Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

But all his efforts were in vain; his head seemed to grow more and more dense, and he felt that he must rouse himself and run all risks. He determined to walk towards the first sentry, and the moment he was challenged in the darkness call out loudly who he was and say frankly that he had forgotten the password.

“The sentry will think I’m half-mad, and I believe I am. It’s the excitement, I suppose, and the risk and dread. I never felt anything like it before. It’s dreadful. Yes, it is the excitement.”

But he did not give the true cause, for he did not grasp the position – to wit, that it was due to brain weariness from the overstrain of thought and want of proper rest. For if, when his inability was at its worst, he had been able to lie down and sleep soundly for a few hours, he would have wakened up with his mind perfectly clear and the missing word ready to come quite readily.

“There! it is of no use,” he said to himself at last; “the time must have gone by ever so long ago. I must get up and go. It’s very risky, but I am bound to risk everything so as to do my duty. Here goes; and if I am shot at, I am shot at. It’s a hundred to one that the sentry couldn’t hit me in the darkness, hurry, and confusion, and before he could reload and fire again I might rush up to him and explain. Oh, horrible, to have to tell the fellow what a weak-minded muff I am!”

Grown perfectly desperate now, as he felt the minutes seem to gallop away, Stan took up his rifle, rose to his feet once more, and descended to the level of the wharf, perplexed by another thought which had come to torment him.

“He’ll fire at me, of course,” he said, “and I must run in before he can reload, as I said; but what about his revolver? Well, I can’t help it,” he muttered; “I must risk it. And perhaps I can make him understand before he can draw the pistol out of the holster.”

Drawing a deep breath, he nerved himself for the encounter, and began to walk steadily for the corner where the first sentry was stationed, and in the effort of action felt stronger and firmer.

“I may find him asleep,” he thought, “and pounce upon him before he wakes up to challenge.

“Not likely. Our men here are not like poor Wing; but – Ah! that’s possible,” he said to himself excitedly. “I forgot to do so; why shouldn’t he have done the same? He may not have loaded, and if he has forgotten to slip in a cartridge– Oh! Think of that!” he cried half-aloud, for the missing word had come.

Just in the nick of time, too, for the lad’s ejaculation had been heard, and in an instant the challenge came out of the darkness:

“Who goes there?”

“‘Cartridge,’” said Stan promptly; and the next moment he was conversing with the first sentry, feeling as if a tremendous load had been taken off his mind.

The man had nothing whatever to report, and Stan went on towards the next.

“Mustn’t let that cartridge go off again,” he said to himself, with a little laugh. “How stupid it seems now! Cartridge – cartridge! How could I have forgotten it like that?”

There was nothing to report at either of the other posts, and Stan returned to his old station, feeling calm and refreshed, to pass the rest of the hours, which did not prove weary, though there was nothing more exciting than the occasional cry of a bird, a rustling of wings overhead, and now and then a splash in the river which suggested the possibility of part of a night spent in a boat with fishing-rod and line. He found himself wondering what Chinese river fish would be like, and whether they bore much resemblance to those of Old England – thoughts which brought up memories of days spent by pond and lake in school excursions.

But whenever the lad’s ideas wandered off like this, they were brought up short again by the stern aspect of the present, and he felt ready to blame himself for letting his thoughts go astray when possibly a terrible fate might be awaiting them all, and he was bound to keep his attention fixed upon the broad stream in front.

Fortunately it was a beautiful night, and before the watcher could think it possible the stars grew faint, a long, pale, soft line of light began to appear in the east, and soon after as it broadened there was a twittering and whistling in the belt of reeds across the river where all was rural, half-woody, half-cultivated land, with waving corn and sugar-grass. Then a loud flapping and splashing began in the river, whose farther side proved to be a perfect colony of ducks; while after a time the trees, which had during the night been visible only where seen against the lighter parts of the horizon, grew plainer and plainer, till they gradually showed in their natural green. For high up orange flecks were appearing, and before long, as Stan watched, it seemed impossible that anything horrible could be on the way, so grand was the transformation taking place from night to a glorious day.

