Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

Wing gave him a horrified look, glanced at Stan and then back at Blunt, his countenance looking drawn and his complexion more sallow than ever, while his lips moved as if he was speaking, but no sound came.

“Well, why don’t you rest?” cried Blunt. “What’s the matter with you? Been so much frightened?”

Wing nodded sharply, and gave Stan a look full of horror and despair.

“Why, what’s the matter with the fellow? Not been wounded, have you?”

Wing shook his head.

“Why don’t you speak?” cried Blunt, so roughly that the man held out his hands in a gesture evidently intended to mean deprecation. It was as if he meant to say, “Don’t be angry with me; it is not my fault.”

“Well, I see you’re upset, my man,” cried the manager, softening his manner. “Perhaps you had better ease your mind. Speak out. Now then, what’s the matter? Have you lost the money I gave you?”

“No, no, no,” cried Wing, shaking his head violently. “Velly solly – velly solly,” he murmured.

“Very sorry for what?” cried Blunt, catching the man’s arm and looking at him sternly.

Wing, who seemed weak in the extreme, shivered as he shrank from the manager’s eyes, and turned appealingly to Stan as if begging him to intercede.

“The poor fellow doesn’t seem to know what he is saying,” said Stan quietly, “and he’s frightened of you.”

“Humph!” replied Blunt. “I thought I spoke gently enough to him. – Here, Wing, don’t look at me in that scared way. I told you that I was not going to blame you. Speak out. What is it? You have something else to say?”

The man nodded.

“Bad news?”

Wing nodded again sharply.

“Out with it, then, and let’s know the worst.”

The trembling Chinaman hesitated for a few moments more, and then pressed up towards his chief and whispered something quickly in his ear.

“What!” roared the manager, catching him fiercely by the shoulders and making the poor fellow utter a piteous wail as he turned to Stan as if for help.

“Wing can’t help,” he cried. “Wing no want tell baddee news.”

“Then you’ve brought bad news?” said Stan excitedly.

“Velly bad news. Wing can’t help. T’ink bes’ come tell Misteh young Lynn dead and allee bad news.”

“Yes, yes,” said Stan impatiently. – “The poor fellow’s half-frightened out of his wits, Mr Blunt. You’re too harsh with him now he’s in such a weak state. – Look here, Wing; it’s all right. You see matters are not so bad. I’m not hurt, and Mr Blunt does not blame you.”

“But Wing can’t help,” pleaded the poor fellow. He waved his hands and looked round at the clerks and warehousemen, who were drawing up wondering why their chief had seized the returned agent so fiercely; while some of his fellow-countrymen also began to draw near, the sight of “the Boss,” as they called him, apparently about to punish one of them being irresistible, and whispers ran round in two languages, Anglo-Saxon and the base alloy known as “Pidgin,” inquiring what Wing had done.

There was silence now for quite half-a-minute, during which time the pressure of the manager’s hands, or that of poor Wing’s feelings, had the effect of squeezing out a few tears, which swelled and swelled till they were big enough to roll over the man’s eyelashes and find their way into a couple of curved creases which made his mouth look as if it had been placed between parentheses.

Down these gullies in the Chinaman’s skin the tears ran till they dripped from his chin, and possibly it was the sight of them that brought Blunt out of his stern fit of thinking, for he suddenly loosed his hold and dropped his hands to his sides, saying hoarsely:

“Now then, say that out aloud for every one to hear.”

“Wing speakee quitee loud?” said the Chinaman, rolling his head slowly like a ball in its socket, as if he were trying to find out where any damage had been done to the mechanism.

“Yes; let’s have it. Look sharp.”

Evidently satisfied that none of his vertebra were damaged, a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles in Wing’s face, which became round again, and in place of the painful parenthetic curves, pleasantly mirthful lines began to appear; his eyes became two diagonal slits with something twinkling between the edges, and he reached up both hands to take hold of his ribbon-tied pigtail, which he gave a whisk to right and left before he let it fall down between his shoulders.

“Misteh Blunt wantee Wing tell evelybody whole tluth?”

“Yes; and be sharp about it,” was the angry reply.

“Misteh Blunt no knockee Wing head on tea-box, makee sore?”

“No, I shall not touch you again, however bad the news is,” said the manager gravely.

“Misteh Blunt plomise like gentleman no killee poo’ Chinaman?”

“No, I tell you! Now then, out with it! But mind this: if what you say is not true, sir, you may make tracks out of this place, and never show your face here again.”

“Yes,” said Wing calmly enough. “Make tlack an’ lun away velly fass.”

