather sarcastically, “but you may depend upon it something would.”
“Well, I know that,” cried Stan; “but what? Cartridges wouldn’t go off like so much loose powder.”
“Of course not.”
“What I want to know is, would they go off one at a time?”
“There’s only one way of knowing for certain, Lynn: stand by and watch.”
“But the cartridges couldn’t do much mischief unless one stood opposite to the bullet-ends.”
“I shouldn’t like to try, my lad. It seems to me that, according to how the cartridges are packed, one would have to undergo the fusillade of what would seem like so many tiny guns, each loaded with a conical bullet; and I think we shall spare no pains to keep fire away.”
“How are you getting on here?” said Uncle Jeff, coming up, wiping his wet brow.
“Oh, pretty well, sir,” replied Blunt. “I have been arranging the other cases ready for supplying the men’s bandoliers when empty, and your nephew and I have been discussing what would be the consequences if a fire-pot came down into an open case.”
“Never mind discussions now,” said Uncle Jeff. “I want to know if there’s anything more that I can do to strengthen the upper works.”
“I’ll come round with you now,” said Blunt.
“Come along, then.—Come too, Stan, my lad.—But let us have a word with the lookout man.”
They passed out through the nearest doorway to hail the watch, which once more proved to be Wing, who this time was keenly on the alert, and ready to announce that the enemy were not yet in sight.
“What a change!” said Uncle Jeff as he paused upon the wharf to look round. The scene was the same as he had gazed upon when seated at the table with Stan making plans; but the river was deserted, every boat being hurried away in panic as soon as the coming danger was known.
The little party turned in again, noting that the planks and chests for screwing up and barricading the door through which they passed were ready for use as soon as the necessity came. The other door had already been closed up, after the last window.
A visit then to the upper floor showed everything in readiness for receiving the attack, and nothing was left but to wait; while, the last shades of evening showing no sign of the approaching enemy, it was concluded that no attack need be expected till morning.
“They are bound to be some hours coming down after being sighted,” said Blunt.
“Of course, with the river winding as it does; but we’ll be ready all the same. I say, though, Blunt, is there any possibility of an attack being made from the shore?”
“I don’t think so,” was the reply; “but we’ll be prepared all the same, every one sleeping with his arms by his side. But it would mean a tremendous march along dikes and through swampy paddy-fields. No, I do not think it is likely. The enemy are boatmen, and do not care to tramp.”
“Then you can feel safe for some hours,” said Uncle Jeff.
“Yes, quite safe till dawn.”
“Then I vote for every one getting as good a sleep as possible before then, so that we may be in good fighting trim by the morning.”
“Sleep, uncle!” cried Stan. “Who could possibly sleep at a time like this?”
“I could, and will if I have the chance. I want steady hands for aiming to-morrow.”
“You had better sleep, sir,” said Blunt. “Lynn here and I will divide the watch between us.”
“No,” said Uncle Jeff; “I don’t mean to be left out in the cold. I shall divide the watch, taking one-third. You’re weak, Blunt, so you and Stan go and lie down. In three hours I’ll wake Stan, and he shall have his three hours’ watch and then come and rouse you. Then you ought to be fresher and stronger. There! no arguing; I’m going to be master over this. You send all the fellows off but two to keep watch with me, and do so at once.”
Uncle Jeff’s tones endorsed his words, being masterful in the extreme. Very shortly after the great building was silent as could be, and the only sounds that broke the night were the cries of distant wild birds, the splashings of feeding fish, and the steady tramp of the chief watcher. His big burly figure loomed up as he walked to and fro along the paved wharf, his two companions preferring to pass their time whispering together, straining their eyes for any dark, shadowy vessel that might come stealing down the river, the subject of their discussion being the desperate fight through which they had gone so short a time before, while they wondered what would have happened by that time the next night.
The three hours passed away, and to the minute Uncle Jeff sent his companions to rouse Stan and the two men who were to take their places.
Three more hours passed, and in turn Stan sent one man to rouse up the two next sentries and went himself to awaken Blunt.
“Yes, Lynn; all right. Hah! I’ve had such a sleep. What of the night?”
“All calm and still. It’s getting misty now, though, and a bit chilly.”
“That means a greatcoat for this poor weak invalid. There! turn in and have another sleep till breakfast-time.”
Stan did not stop to enter into any discussion, but the moment he had seen the manager take his place with his followers he threw himself upon the rough couch so lately vacated, and dropped asleep at once.
The next minute he was awake again, or so it seemed to him, to find Blunt’s hand upon his arm.
“Up with you,” he said, “and help to rouse the rest. Every man is to go to his station without a sound.”
“Are the enemy upon us, then?”
“No,” said Blunt shortly. “You said it was misty, and that has gone on, till the river is covered by a white fog so dense that it looks as if you could cut it. You can see nothing half-a-dozen yards away, and I was wondering whether it would disperse when the sun rose, when Wing came close up behind me. ‘See, misteh?’ he whispered, and he pointed down the river into the thick white fog. ‘No,’ I said. ‘What is it?’ He pointed again down-stream, and at that moment the mist, which floated like smoke on the surface of the water, lifted a little. Lynn, I felt stunned, for there were six junks in sight.”
“So close?” whispered Stan.
“Yes; and the next minute the mist shut in again and they were gone as silently as they had come.”
“But they had seen thehong?”
“No, I think not, or they would have set to and used their sweeps. We must wait now till they begin to come back, unless we are so lucky that they run aground on the other side. Quick! I’m going back to the wharf.”
Stan made no reply, but hurried to where Uncle Jeff was sleeping soundly. He sprang up at a touch.
“Come?” he said sharply.
“Yes. I’m going to rouse up the others. Blunt wants you on the wharf.”
So well had the plans been made that in an incredibly short space of time the whole of the defenders had gathered in silence, to find that the place was completely shut in by the thick white mist, neither warehouse nor river being visible, even those who were two yards distant being quite invisible to their friends.