“Poor old Wing must have taken fright at nothing at all,” said Stan to himself; and with the terrors of the night seeming to have passed away like a dream, he visited his posts and chatted with the men, joining in the general anxiety whose subject was common to all – namely, how long would it be to breakfast, and would a good, hearty one be spread?

In due time the party were relieved by a couple of men who were sent up with glasses to the roof of the warehouse, after being duly cautioned not to meet with such a fate as that of poor Wing; and as soon as they were stationed Blunt made his appearance, looking eager, refreshed, and ready for anything that might come.

He greeted Stan warmly, and they went together to see how Wing was, the injured man having been fast asleep when Blunt arose.

“Well,” said the latter, as they found him now awake, “how are the broken pieces?”

“Allee quite wellee,” said the man, with a broad smile. “Wing going get up to bleakfas’.”

“That’s good news,” said Stan. “Shall I help you?”

“Help? No; Wing get up all ’lone.”

He tried to rise as he spoke, smiling the while, but his whole aspect changed, his face wrinkling up like that of an old man, as he sank back groaning with pain.

“Muchee achee all oveh,” he said piteously. “T’ink all bleaky af’ all.”

“Oh no,” said Blunt, smiling. “You’re stiff and bruised, and naturally you’ll feel pain as soon as you move; but do you know what you’ve done, sir?”

“Yes; fallee down. Almos’ bleak all to piecee.”

“No, no; I mean, giving us all such a scare. Where are your Chinese pirates?”

“Allee up livah. Long way.”

“Yes; and a very long way, too. They won’t come to attack us.”

“You t’inkee?” said Wing softly. “Ah! you wait lil bit, you see. Wing see velly hollible t’ing. Pilate fight, kill. Suah come soon.”

“Why are you sure?” said Blunt quickly.

“Pilate in junk. Come flom up livah. Mus’ come pas’ Lynn Blothee hong. No othey way.”

“Unless they go back,” said Blunt. “Well, we shall soon see. Can you eat some breakfast?”

“Wing velly ’ungly, sah. Quite empty. No eat nothing allee day yes’day.”

“Hungry – eh? That’s a capital sign. Well, you lie still for a day or two, and your stiffness and pain will soon go off.”

“No wantee Wing come fightee?”

“No; we can kill all the pirates who are likely to come.”

Wing smiled very feebly, and then winced, for in making a deprecating movement with his hands he brought bruised muscles of his back into play, giving himself an agonising pain.

“That’s his conscience pricking him for deceiving us about the attack, Lynn,” said Blunt dryly. “There! let’s see if this coffee is hot. – You, Wing; we’ll send you something to eat. And you understand, you are to lie still. Oh, here comes some one to say breakfast’s ready. I told them to set it in the long store.”

For as he was addressing Wing one of the Chinese servants hurried in to say that all was waiting.

“We must drop ceremony now, Lynn, and feed together, coolies and all. Be thankful to get anything at all under the circumstances. It isn’t a scare. The enemy are on the way.”

“What! you’ve seen them?”

“No; but I’ve seen that Wing’s tale is true, for not a boat has come down here with provisions this morning. Things are all wrong up-river or we should have had boats with vegetables, fruit, fish, poultry, butter, milk, and bread, while now – ”

Bang!

Chapter Twenty Four

“Dutch Courage.”

It was the report of a rifle in the clear morning air, fired from the warehouse gable occupied by the two lookout men.

“The pilates!” shouted Wing exultantly.

“It’s our breakfast knocked over, Lynn,” cried Blunt. “Come along, lad.”

He led the way out at the double, and the next minute was hailing the men on the roof.

“See them coming?” he shouted, with his hand to the side of his mouth.

“Yes, sir; half-a-dozen big junks yonder, right across the land there, in the second great bend of the river, I think.”