“For look here, sir; if you create a bad scare to frighten every one here you deserve to be hung.”

“Flighten me too. Flighten velly much. But Misteh Blunt no hang poo’ Chinaman?”

“As sure as I’m here, I will, sir – by your pigtail – ”

Wing’s hand went up to the black appendage, and he took hold and gave it a gentle pull as he glanced at Stan, to say softly:

“Make poo’ Chinaman cly. Oh deah! oh deah! Misteh Blunt hang Wing up so?”

“Yes, to the crane, and give you a few dips in the river to wash the lies out of you.”

“Wing no got tell lie. Allee velly tlue. Gleat tlouble come. Soljee gleat many up livah-side; pilate man gleat many up livah. Big junk. Allee buln missionaly house, killee foleign devil, killee evelybody. Buln village, pull up tea-bush, stealee tea-box, buln go-down. Gleat many fightee; cuttee float, dlown. Oh, velly, velly dleadful up livah! Wing lun away, come tell Misteh Blunt, evelybody. Come down livah velly soon.”

“Nice bit of news this, Mr Lynn,” said Blunt, turning his frowning face to Stan, who noted that there was a fierce, lowering glow in the half-shut eyes.

“Yes,” replied the lad; “but perhaps very much exaggerated. – Here, Wing, is all this quite true?”

“Oh, allee quitee tlue. Wing nevah tellee big thumpy. Too much ’flaid Misteh Blunt find out. Knock down.”

“One reason for telling the truth,” said Blunt bitterly. “But that is quite true; I should if I found him out.”

“Plenty man lun away up to mountain; soljee, pilate come lob house, buln evelyting up. Shoot bang. Wing, only lun away like evelybody.”

“I’m afraid it’s all true,” said Blunt sombrely.

“Eh? No!” cried Wing excitedly. “Blunt tell big lie now; not ’flaid a bit. Makee Chinee pilate muchee flighten. Makee lun away.”

“Perhaps,” said the manager grimly. “But how far away are these people, Wing?”

“Come velly soon. Big junk sail down livah. Wing see um.”

“Well, you all hear?” said the manager sternly. “No; you are not all here. Call every one. I want everybody to hear how we stand. – You, Wing, if you’re well enough, get all the Chinamen together.”

Wing went off to the far end of the warehouse and wharf, one of the clerks to the offices, and in a few minutes every man, European and Asiatic, was present, and heard of the threatened attack; after which the manager looked in Stan’s direction and said sharply:

“There! you have all heard how we stand, and there are two courses open. One is to crowd on board the river-boat and set all sail down to the port, and get out to sea and coast along north for Hai-Hai.”

“No gettee big junk boat,” cried Wing excitedly. “Capen velly muchee flight. Pull up anky. Lun away. Misteh Blunt lookee.”

The manager glanced sharply at the window, and, true enough, there was the junk with all sail set, gliding down the river, and now a quarter of a mile away.

“Hah!” ejaculated the manager, giving one foot an angry stamp. “That settles one plan. No; we could collect some small boats if we had time. But the other course is to barricade the place, leaving loopholes, and fight to the last. We might beat them off. Now, I am manager here, and responsible for everything, but I feel that I have no right to call upon any man to risk his life against these murderous wretches. But I should like to hear Mr Lynn’s opinion. – This place is the property of your uncle and father, sir, and if we give it up without striking a blow, by to-morrow morning the valuable store of tea and silk, with the building, will be only a heap of ashes. What is your opinion about the matter, Mr Lynn?”

“It seems very horrible,” said Stan, with something like a shudder.

“Very, sir,” replied Blunt rather sarcastically.

“If we escape in boats we shall save all our lives.”

“Perhaps,” said Blunt bitterly. “Likely enough, though, we shall be pursued by half-a-dozen junks or so, and shot down or sunk before we could reach the banks; while if we took refuge ashore – ”

“Pilate lun afteh evelybody, choppee head off.”

“Most probably,” said the manager, smiling. – “Now, Mr Lynn, you hear the state of affairs.”

“Yes,” said Stan, speaking with a slight quiver in his voice; “but I don’t like to give my opinion. There was, as you know, an attack made upon our place, and my father and uncle fought hard to save it, even when the enemy set it on fire. They held out – ”

“They? Didn’t you help them, sir?”

“Yes, a little,” replied Stan; “and the enemy were kept off till help came from the city. If we defend this place for a time, is it likely that help will come?”

“Not a bit,” said the manager. “There is no help to be got here for above a week.”

“But I don’t think my father and uncle would wish these people here to run such a fearful risk as to fight for the place against terrible odds.”