Chapter Thirty Six.“All in to begin.”With so great a danger at hand not a bound was made, every man, weapon in hand, listening and waiting for the next phase of the pirates’ approach; while many a heart that had sunk low in the presence of the peril began to beat less heavily as the minutes glided on, with the veil of mist which hid them from their enemies growing thicker.“Are we saved?” said Uncle Jeff at last in a whisper—“I don’t want to fight.”“Nor do I, uncle,” whispered back Stan; “but it seems to be too good to be true.”“What are you talking about?” asked Blunt from out of the mist close at hand—“the pirates going by?”“Yes,” replied Uncle Jeff; “we’ve got off, haven’t we?”“Till the fog clears away; and that will not be long. They won’t give us up. It’s only a question of time and their having to beat up against wind and stream. No,” he added, holding his hand up on high; “only against stream. I can feel the breeze rising, and that will carry off the fog before long.”“Then you will not be disappointed of your savage desires, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff good-humouredly. “What a fellow you are to fight!”“Oh! don’t try to make jokes now, uncle; it’s too horrible.”“For the enemy, Stan, my lad; and I don’t pity them a bit. They have the means in their hands to escape all fighting by leaving us carefully alone; but they will come on these murdering expeditions, to let’s give them all the bullets we can.”“Yes, here comes the breeze,” whispered Stan. “I can see the mist gliding by.”“Yes, there it goes,” said Blunt, endorsing the lad’s words. “We shall be clear by sunrise.”Quite half-an-hour passed before the air was much lighter, and Blunt ventured to give forth the hope that the enemy might have glided on so far down the river that they would be out of sight, when, almost before he had done speaking, the fog seemed to grow thinner, and directly after to turn to a deep orange, golden hue.“Sun’s rising,” said Uncle Jeff. “I hope the junks are well out of sight. It will give us time for a good breakfast before they come back.”“No breakfast,” said Stan bitterly, for he was thinking of hot coffee, and his appetite was suddenly damped by what he saw. For the lightening of the mist before the breeze meant that they were close to the edge of the moving bank of rolling mist-clouds, and as if the veil had been suddenly drawn aside, there were the horizontal rays of the sun shining right across the clustering men on the wharf and turning the grey fog-bank to one of gold. To their left the river was hidden, while to their right it was dazzlingly bright, with only a few golden wreaths floating here and there—a glorious scene, but having one of threatening horror behind; for close inshore, about half a mile down-stream, were the piratical junks with grapnels out, holding on to keep from being carried lower, two on the right bank, and four on the left; and as the crews caught sight of them when the mist glided off they set up a yell of savage exultation, and a busy scene ensued as some began to haul in their grapnels, some to hoist sail, while others thrust the long sweeps overboard, and the watchers saw them dip.“Humph!” grunted Uncle Jeff in a low voice to his nephew; “it’s a long time since I was at school, Stan, but I am going to give an order that used to be very familiar to me in the old days.”“What’s that, uncle?” said Stan wonderingly.“All in to begin, my boy.”“To be sure,” said Blunt grimly. “All in to begin it is; not that we need hurry, for it will be a full half-hour before they can get up here against the sharp current. We’ll have it all in—not to begin fighting, but breakfast. In with you, my lads,” he cried smartly; “breakfast.”The defenders gave a cheer, and in less than five minutes the Chinese servants were handing round bread-cake, biscuits, and mugs of coffee to all, while the principals carried theirs out to take on the wharf and watch as well.In a quarter of an hour Blunt gave orders to the carpenters, and the last open doorway was, being closed up, while the men rose from what all felt might be their last meal to take their places for the defence, the narrow slits at the windows between the closely packed chests and bales looking very ominous, the more so in their desertion, not the barrel of a rifle nor a glittering watchful eye being seen.“All ready?” said Blunt as soon as he reached the upper floor, after seeing to the last strengthenings being given to the two doors.A cheer was the answer, and he turned to Uncle Jeff.“There’s plenty of time, sir,” he said. “Will you say a few encouraging words to the men?”“I’d rather not,” replied Uncle Jeff. “I came up here to fight, not talk.”“But it will encourage them, sir—put heart into them. It does not matter how few words so long as they are to the point.”“Very well,” said Uncle Jeff, flushing, as he drew in a deep breath and filled out his chest.—“Just a word, my lads, all of you, English and Chinese, for we have to fight like brothers to-day.”There was a hearty cheer, and Uncle Jeff seemed to be encouraged by this, and spoke out more firmly as he went on.“There’s our duty before us,” he continued, “to kill or wound as many of these murderous savages as we can, for the sake of being left at peace to earn our livings like men.”There was another cheer at this, and as it died out Uncle Jeff continued:“Then all I have to say more to you is this, that we are going to share all dangers with you, and in return we ask you to behave like men.”That was all, and the echo of the final words was drowned by a burst of applause and cries of “We will! We will!”“Now,” shouted Blunt; “once more: no random shots. Every cartridge used ought to mean one enemy the less, every miss a mistake. Don’t fire, then, till you are sure.—Now then, coolies, you with knife, club, and bar will always be ready to come to the first window to help to beat down the enemy if they try to get in. When not wanted for that, half of you are to be ready to hurl back the stink-pots thrown in, and the others to keep to the buckets and dash out any fire that threatens to take hold. Now then, every man in his place.”There was a rush, and Uncle Jeff, who was watching the coming junks, cocked his rifle.It was like a clicking signal for every one to do the same, the sounds running strangely along the stack-encumbered floor.Then all was silent till Blunt, who was once more taking the lead, his thin, sunken lineaments giving him a fiercely haggard aspect, spoke again.“Here they come,” he said; “but no firing until the first men land. Save only for us,” he added in a low voice. “You, Mr Lynn—you, Lynn junior—will do as I do: keep our best marksmanship for the leaders and the men working and firing the guns.”A low, growling whisper was the reply, and then all watched the coming ships with their grotesque heads and listened to the buzzing booming of the gongs.“You gave them a severe lesson last time, Stan,” said Blunt after watching the manoeuvres of the enemy for a few minutes, not a swivel-gun norjingalbeing fired as the junks were worked up in a double line close alongside of the wharf, where great hooks were thrown ashore, as well as from junk to junk. “They’re not going to waste time, but are coming on for a big assault all at once.”“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Jeff calmly. “Well, we must shoot down their leaders, and if the rest come on they’ll have a hard job to get in at any of the windows.”The gongs kept on their monotonous booming, while the watchers with bated breath noted that the previous losses had made no perceptible difference, the decks of the clumsy vessels being as thronged as ever, while more discipline was visible, parties of men working together under leaders, and with a wonderful absence of confusion.