“Miles away, then?”

“Yes, sir; four or five.”

“Then the wind will be sometimes with them, sometimes against. That’s good news, Lynn; we shall be able to have our breakfast in peace, and digest it in war. Come along in.”

“Oh, I couldn’t eat now!” cried Stan excitedly, for his heart was giving big thumps as he gazed right away overland towards where the river curved round the end of a mountain-spur.

“I thought you meant to help us to beat the enemy off.”

“Of course I do,” cried Stan.

“Well, a steam-engine won’t work without coal, and a human being can’t fight unless you feed him. Come! no nonsense. All our preparations were made yesterday, so we’ve nothing to do but man our works.”

“So as to be ready?” panted Stan, whose breath came short from excitement.

“We don’t want to be ready two hours too soon, and tire the men out with anxious watching before the enemy come near. We’re going to have a regular good hearty meal to put strength and courage into us.”

“Dutch courage,” said Stan rather contemptuously.

“Can’t be Dutch courage, because we are all English who are not Chinese. But that’s a stupid old expression, my lad, meaning, of course, that the Dutch are cowardly. Now, I don’t know much about history, but whenever I’ve read anything about the Dutch in war, it has gone to prove that the Hollanders are a thoroughly sturdy, brave, and obstinate set of men. There! don’t get in a nervous state of flurry; it will spoil your shooting, and I shall want you to fire steadily and well. Why, you don’t want to go into action with your veins jumping and your nerves all of a slack quiver.”

“Of course not,” said Stan huskily.

“That’s right. You want every string screwed up tight and in the best of tune, so that you can play an air that will make the savage scoundrels dance a figure that is quite new to them. Eh?”

“Yes, that’s what I want to do,” said Stan; “but – ”

“Never mind the butting; leave that to the pirates. Let them come and butt their heads against our wharf. Here, I’m captain of the good ship Lynn Brothers, and you’re only lieutenant, so obey orders. – It’s all right, gentlemen,” he continued coolly and pleasantly the next moment to the little crowd of his people who had hurried out and were waiting for their orders; “the enemy are coming, just when it seemed as if, after all our preparations, they had got wind of what was waiting for them and had made up their minds to disappoint us.”

He was interrupted here by a loud cheer, in which the Chinese employees joined with a peculiar yell, which did not improve the heartiness of the cheer, but gave it a fierce, rasping, savage tone.

But it evidently meant business, all the same, and altogether seemed to thrill Stan from top to toe and make him feel, as he put it to himself, in better heart.

“That sounds right,” said Blunt as the cheers died out into what was a series of vocal Chinese exclamations. “Now listen; we’ve got a sharp fight before us, in which we are going to show those savage scoundrels that they have made the greatest mistake they ever made in their lives.”

There was another cheer at this, one in which Stan found himself joining and waving his cap, just as if it were at home and the cheering had something to do with a football victory.

“Now,” continued Blunt, “I reckon that we have two hours of waiting to do before the music begins to play, so we’ll spend part of the time in enjoying the breakfast I have ordered to be ready for every one here. In the name, then, of our employers’ son and nephew, I ask you to come and breakfast with him – all but you two gentlemen up yonder. You must stay and continue your lookout, but my Chinese servants will bring you up all you want.”

There was another cheer at this – one that threatened to be terribly prolonged – but Blunt held up his hand.

“That will do for the present; keep the rest of the shouts till we have driven off the enemy. Now then, pile arms and file in to breakfast. No ceremony; we must all be equal over this meal, as we shall be when we are fighting the enemy.”

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” came in chorus, and the men began to flock in.

“Stop a minute,” cried Stan excitedly, catching at his captain’s arm.

“What is it?”

“The men on the roof want to say something.”

“Do they? – Ahoy, there! What is it?”

“Can’t we have a big bamboo up here, sir?” said the clerk who had been waiting to speak.

“A big bamboo?” cried Blunt. “Do you want to bastinado your comrade?”