“Sooner lose about ten thousand pounds’ worth of tea, dyewoods, and silk that I have been hard at work collecting with the help of Mr Wing here?”

“Yes,” said the Chinaman, nodding his head like an image. “Velly much money. Velly dleadful let pilate man come and buln. Aha, ha, ha! Ayah, ayah, ayah!”

Stan stared. It seemed as if the poor fellow had suddenly gone mad; for after uttering a series of piercing yells, evidently intended for a war-whoop, he clapped his hands together as hard as he could, and then made a run at a big, half-nude coolie, whom he caught by the waist, twining his arms round him, and, to the astonishment of all present, lifted him from the floor and tried to throw him.

But Wing had reckoned without his host. He was a plump, soft man, unaccustomed to hard work, while the adversary he sought to overthrow was tough-muscled and hard, besides proving to be an adept at wrestling. Instead of falling, he came cleverly down upon his feet, attacked in turn, and before any one had time to interfere in poor Wing’s favour, there was defeat, the latter being hurled staggering backward; while with a yell the man who had freed himself made a dash, vaulted through the window, ran across the wharf, jumped down into a boat, cut the rope which held it swinging in the river, and thrust it forth into the stream, where he seized a long oar and began to paddle the boat along.

As Wing recovered himself he shouted to the coolies to follow, and made for the door.

“No; stop!” said the manager sternly. “The fellow would have got too long a start before we could get a boat off. Let him go. Why, it’s that new man I took on a few days ago.”

“Yes,” said Wing, shaking his fists in the air. “Baddee man, got blue malk on aim. Come spy, see how muchee tea, silk in go-down. Lun away now tell pilate. Misteh Blunt no askee Wing whetheh new man good man. Wing su’e spy pilate come to see.”

“Yes; I made a mistake there,” said Blunt bitterly; and as Stan watched the escaped man and saw him lay down his oar and hoist a matting sail, which filled at once and sent the boat gliding away up-stream, he suddenly became aware of the fact that Blunt had disappeared.

But the next minute he was back with a rifle in his hand, busily thrusting in a cartridge.

“Are you going to shoot him?” said Stan huskily as he saw the manager drop on one knee, lay the rifle-barrel across the window-sill, and take aim.

“If I can,” said the manager gruffly. “Why not?”

“It seems so cold-blooded: an unarmed man.”

“It may mean our lives or his, sir.”

“Yes, but – ”

“Very well,” said the manager roughly; “but we needn’t argue the point. Look there at the man’s artfulness. Or rather, don’t look, for you can’t. I shouldn’t hit him if I tried. It takes a good shot to hit so small a mark as a hand in a fast-sailing boat – eh?”

“Yes,” said Stan, with a feeling of relief, for he felt a horror of seeing the poor wretch flying for his life shot down.

“An Englishman wouldn’t have thought of that,” continued Blunt as he rose from his knee and let the butt of his rifle rest upon the floor, while all watched the cunning of the escaped spy, who was now lying down in the boat, holding the sheet of the sail with his left hand, and the steering-oar with his right, nothing of him being visible but the fingers which grasped the oar.

“Now then,” said Blunt sternly, “we have settled nothing. What is it to be, Mr Lynn? You are the governor’s son: is it to be run for our lives like cowards and, if we escape, face the principals with the best tale we can tell, or fight?”

“If we defend the place and are not able to beat them off, I suppose they will burn the hong and us in it?”

“Most likely,” said Blunt savagely; “but some of them will not live to see the flames rising. I’m afraid you don’t want to fight, Mr Lynn.”

“I don’t,” said Stan frankly. “The idea of shedding a fellow-creature’s blood is horrible.”

“Yes, of course,” said Blunt, with something like a sneer. “You ought to jump into one of the boats yonder and run down-stream as hard as you can to fetch help if the warehouse is to be saved.”

Yes, that would be grand. I could have a boat?

“Oh yes, you can have a boat.”

“Wing get boat, Wing hoise sail, stee’ boat beautifully.”

“I could bring back a lot of armed men to your assistance,” said Stan eagerly.

“To be sure,” said Blunt coolly. “Only you’ll have to be pretty sharp about it.”

He turned his back upon the lad and took a step towards the excited group of men, who were talking hurriedly in whispers.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “we can’t give up this place to a mob of savages without making a bold defence for the sake of our employers. Some of you will, I hope, stick to me, but others will like to get out of the scrimmage. So those of you who have no stomach for a fight had better join Mr Lynn here, who is going off to Hai-Hai to fetch help.”

“No, I am not,” said Stan quietly.