“They mean mischief, uncle,” said Stan, who found it hard to bear the waiting, his young blood being full of excitement, and he was longing to begin.“So do we, my boy,” said Uncle Jeff coolly; “more than they expect. I don’t want to brag, but I learnt to be a good shot, and I feel as if I can’t miss a man at this short distance. You feel the same, don’t you?”“No, uncle; I feel my hands all of a shake, and as if I should miss every one I shot at.”“Never mind. Fire away steadily when you begin, boy. As I said before, they are so close that it will not matter; if you miss one man you are sure to hit another.”“But it does seem so murderous, uncle,” whispered Stan passionately.“A mistake, boy: not murderous; it’s only justice. We are playing the parts of executioners to criminals.”“Ah! I thought so,” said Blunt suddenly.“Thought what?” cried Stan, who felt glad that the discussion was at an end.“Look at that smoke rising out from the middle of every junk.”“Stink-pots!” cried Stan excitedly.“The fire to light them from,” was the reply.Blunt was rights for in a few minutes scores of wreaths of black smoke were rising out of the little fleet, and as soon as the horrible missiles were well alight the sounding of the gongs stopped for a minute. Then three heavy bangs were given from the nearest boat, and directly after the decks were seen clear of the horrible smoke, and seemed to have suddenly begun to bristle with matchlock barrels, pitchforks, tridents, and spears, while every now and then a gleam of sunlight flashed from some heavy sword-blade.The scene was weird and strange, for the rapid motion of the crowding crews set the smoke wreathing and floating here and there, while the soft morning breeze wafted the clouds, one minute revealing the deadly preparations, the next hiding all in smoke.“A grand sight, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff.“Yes, and such a lovely morning, too,” replied the lad.“Ah! The more fools the enemy not to go peaceably to work or play, and enjoy it, instead of coming out a-murdering for the sake of a few bales of silk and chests of tea. They will have it, so it is not our fault. I’m in hopes, however, that they’ll soon have had enough of it when we give them a taste of what we can do. Hullo! Look out! Here they come.”“Ah-h!” came like a gasp from Stan’s chest as he let the breath he had been holding escape.For the enemy, in answer to six heavy booms from one gong, were now waiting motionless, as if they had been carefully drilled to perform some special evolution.Then one loud resounding bang, and there was a yell from every junk.Crash! went a dozen gongs then, with their beaters toiling furiously, and every junk was full of motion, their occupants pouring over the sides of the three first on to the wharf, while their places were taken by those in the three outer junks lashed to the inner, and a rush was made for the wharf as fast as room was made.The yelling continued, but there was no firing as yet, all waiting till the whole of the pirate force was on shore ready.Meanwhile the movements had augmented the thick smoke of the stink-pots, whose contents now began to burn fiercely, sparks and flashes of flame darting through the black fumes.“Now,” cried Blunt suddenly after literally torturing those he commanded by his reticence; “leaders only.”For several showily dressed, red-hatted men began to marshal their forces previous to a general advance, sending the stink-pot bearers to the front, ready for the orders for an advance, which seemed to be imminent. Blunt’s command was given just as the leaders began to wave their swords and the bearers of the barbaric hand-grenades took a step forward; but no sooner was the order to fire given than three rifles rang out, and three of the leaders went down; while, as directly after a ragged volley came from the warehouse loopholes, down went the other three leaders, in company with several of the stink-pot bearers, and with them all the carefully inculcated discipline. For with a savage yell of fury the whole body of men dashed across the wharf towards the barricaded windows, shaking their weapons, firing at random, and finally making way for the companions who were bearing the fuming earthenware vessels, eager to hurl them in at the first opening they could see.They rushed on bravely enough, and in a few moments the whole building was resounding and echoing with the casting of the fuming pots, blows from bill-hook, hatchet, and spear, shots fromjingals, and the shouts of the attacking force.In reply a steady fire was kept up by the defenders at the most prominent of the attacking party, and Uncle Jeff’s remarks had plain illustration, for the enemy were literally so thick that where one was missed another was hit.But it seemed to make very little difference. The pirates dashed up to the front, and then dividing, went off to right and left, to hurry yelling round to the back, meet there, and then rush back again, keeping up a fierce hacking and beating at door and barricaded window; firing too, and hurling the blazing pots wherever there seemed to be a chance to make one lodge, but always to find the lower openings invulnerable, and the grenades fall back among them in company with deadly shots.In the midst of the wild excitement in front men were raised up on their fellows’ shoulders to get height before hurling in the pots, or to enable others to reach and make deadly thrusts with their spears through the loopholes.Vain effort, for the bearers could not reach high enough, and after a few efforts the coolies within served back such of the stink-pots as reached the inside, and returned them on the heads of the spearmen and their bearers, sending the pirates back covered with the blazing material, and yelling with rage and pain, to follow the example set them by others at the former attack and plunge off the wharf into the river.This assault was kept up for fully ten minutes, the steady resistance sprinkling the level wharf with wounded and dead; but though little impression was made, the enemy, in their fierce fury, seemed to be in nowise rebuffed. They kept on, their voices and gesticulations combining with their savage faces to enforce upon the defenders what must be their fate should they not succeed in beating their foemen back.The pressure was kept up without effect till the supply of fiery grenades was exhausted, when, utterly baffled by the calm, steady fire, and discouraged by their utter inability to make an impression, the pirates made a sudden rush back to their vessels. In an instant the firing ceased, the defenders gladly accepting the respite to see to such injuries as had been inflicted, and to extinguish the fire at a couple of spots where the blazing resin was gradually creeping up one corner of the building at a place the coolies had been unable to reach it with the water without exposing themselves to the spears of the enemy.The damage proved to be slight, and the personal injuries trifling in the extreme, merely calling for a little plastering and a bandage, both being dexterously applied by Wing, who seemed quite at home repairing damages, as Uncle Jeff termed it, the injured coming back to their posts quite as a matter of course, ready for the next onslaught if one came.Stan clung to the hope that the enemy had learned enough and would now go. But he was soon undeceived, for freshly lit pots began to appear amidships of the junks, and as soon as they were blazing well they were raised, and the men came on again. Then the fight raged once more, being kept on for nearly half-an-hour without a sign of yielding on either side, while, fast growing weary, Stan began to look anxiously from one to the other of his two leaders.It was not till he had glanced at them for the second time that Uncle Jeff caught his eye, and said quietly as he went on loading and firing:“They’re tough, Stan, but they must give up soon, for they are losing men fast.”