“No, no, sir. One of the biggest down yonder in the yard. If you sent us up a rope, sir, we could haul the great pole up and lash it to this chimney-stack. We feel as if we ought to have a Union-jack hoisted up here.”

“Why, of course,” cried Stan excitedly.

“Yes – of course,” cried Blunt. “I’m glad you mentioned it. I never thought of that. But there’s plenty of time. Breakfast first, and the flag afterwards. Come along, Lynn.”

“Oh, don’t – pray don’t take things so coolly,” whispered Stan as they climbed in over the tea-chest wall.

“Why not? We must be cool, my lad, if we wish to win.”

“Yes; I suppose so. But hadn’t we better get the flag up first, and then it will be done?”

“No,” said Blunt shortly. “I’m not going to do anything till all our men have had a good meal. I’m not going to drive my team till every horse has had his corn, so in with you.”

“I suppose he’s right,” thought Stan; “but I couldn’t take matters like that with the enemy coming slowly and surely on.”

Right or wrong, Blunt took the head of the table, and made ready for Stan to sit on his right. Directly after the rattle of knives and forks began, the Chinese servants placed great steaming mugs of coffee at every man’s side, and the thick slices of bread-and-butter which kept coming in relays seemed to melt off the dishes as if they were a confection of ice, while the tall coffee-urns ran more and more dry, till there was a general falling-off in the demands for more, and the manager’s stores had shrunk to the lowest ebb.

“Now then,” he cried suddenly, rising and beating the side of his coffee-mug with a spoon, “there’s plenty of time, so file off quietly; but every man will now take his place. All of you remember this, however – that Mr Lynn and I want prudence, not rashness. When the firing begins every man is to make as much use as he can of his shelter. Some of us must be hit, but the fewer the better.”

There was a cheer at this.

“No more cheering,” cried Blunt firmly. “This is business, not pleasure. Now, one more thing I want you all to remember. When you aim at a man and draw trigger, it is not for the sake of making a noise, but for every one to prove his marksmanship and get rid of one enemy. That is all; now in silence, please, every man to his appointed station.”

The men, Europeans and Asiatics, filed out quietly, each man taking his rifle from where he had leaned it against the wall, and Stan turned to Blunt’s chief servant.

“Have you taken breakfast to Mr Wing?” he said.

The man smiled and nodded.

“Did he eat it?”

“Yes; eat and dlink muchee,” replied the man, with a broad smile, just as Blunt turned to the lad.

“I’ve got a flag about as big as a moderate tablecloth,” he said. “We’ll send that up to the roof by one of the stoutest Chinamen, along with a rope. Come and let us make two of the others pick out a large bamboo.”

This was all quickly done. The rope was lowered from where the two sentries and the sturdy picked Chinaman were standing by the chimney-stack, and directly after a stout twenty-foot pole was made fast, hauled up, and the flag secured to the end; and as there were no halyards attached, it was raised against the chimney-stack and secured by the big Chinaman, the rope having been cut in half so as to lash the bamboo in two places, and wedges driven in afterwards to tighten the rope to the greatest extent.

Another cheer which arose was not checked, for it was when the light morning breeze made the folds open out to float well over the centre of the big building, even Blunt and Stan joining in the salute of the flag whose united crosses seemed to promise victory for the brave defenders of the solitary hong.

“That’s a good job done, Lynn,” said Blunt; “and I’m very glad it was suggested. The men will fight all the better for it. I almost feel as if I shall.”

“Yes; it seems to put courage and confidence into one,” said the lad warmly; and then he coloured a little, for it seemed to him just then, as he met his leader’s eye, that Blunt was watching in a curiously inquiring way, looking, Stan thought, as if he felt a good deal of doubt as to how the lad was going to behave.

And all this time the great junks came slowly and steadily on, growing more and more distinct from the defences, but still seeming as if they were sailing right through the waving fields of growing grain.