“What! Why, you said you were.”

“I said I should like to,” said Stan, “but I said so without thinking of the distance. I see now that it would be impossible to get help in time.”

“Quite, sir,” said the manager, staring at the lad. “Well, at all events you are going off in the boat with Wing.”

“Indeed I am not,” said Stan, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “It seems to me that we must make as brave a defence as we can. We may be able to beat off the enemy.”

“Then you mean to stay?” cried the manager, his eyes lighting up.

“Of course.”

“And fight?”

“As well as I can,” said Stan rather sadly; “but I don’t think I shall – ”

He got no farther, for his words were drowned by a loud cheer given heartily by the little band of European employees; while the strong gang of sturdy coolies and native workpeople, taking it for granted that they ought to follow their white fellow-workers’ example, cheered lustily as well.

“Do I understand you to mean that you will stop with us and fight it out?” said Blunt.

“Yes.”

“Don’t be deceived. Do you understand the danger?”

“I think I do.”

“You don’t, my lad, and I will not keep it back from you. Fight with Europeans, and if you are beaten you are taken prisoners; fight with the lower order Chinese, and you will have a set-to with some of the most savagely unmerciful people on the face of the earth. You had better think again. It may mean lying wounded and seeing the flames creeping towards you while you can’t raise hand or foot to get away.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mr Blunt, please,” cried the lad, “or you’ll make me a greater coward than I feel I am.”

“I want you to know what you may expect to meet,” said the manager coldly.

“But I don’t want to know. I know more now than I can bear.”

“Then you will go?”

“Yes, if you do,” cried Stan eagerly.

“I’m going to stay and do my best to save the place and goods I have in my charge, Mr Lynn,” said the manager sternly.

“And I’m going to help you, then,” said Stan quietly.

“Do you mean it, in spite of all I have said?” cried Blunt.

“Yes.”

Stan’s hand was seized in such a grip that he flinched and the blood flushed into his cheeks.

“Thank you, my lad,” cried the manager hoarsely.

“I can’t say thank you,” said Stan, whose face was twitching from the pain he felt. “I say, don’t shake hands again like that.”

“Hurt?”

“Horribly.”

“I beg your pardon, then. But look here: ’pon my word, Mr Lynn, I don’t understand you a bit. For the last ten minutes I’ve been thinking that you were a downright coward.”

“That’s quite right,” said Stan quietly; “I am. My hands are all of a tremble.”

“Well, then, all I can say is that you’re the most curious coward I ever saw.”

“That’s because you are right in what you said, Mr Blunt. You don’t understand me a bit.”

“Ah, well! perhaps I shall by-and-by,” said the manager.

Wing had disappeared during the above little verbal passage, but just then he reappeared, in time to be of use.

“You, Wing, come here,” cried the manager. “I shall want you directly. – Now, gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the European employees, “you have been here long enough to know what a fight with a party of Chinese pirates means – hard blows and no quarter. Now’s your time: any of you who feel that you have not stomach for such an encounter will only be in our way here. There’s a boat ready to take you down-stream. Step out, all who want to go.”

Quite half the men took a step or two forward, but the others stood fast.

Then after a whisper and several uneasy glances back at their companions, one of the forward party acted as spokesman.

“You see, Mr Blunt, sir,” he said, “we don’t feel that we should be at home fighting. We are clerks and writers, warehousemen. We all think – ”

“No, we don’t,” growled one of the men who had stood fast.

“But you all agreed just now that it would be better to chance it and go.”

“Yes, a bit back,” said another of the men; “but six of us here, after seeing you step out, feel as if it would be un-English to sneak off and leave Mr Blunt and the young partner in the lurch. You fellows look as if you are ashamed of yourselves.”

“That’s about what I am,” said one of the party with the spokesman. “I’m going to stop.”

As he said these words he stepped back into the rear rank.

“Same here,” said another; and he too dropped back.

“Oh, I say,” said another; “it’s shabby to leave us here like this.”

“Shabby? It’s dirty,” cried the spokesman. “I wouldn’t have said what I did for all of you if I’d known. Hang me if I’m going almost alone!”

“Nor I – nor I,” cried two others.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” cried another man. “I’m not going in the boat.”

Stan forgot his own nervousness, and burst out laughing, at which the whole party of Europeans broke out into a cheer.

“Thank ye, my lads,” said the manager in his grimmest way. “I did feel a bit puzzled. – Now then, Wing, tell the coolies and the rest that we’re in for a big fight. They’ll understand you better than they will me. Tell them that every one who doesn’t mean to stand by us can go off in the boat with you. Be fair with them, and tell them that there’ll be a lot of bad fighting.”