“But what about us, uncle?”“Eh? Oh, we’re all right, my lad. Ah! fire at those two mandarin-like fellows who are hounding the men on.”Their two rifles went off together, and the one Stan fired at stopped short and then staggered back towards the nearest junk, while the other made a dash forward and disappeared round the corner of the building.“Both badly hit, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Let us hope that fellow’s too much hurt to do any more mischief.”Their attention was taken off again to another party who were making desperate efforts to force one of the windows, but without effect. At last their success looked likely, for one of the men managed to climb high enough to get a knee on the sill of the opening; and help from his companions coming at the right moment, he raised himself up, spear in hand, and was just about to spring in, while others were following, when thrusts were made with a couple of rifle-barrels and the man’s balance was destroyed, making him leap backward to avoid a heavy fall, and being caught by his companions, who were surging about beneath the windows.An exultant yell told the defenders that the enemy were satisfied that this was nearly an accomplishment of their desires, and encouraged now with the thought that the task was possible, the men came on like a furious wave, literally hurling themselves frantically against the walls and, regardless of life, swarming up at every opening.“Getting warm,” shouted Uncle Jeff to Blunt. “Try and keep your men cool; the enemy can’t carry this on long.”“I’m doing my best with them,” said Blunt, shouting to make his voice heard in the frightful din, and having a narrow escape, for one of the flaming pots came full in his face, to be avoided by a sharp wince, and then crashed down on the floor, where a coolie pounced upon it and dashed it flaming back.“Good, Stan!” shouted Uncle Jeff in his nephew’s ear. “I saw you bring down the fellow who flung that wretched thing. Quick, boy! Fire faster.—Fire, all of you; they’re coming on more and more. How many are there of the wretches?”“I’m firing as fast as I can, uncle,” cried Stan; “but I’m afraid that they’re doing something round at the back.”“Then don’t be afraid—don’t be afraid of anything,” growled Uncle Jeff. “We don’t want imagination to help the real. That is bad enough.—Hah! That has settled you, my bloodthirsty scoundrel!” he growled as he reached out and shot a man down. But a spear came darting up and scratched the side of his face, making him utter an angry snarl, while his eyes lit up with rage as he glared through a loophole at the swarming enemy raging about beneath as if nothing but the defenders’ blood would suffice.“Not going to be too much for us, are they?” thought Stan, whose blood was well up; but a slight feeling of dread attacked him as to their future. For the enemy seemed, in spite of their losses, by no means quelled, only spurred on to fresh attacks, which grew fiercer as the moments glided by.“Eh? What?” cried Uncle Jeff suddenly, as a blue-frocked, particularly clean and tidy-looking individual forced his way amongst the powder-and-pitch-smoke blackened party of four defending Stan’s window.“You here, Wing?” cried Stan, turning from taking aim, and feeling a hand grasp his arm.“Come, quick!” cried the Chinaman, with a highly pitched squeak. “Pilate got in bottom. Plenty lot come ’long fast; cuttee allee float.”“Quick, all!” roared Blunt at that moment. “The stairs—the stairs!”A rush was made towards the opening, and Uncle Jeff sprang to the head of the broad stairs, just in time to bring his rifle-butt down on the head of a big Chinaman who, holding a great sword in both hands, was reaching forward to cut under the arms of Blunt, who was swinging his piece round, clubbed, to beat back three or four of the enemy who were crowding up.Down came Blunt’s rifle, and with it two of the enemy; but half-a-dozen more were springing up ready to receive a tremendous blow from Uncle Jeff—a too tremendous blow, for though it tumbled one man down upon those beneath, the stock of the rifle went after him, and the barrel had to be used as a weapon alone.Meanwhile Stan had dropped upon one knee, and waiting his opportunity, fired and brought down the next swordsman who reached up to cut at his uncle.They were desperate moments, but those three held the pirates in check by their efforts till they were reinforced by the coolies who had dealt with the fire-pots, these flinging themselves bravely forward in defence of their masters; and the check grew more severe, giving the defenders time to improve their position.Stan was the first to make a suggestion, and it was to Wing.“Bring me a bale here,” he said, “to fight over.”“Yes, and let’s have more and more,” cried Uncle Jeff.Wing showed no signs of his old injury, and as he jabbered fiercely to the coolies, they followed his example, and in an incredibly short space of time bales and tea-chests were thrust to the edge of the broad opening, forming something of a defence against the attacking party, who were checked but not damped, for three of the defenders of the windows came to Stan’s help, firing with him from behind the new breastwork, over which Uncle Jeff raged like an angry lion; while Blunt, whose strength was failing fast, only struck at intervals as opportunities came.“It’s all over,” thought Stan as he kept on loading and firing mechanically, for it was plain enough that somehow or another the enemy had forced a way into the lower floor, through which they were shouting defiance and fulminating threats; but they made no farther progress, for heads had only to be shown up the stairs for their owners to be beaten down by rifle-barrel or pistol-butt, and their supporters to stumble back or be riddled by one or other of the bullets that were fired with unerring aim.“Oh deah!” came in a whining voice close to Stan’s ear in a momentary pause between two attacks; and turning his head sharply as his fingers were busy with the breech of his piece, there, bent over him, was Wing, with a tremendous knife in his hand. “Wing wish to be fighting-man. Allee fall downee. Pilate come fastee fastee. Look, look! Going buln evelybody up.”Wing’s eyes and nostrils had been busier than Stan’s, for, engrossed as he was with his firing, he had seen nothing but those who were about to attack his uncle, and the greatest peril of all had escaped his notice.But now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up.“See that, uncle?” he panted.“Yes, my boy; they’re going to make our fall warm for us.”“But the water-buckets!”“No good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here.”“Fire!” cried Blunt hoarsely.“Yes, fire,” said Uncle Jeff; “but don’t slacken your efforts, man. Keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. If not, I hope they will be caught in their own trap.”“But us—your nephew—escape?”“I don’t see how,” said Uncle Jeff.—“Do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, Stan?”“Are you all coming too, uncle?” said the lad.“No, my boy; it is impossible. We must fight to the last.”“Yes,” said Stan quietly; “of course it’s impossible. I should only jump into a crowd and be hacked to pieces. I’d rather stay here.”Uncle Jeff was silent, but he lowered one hand to squeeze his nephew’s.“Bless you, my boy!” he said hoarsely. “It’s very hard, but there’s nothing for it unless help comes.”“And no help will come that I can see,” panted Blunt, who was reeling with weakness.“Ah-h-h! Takee ca’e!” shrieked Wing, bringing down his big knife with all his might, as, regardless of flame and smoke rising with stifling fumes through the square opening of the stairs, some half-dozen of the enemy made a rush to get at the defenders. And once more a desperate struggle ensued, which was repeated till the suffocating wreaths were too much even for the much-diminished attacking party, who now drew back to make way for a strong force of their companions. These rushed to the foot of the stairs to hurl about a dozen of the flaming missiles up at the defenders, and then dashed away again, just in time to escape a furious burst of flame which indicated that the fire was beginning to rage below; in fact, within five minutes the staircase was perfectly impassable, the flames roaring up being augmented with fresh fuel by the enemy, who hurled in pot after pot.“No escape there, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff as they drew back from the scorching heat.“But no more attack, uncle,” replied Stan. “We are safe from that.”“And safe to be burned out.”“Yes,” said Blunt bitterly; “but we can’t die like this.—Come, my lads, back to the windows, and let us make the wretches feel that they will have to go on paying for our lives to the last.”“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff solemnly; “it has all been bravely done, and so we have done our duty. I suppose we could not make a dash from one window and fight our way to some boat?”“No,” said Blunt as he shared the old window with them again, the men going back to their former stations—“no; it would be utter madness to try it. Ah I look below.”“Yes; swarming with their spears,” said Uncle Jeff.“To catch us as we spring out from the fire,” cried Stan. “Oh uncle, can we do nothing?”“Nothing but kill a few more of the wretches before we go, my boy. I should be acting the part of a coward now if I did not own that we have reached the worst.”“Oh uncle,” cried Stan passionately, “why did you come?”“To help you, boy; and I am sorry I’ve failed. There! shake hands, my dear lad; life is always short, but this is too short for you.”“Fire! fire!” cried Blunt passionately. “My rifle’s useless, and in another ten minutes we shall be too late.”Stan looked wildly round as he raised his rifle to fire through the loophole again at the wretches waiting to catch them on bristling trident forks and spears, and it seemed a mockery, though the rifle-shots were fast pattering down, for him to think of destroying still more life when so near the termination of his own; but Blunt was his captain to the last, and his eye was on the sight, his finger on the trigger, and almost by instinct he was marking down one of the wretches right in front. Once more his nerves were tensely strained, and in another instant the enemy before him would have fallen, dangerously wounded if not dead, when there was a sudden shock, as if the fire had reached the little magazine and the cartridges had proved how they would act under the circumstances. The place literally rocked, there was a deafening roar, and the savage yelling of the attacking force was drowned.
With so great a danger at hand not a bound was made, every man, weapon in hand, listening and waiting for the next phase of the pirates’ approach; while many a heart that had sunk low in the presence of the peril began to beat less heavily as the minutes glided on, with the veil of mist which hid them from their enemies growing thicker.
“Are we saved?” said Uncle Jeff at last in a whisper—“I don’t want to fight.”
“Nor do I, uncle,” whispered back Stan; “but it seems to be too good to be true.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Blunt from out of the mist close at hand—“the pirates going by?”
“Yes,” replied Uncle Jeff; “we’ve got off, haven’t we?”
“Till the fog clears away; and that will not be long. They won’t give us up. It’s only a question of time and their having to beat up against wind and stream. No,” he added, holding his hand up on high; “only against stream. I can feel the breeze rising, and that will carry off the fog before long.”
“Then you will not be disappointed of your savage desires, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff good-humouredly. “What a fellow you are to fight!”
“Oh! don’t try to make jokes now, uncle; it’s too horrible.”
“For the enemy, Stan, my lad; and I don’t pity them a bit. They have the means in their hands to escape all fighting by leaving us carefully alone; but they will come on these murdering expeditions, to let’s give them all the bullets we can.”
“Yes, here comes the breeze,” whispered Stan. “I can see the mist gliding by.”
“Yes, there it goes,” said Blunt, endorsing the lad’s words. “We shall be clear by sunrise.”
Quite half-an-hour passed before the air was much lighter, and Blunt ventured to give forth the hope that the enemy might have glided on so far down the river that they would be out of sight, when, almost before he had done speaking, the fog seemed to grow thinner, and directly after to turn to a deep orange, golden hue.
“Sun’s rising,” said Uncle Jeff. “I hope the junks are well out of sight. It will give us time for a good breakfast before they come back.”
“No breakfast,” said Stan bitterly, for he was thinking of hot coffee, and his appetite was suddenly damped by what he saw. For the lightening of the mist before the breeze meant that they were close to the edge of the moving bank of rolling mist-clouds, and as if the veil had been suddenly drawn aside, there were the horizontal rays of the sun shining right across the clustering men on the wharf and turning the grey fog-bank to one of gold. To their left the river was hidden, while to their right it was dazzlingly bright, with only a few golden wreaths floating here and there—a glorious scene, but having one of threatening horror behind; for close inshore, about half a mile down-stream, were the piratical junks with grapnels out, holding on to keep from being carried lower, two on the right bank, and four on the left; and as the crews caught sight of them when the mist glided off they set up a yell of savage exultation, and a busy scene ensued as some began to haul in their grapnels, some to hoist sail, while others thrust the long sweeps overboard, and the watchers saw them dip.
“Humph!” grunted Uncle Jeff in a low voice to his nephew; “it’s a long time since I was at school, Stan, but I am going to give an order that used to be very familiar to me in the old days.”
“What’s that, uncle?” said Stan wonderingly.
“All in to begin, my boy.”
“To be sure,” said Blunt grimly. “All in to begin it is; not that we need hurry, for it will be a full half-hour before they can get up here against the sharp current. We’ll have it all in—not to begin fighting, but breakfast. In with you, my lads,” he cried smartly; “breakfast.”
The defenders gave a cheer, and in less than five minutes the Chinese servants were handing round bread-cake, biscuits, and mugs of coffee to all, while the principals carried theirs out to take on the wharf and watch as well.