Wing nodded, and made a most animated speech to his yellow-looking, sun-tanned audience, who received it with a series of grunts.

“What do they say, my man?”

“Say wantee big fight. Shalpen knives and cuttee lot heads off.”

“You didn’t make them understand how dreadful it is going to be.”

“Yes; said velly dleadful – pilate kill plenty men.”

“Tell them again.”

Wing spoke to the little crowd, and as he finished the coolies set up a tremendous shout.

“What do they say now?” cried Blunt.

“Say don’tee ca’e half mandalin button fo’ all pilate on livah.”

“Well done!” cried the manager. “What else?”

“Allee wantee fight velly bad. Knife all cuttee cuttee like lazo’. Wantee shave bad man head off.”

“Then they mean to stop and back me up?”

“Yes. Say kill plenty mo’e pilate. No habbee big fightee long time ago, and say Wing go in boatee all alonee and get out way.”

“Off with you then, my man,” cried Blunt; “they’re quite right. You’ll be in the way. – Well, do you hear?”

Wing nodded.

“Not go ’long till Misteh young Lynn quite leady.”

“But don’t you understand? Mr Lynn is going to stop and fight.”

“Yes. Wing stop take ca’e of um.”

“What!” cried Stan, laughing.

“Yes. Wing tellee old Lynn and Uncle Jeffley takee gleat ca’e young Lynn. How takee gleat ca’e if Wing lun away in boat? Wing go ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”

“No, no, Wing. You had better go and get out of danger,” said Stan warmly.

“Young Lynn talkee talkee big piecee nonsense stuff. Wing go back in boat Hai-Hai; Uncle Jeff say, ‘Hullo, you! What double dickens you do along young Lynn?’ What Wing say? ‘’Top topside house fightee fightee.’ Misteh Olivee say, ‘Why Wing not ’top topside house fight too, kill pilate, bling young Lynn quite safe?’ Misteh Olivee old Lynn quite light. Wing no go lun away in boat. Young Lynn come, Wing go. Young Lynn no go, Wing ’top along takee ca’e young Lynn.”

“Stop, then,” cried the manager abruptly, “and let’s see whether you can fight.”

“Yes,” said the Chinaman coolly enough. “’Top ’long young Lynn. Fight muchee. Kill plenty pilate.”

“There! we’ve all talked enough,” cried the manager, turning up his sleeves. “Now then for work. – You, Wing, go right up to the top of the big warehouse and watch the river. As soon as you see the tip of a junk-sail you’ll give us warning.”

“Misteh Blunt lendee Wing two-eye pull-out glass?”

“My double telescope? Yes, take it; and mind you let us know in time. – Now, Stan Lynn, we’ve got some man’s work to do. You can’t afford to be a boy any longer. This way. – Now, my lads, follow on. If the bloodthirsty wretches will only give us plenty of time they shall have such a reception as will open their diagonal slits of eyes.”

Five minutes later Wing was perched at the very top of the great warehouse, with his eyes glued to Blunt’s lorgnette, and his blue cotton frock filling out in the breeze and shrinking again in the most grotesque fashion. One minute the Chinaman was blown out like a man in the transition state of turning into a balloon. The next minute he was convex one side, concave the other, while directly after he seemed to have been furnished with an enormously huge bun upon his shoulders. But he noticed neither wind nor sunshine; his eyes were strained up the main reach of the river, and the glass was sweeping bend after bend in search of the coming danger in the shape of the top of some tall matting junk-sail seen across the country where the great river pursued its serpentine course.

Chapter Twenty

“Now then, Cartridges!”

There was an end to peaceful mercantile pursuits at the great warehouse and wharf, and all was hurry and bustle, but with little confusion, for Blunt had suddenly become military in his orders and issue of directions; while, full of excitement now, Stan dashed at the task in hand, proving himself a worthy lieutenant to the fighting manager. The men began busily handling boxes and bales, and at first sight it seemed as if they were preparing to load a trading-junk with the contents of the storehouse, so actively were they engaged in bearing out silk-bales and tea-chests; but the pleasant herb which cheers but does not inebriate was to be put to a very different purpose.

“You take that job in hand, Lynn,” cried Blunt, “and make the fellows plant the chests down right along the front, just as if you were building a wall of blocks of stone; but after the second row is placed, leave a loophole between every second and third chest so that we can fire through, while I set to work and make a breastwork with the silk-bales at every door and window. No bullets or shot that the enemy can fire will go through the soft, elastic silk. – Work away, my lads.”