In a quarter of an hour Blunt gave orders to the carpenters, and the last open doorway was, being closed up, while the men rose from what all felt might be their last meal to take their places for the defence, the narrow slits at the windows between the closely packed chests and bales looking very ominous, the more so in their desertion, not the barrel of a rifle nor a glittering watchful eye being seen.
“All ready?” said Blunt as soon as he reached the upper floor, after seeing to the last strengthenings being given to the two doors.
A cheer was the answer, and he turned to Uncle Jeff.
“There’s plenty of time, sir,” he said. “Will you say a few encouraging words to the men?”
“I’d rather not,” replied Uncle Jeff. “I came up here to fight, not talk.”
“But it will encourage them, sir—put heart into them. It does not matter how few words so long as they are to the point.”
“Very well,” said Uncle Jeff, flushing, as he drew in a deep breath and filled out his chest.—“Just a word, my lads, all of you, English and Chinese, for we have to fight like brothers to-day.”
There was a hearty cheer, and Uncle Jeff seemed to be encouraged by this, and spoke out more firmly as he went on.
“There’s our duty before us,” he continued, “to kill or wound as many of these murderous savages as we can, for the sake of being left at peace to earn our livings like men.”
There was another cheer at this, and as it died out Uncle Jeff continued:
“Then all I have to say more to you is this, that we are going to share all dangers with you, and in return we ask you to behave like men.”
That was all, and the echo of the final words was drowned by a burst of applause and cries of “We will! We will!”
“Now,” shouted Blunt; “once more: no random shots. Every cartridge used ought to mean one enemy the less, every miss a mistake. Don’t fire, then, till you are sure.—Now then, coolies, you with knife, club, and bar will always be ready to come to the first window to help to beat down the enemy if they try to get in. When not wanted for that, half of you are to be ready to hurl back the stink-pots thrown in, and the others to keep to the buckets and dash out any fire that threatens to take hold. Now then, every man in his place.”
There was a rush, and Uncle Jeff, who was watching the coming junks, cocked his rifle.
It was like a clicking signal for every one to do the same, the sounds running strangely along the stack-encumbered floor.
Then all was silent till Blunt, who was once more taking the lead, his thin, sunken lineaments giving him a fiercely haggard aspect, spoke again.
“Here they come,” he said; “but no firing until the first men land. Save only for us,” he added in a low voice. “You, Mr Lynn—you, Lynn junior—will do as I do: keep our best marksmanship for the leaders and the men working and firing the guns.”
A low, growling whisper was the reply, and then all watched the coming ships with their grotesque heads and listened to the buzzing booming of the gongs.
“You gave them a severe lesson last time, Stan,” said Blunt after watching the manoeuvres of the enemy for a few minutes, not a swivel-gun norjingalbeing fired as the junks were worked up in a double line close alongside of the wharf, where great hooks were thrown ashore, as well as from junk to junk. “They’re not going to waste time, but are coming on for a big assault all at once.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Jeff calmly. “Well, we must shoot down their leaders, and if the rest come on they’ll have a hard job to get in at any of the windows.”
The gongs kept on their monotonous booming, while the watchers with bated breath noted that the previous losses had made no perceptible difference, the decks of the clumsy vessels being as thronged as ever, while more discipline was visible, parties of men working together under leaders, and with a wonderful absence of confusion.
“They mean mischief, uncle,” said Stan, who found it hard to bear the waiting, his young blood being full of excitement, and he was longing to begin.
“So do we, my boy,” said Uncle Jeff coolly; “more than they expect. I don’t want to brag, but I learnt to be a good shot, and I feel as if I can’t miss a man at this short distance. You feel the same, don’t you?”
“No, uncle; I feel my hands all of a shake, and as if I should miss every one I shot at.”
“Never mind. Fire away steadily when you begin, boy. As I said before, they are so close that it will not matter; if you miss one man you are sure to hit another.”
“But it does seem so murderous, uncle,” whispered Stan passionately.
“A mistake, boy: not murderous; it’s only justice. We are playing the parts of executioners to criminals.”
“Ah! I thought so,” said Blunt suddenly.
“Thought what?” cried Stan, who felt glad that the discussion was at an end.
“Look at that smoke rising out from the middle of every junk.”
“Stink-pots!” cried Stan excitedly.
“The fire to light them from,” was the reply.
Blunt was rights for in a few minutes scores of wreaths of black smoke were rising out of the little fleet, and as soon as the horrible missiles were well alight the sounding of the gongs stopped for a minute. Then three heavy bangs were given from the nearest boat, and directly after the decks were seen clear of the horrible smoke, and seemed to have suddenly begun to bristle with matchlock barrels, pitchforks, tridents, and spears, while every now and then a gleam of sunlight flashed from some heavy sword-blade.
The scene was weird and strange, for the rapid motion of the crowding crews set the smoke wreathing and floating here and there, while the soft morning breeze wafted the clouds, one minute revealing the deadly preparations, the next hiding all in smoke.
“A grand sight, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff.
“Yes, and such a lovely morning, too,” replied the lad.
“Ah! The more fools the enemy not to go peaceably to work or play, and enjoy it, instead of coming out a-murdering for the sake of a few bales of silk and chests of tea. They will have it, so it is not our fault. I’m in hopes, however, that they’ll soon have had enough of it when we give them a taste of what we can do. Hullo! Look out! Here they come.”
“Ah-h!” came like a gasp from Stan’s chest as he let the breath he had been holding escape.
For the enemy, in answer to six heavy booms from one gong, were now waiting motionless, as if they had been carefully drilled to perform some special evolution.
Then one loud resounding bang, and there was a yell from every junk.
Crash! went a dozen gongs then, with their beaters toiling furiously, and every junk was full of motion, their occupants pouring over the sides of the three first on to the wharf, while their places were taken by those in the three outer junks lashed to the inner, and a rush was made for the wharf as fast as room was made.
The yelling continued, but there was no firing as yet, all waiting till the whole of the pirate force was on shore ready.
Meanwhile the movements had augmented the thick smoke of the stink-pots, whose contents now began to burn fiercely, sparks and flashes of flame darting through the black fumes.
“Now,” cried Blunt suddenly after literally torturing those he commanded by his reticence; “leaders only.”
For several showily dressed, red-hatted men began to marshal their forces previous to a general advance, sending the stink-pot bearers to the front, ready for the orders for an advance, which seemed to be imminent. Blunt’s command was given just as the leaders began to wave their swords and the bearers of the barbaric hand-grenades took a step forward; but no sooner was the order to fire given than three rifles rang out, and three of the leaders went down; while, as directly after a ragged volley came from the warehouse loopholes, down went the other three leaders, in company with several of the stink-pot bearers, and with them all the carefully inculcated discipline. For with a savage yell of fury the whole body of men dashed across the wharf towards the barricaded windows, shaking their weapons, firing at random, and finally making way for the companions who were bearing the fuming earthenware vessels, eager to hurl them in at the first opening they could see.
They rushed on bravely enough, and in a few moments the whole building was resounding and echoing with the casting of the fuming pots, blows from bill-hook, hatchet, and spear, shots fromjingals, and the shouts of the attacking force.
In reply a steady fire was kept up by the defenders at the most prominent of the attacking party, and Uncle Jeff’s remarks had plain illustration, for the enemy were literally so thick that where one was missed another was hit.
But it seemed to make very little difference. The pirates dashed up to the front, and then dividing, went off to right and left, to hurry yelling round to the back, meet there, and then rush back again, keeping up a fierce hacking and beating at door and barricaded window; firing too, and hurling the blazing pots wherever there seemed to be a chance to make one lodge, but always to find the lower openings invulnerable, and the grenades fall back among them in company with deadly shots.
In the midst of the wild excitement in front men were raised up on their fellows’ shoulders to get height before hurling in the pots, or to enable others to reach and make deadly thrusts with their spears through the loopholes.
Vain effort, for the bearers could not reach high enough, and after a few efforts the coolies within served back such of the stink-pots as reached the inside, and returned them on the heads of the spearmen and their bearers, sending the pirates back covered with the blazing material, and yelling with rage and pain, to follow the example set them by others at the former attack and plunge off the wharf into the river.
This assault was kept up for fully ten minutes, the steady resistance sprinkling the level wharf with wounded and dead; but though little impression was made, the enemy, in their fierce fury, seemed to be in nowise rebuffed. They kept on, their voices and gesticulations combining with their savage faces to enforce upon the defenders what must be their fate should they not succeed in beating their foemen back.
The pressure was kept up without effect till the supply of fiery grenades was exhausted, when, utterly baffled by the calm, steady fire, and discouraged by their utter inability to make an impression, the pirates made a sudden rush back to their vessels. In an instant the firing ceased, the defenders gladly accepting the respite to see to such injuries as had been inflicted, and to extinguish the fire at a couple of spots where the blazing resin was gradually creeping up one corner of the building at a place the coolies had been unable to reach it with the water without exposing themselves to the spears of the enemy.
The damage proved to be slight, and the personal injuries trifling in the extreme, merely calling for a little plastering and a bandage, both being dexterously applied by Wing, who seemed quite at home repairing damages, as Uncle Jeff termed it, the injured coming back to their posts quite as a matter of course, ready for the next onslaught if one came.
Stan clung to the hope that the enemy had learned enough and would now go. But he was soon undeceived, for freshly lit pots began to appear amidships of the junks, and as soon as they were blazing well they were raised, and the men came on again. Then the fight raged once more, being kept on for nearly half-an-hour without a sign of yielding on either side, while, fast growing weary, Stan began to look anxiously from one to the other of his two leaders.
It was not till he had glanced at them for the second time that Uncle Jeff caught his eye, and said quietly as he went on loading and firing:
“They’re tough, Stan, but they must give up soon, for they are losing men fast.”
“But what about us, uncle?”
“Eh? Oh, we’re all right, my lad. Ah! fire at those two mandarin-like fellows who are hounding the men on.”
Their two rifles went off together, and the one Stan fired at stopped short and then staggered back towards the nearest junk, while the other made a dash forward and disappeared round the corner of the building.
“Both badly hit, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Let us hope that fellow’s too much hurt to do any more mischief.”
Their attention was taken off again to another party who were making desperate efforts to force one of the windows, but without effect. At last their success looked likely, for one of the men managed to climb high enough to get a knee on the sill of the opening; and help from his companions coming at the right moment, he raised himself up, spear in hand, and was just about to spring in, while others were following, when thrusts were made with a couple of rifle-barrels and the man’s balance was destroyed, making him leap backward to avoid a heavy fall, and being caught by his companions, who were surging about beneath the windows.
An exultant yell told the defenders that the enemy were satisfied that this was nearly an accomplishment of their desires, and encouraged now with the thought that the task was possible, the men came on like a furious wave, literally hurling themselves frantically against the walls and, regardless of life, swarming up at every opening.
“Getting warm,” shouted Uncle Jeff to Blunt. “Try and keep your men cool; the enemy can’t carry this on long.”
“I’m doing my best with them,” said Blunt, shouting to make his voice heard in the frightful din, and having a narrow escape, for one of the flaming pots came full in his face, to be avoided by a sharp wince, and then crashed down on the floor, where a coolie pounced upon it and dashed it flaming back.
“Good, Stan!” shouted Uncle Jeff in his nephew’s ear. “I saw you bring down the fellow who flung that wretched thing. Quick, boy! Fire faster.—Fire, all of you; they’re coming on more and more. How many are there of the wretches?”
“I’m firing as fast as I can, uncle,” cried Stan; “but I’m afraid that they’re doing something round at the back.”
“Then don’t be afraid—don’t be afraid of anything,” growled Uncle Jeff. “We don’t want imagination to help the real. That is bad enough.—Hah! That has settled you, my bloodthirsty scoundrel!” he growled as he reached out and shot a man down. But a spear came darting up and scratched the side of his face, making him utter an angry snarl, while his eyes lit up with rage as he glared through a loophole at the swarming enemy raging about beneath as if nothing but the defenders’ blood would suffice.
“Not going to be too much for us, are they?” thought Stan, whose blood was well up; but a slight feeling of dread attacked him as to their future. For the enemy seemed, in spite of their losses, by no means quelled, only spurred on to fresh attacks, which grew fiercer as the moments glided by.
“Eh? What?” cried Uncle Jeff suddenly, as a blue-frocked, particularly clean and tidy-looking individual forced his way amongst the powder-and-pitch-smoke blackened party of four defending Stan’s window.
“You here, Wing?” cried Stan, turning from taking aim, and feeling a hand grasp his arm.
“Come, quick!” cried the Chinaman, with a highly pitched squeak. “Pilate got in bottom. Plenty lot come ’long fast; cuttee allee float.”
“Quick, all!” roared Blunt at that moment. “The stairs—the stairs!”
A rush was made towards the opening, and Uncle Jeff sprang to the head of the broad stairs, just in time to bring his rifle-butt down on the head of a big Chinaman who, holding a great sword in both hands, was reaching forward to cut under the arms of Blunt, who was swinging his piece round, clubbed, to beat back three or four of the enemy who were crowding up.
Down came Blunt’s rifle, and with it two of the enemy; but half-a-dozen more were springing up ready to receive a tremendous blow from Uncle Jeff—a too tremendous blow, for though it tumbled one man down upon those beneath, the stock of the rifle went after him, and the barrel had to be used as a weapon alone.
Meanwhile Stan had dropped upon one knee, and waiting his opportunity, fired and brought down the next swordsman who reached up to cut at his uncle.
They were desperate moments, but those three held the pirates in check by their efforts till they were reinforced by the coolies who had dealt with the fire-pots, these flinging themselves bravely forward in defence of their masters; and the check grew more severe, giving the defenders time to improve their position.
Stan was the first to make a suggestion, and it was to Wing.
“Bring me a bale here,” he said, “to fight over.”
“Yes, and let’s have more and more,” cried Uncle Jeff.
Wing showed no signs of his old injury, and as he jabbered fiercely to the coolies, they followed his example, and in an incredibly short space of time bales and tea-chests were thrust to the edge of the broad opening, forming something of a defence against the attacking party, who were checked but not damped, for three of the defenders of the windows came to Stan’s help, firing with him from behind the new breastwork, over which Uncle Jeff raged like an angry lion; while Blunt, whose strength was failing fast, only struck at intervals as opportunities came.
“It’s all over,” thought Stan as he kept on loading and firing mechanically, for it was plain enough that somehow or another the enemy had forced a way into the lower floor, through which they were shouting defiance and fulminating threats; but they made no farther progress, for heads had only to be shown up the stairs for their owners to be beaten down by rifle-barrel or pistol-butt, and their supporters to stumble back or be riddled by one or other of the bullets that were fired with unerring aim.
“Oh deah!” came in a whining voice close to Stan’s ear in a momentary pause between two attacks; and turning his head sharply as his fingers were busy with the breech of his piece, there, bent over him, was Wing, with a tremendous knife in his hand. “Wing wish to be fighting-man. Allee fall downee. Pilate come fastee fastee. Look, look! Going buln evelybody up.”
Wing’s eyes and nostrils had been busier than Stan’s, for, engrossed as he was with his firing, he had seen nothing but those who were about to attack his uncle, and the greatest peril of all had escaped his notice.
But now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up.
“See that, uncle?” he panted.
“Yes, my boy; they’re going to make our fall warm for us.”
“But the water-buckets!”
“No good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here.”
“Fire!” cried Blunt hoarsely.
“Yes, fire,” said Uncle Jeff; “but don’t slacken your efforts, man. Keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. If not, I hope they will be caught in their own trap.”
“But us—your nephew—escape?”
“I don’t see how,” said Uncle Jeff.—“Do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, Stan?”
“Are you all coming too, uncle?” said the lad.
“No, my boy; it is impossible. We must fight to the last.”
“Yes,” said Stan quietly; “of course it’s impossible. I should only jump into a crowd and be hacked to pieces. I’d rather stay here.”
Uncle Jeff was silent, but he lowered one hand to squeeze his nephew’s.
“Bless you, my boy!” he said hoarsely. “It’s very hard, but there’s nothing for it unless help comes.”
“And no help will come that I can see,” panted Blunt, who was reeling with weakness.
“Ah-h-h! Takee ca’e!” shrieked Wing, bringing down his big knife with all his might, as, regardless of flame and smoke rising with stifling fumes through the square opening of the stairs, some half-dozen of the enemy made a rush to get at the defenders. And once more a desperate struggle ensued, which was repeated till the suffocating wreaths were too much even for the much-diminished attacking party, who now drew back to make way for a strong force of their companions. These rushed to the foot of the stairs to hurl about a dozen of the flaming missiles up at the defenders, and then dashed away again, just in time to escape a furious burst of flame which indicated that the fire was beginning to rage below; in fact, within five minutes the staircase was perfectly impassable, the flames roaring up being augmented with fresh fuel by the enemy, who hurled in pot after pot.
“No escape there, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff as they drew back from the scorching heat.
“But no more attack, uncle,” replied Stan. “We are safe from that.”
“And safe to be burned out.”
“Yes,” said Blunt bitterly; “but we can’t die like this.—Come, my lads, back to the windows, and let us make the wretches feel that they will have to go on paying for our lives to the last.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff solemnly; “it has all been bravely done, and so we have done our duty. I suppose we could not make a dash from one window and fight our way to some boat?”
“No,” said Blunt as he shared the old window with them again, the men going back to their former stations—“no; it would be utter madness to try it. Ah I look below.”
“Yes; swarming with their spears,” said Uncle Jeff.
“To catch us as we spring out from the fire,” cried Stan. “Oh uncle, can we do nothing?”
“Nothing but kill a few more of the wretches before we go, my boy. I should be acting the part of a coward now if I did not own that we have reached the worst.”
“Oh uncle,” cried Stan passionately, “why did you come?”
“To help you, boy; and I am sorry I’ve failed. There! shake hands, my dear lad; life is always short, but this is too short for you.”
“Fire! fire!” cried Blunt passionately. “My rifle’s useless, and in another ten minutes we shall be too late.”
Stan looked wildly round as he raised his rifle to fire through the loophole again at the wretches waiting to catch them on bristling trident forks and spears, and it seemed a mockery, though the rifle-shots were fast pattering down, for him to think of destroying still more life when so near the termination of his own; but Blunt was his captain to the last, and his eye was on the sight, his finger on the trigger, and almost by instinct he was marking down one of the wretches right in front. Once more his nerves were tensely strained, and in another instant the enemy before him would have fallen, dangerously wounded if not dead, when there was a sudden shock, as if the fire had reached the little magazine and the cartridges had proved how they would act under the circumstances. The place literally rocked, there was a deafening roar, and the savage yelling of the attacking force was drowned.