Blunt had his glass in hand now where he stood in the little bale-made bastion, and after a good look he handed it to his companion.

“Have a good squint, my lad,” he said. “I make it that it will be quite half-an-hour before the leading junk comes round the bend into the straight part of the river, and even then it will take another half-hour before they have run down to us.”

“Yes; I can see the matting sails very clearly now,” said Stan after a good look, “but the hulls are quite hidden by the fields.”

“Yes, and will be till they reach the straight reach of the river. But I expect they are all crammed with men. How many junks can you make out?”

“Six,” said Stan.

“Yes, that is what I saw. Now let us have a quiet walk round amongst the men and see if anything is needed to better the defence.”

Stan followed his leader, whose first examination was of the two doorways through which the defenders must pass when they gave up or were driven from their fragile wall.

Everything was as it should be; the doors were wide-open, but ready for closing, and half-a-dozen short, stout pieces of plank were standing in sight, waiting for placing and securing inside the door after it was closed. Even the holes were made ready for the insertion of big screws instead of nails, and all was in charge of two Chinese carpenters, with assistants ready to hold the plank while it was being screwed tightly to the door-posts.

Both doors were in the same state of preparation, and Blunt nodded his satisfaction.

“Capital,” he cried.

“If the men are not scared away by a rush of the enemy,” said Stan thoughtfully.

“That we must chance,” said Blunt. “But I do not think we shall be troubled that way, for the men who are retiring from the wall must keep the enemy in check. I propose being at the farther door: do you feel as if you could stand your ground with some of the men to hold this door till all is safe?”

“I haven’t much confidence in myself,” said Stan rather excitedly, “but I will try my best.”

“You can’t do better,” replied Blunt quietly.

“You see, I am not a man,” added Stan.

“No, not in years; but you can try to act like one.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” said Stan.

“And here’s a bit of encouragement for you. I shall have four of our best fellows at each of the windows over these two doors. They’ll keep up such a rifle-rattle as is bound to check the Chinamen for a bit, besides which the men with you will keep on shooting till the last board is in its place.”

“And what about fire?”

“Ah! that’s the weak spot, my lad,” said Blunt, with a sigh. “They may not think of burning us out, but if they do – well, we have our supply of water and the buckets all ready. We can do no more. If they do start a blaze we must put it out. That is all that need be said: must put it out; and we will.”

A look round on the first floor showed everything ready for the defence that could be devised, and after inspecting this, with the open windows and breastworks ready for firing over, Blunt descended with his young lieutenant to inspect the cartridge supplies, one of the most trusted clerks being in charge of these. And then, to Stan’s intense satisfaction, for he had long been all of a fret, Blunt led the way out to the wharf, where the lad started in wonder, if not in alarm, to see the progress the junks had made: for there they were, six in all, well in the strait, and sailing steadily down like gigantic, great-eyed water-dragons making for the victims it was their mission to destroy.

For clearly enough now, as they were seen end-on by the watchers, each displayed on either bow a huge, grotesque, but cleverly painted eye, giving them the aspect of fabled monsters of the deep which had risen to the surface in search of prey, and were now leering with malicious satisfaction as they glided on.

Chapter Twenty Five

“Kill allee Pilate.”

“This will be your station, Lynn,” said Blunt as they passed along inside the thickest wall till they reached the bale bastion, where the manager halted. “You take that wide loophole shelter yourself at the side; there’s a capital place for resting your rifle, and with such a steady support, and as you will be able to cover so wide a sweep of the enemy’s advance, I shall expect you to make a good score.”

“A good score!” said Stan in a tone of voice full of disgust. “Any one would think I was going to shoot at a target.”

“At a good many targets,” said Blunt.

“Yes, human beings. You don’t really mean to say you want me to kill as many of those unfortunate wretches as I can?”

“Unfortunate? They haven’t proved to be unfortunate until they are badly beaten. Yes, that is what I mean. I want you to kill or disable every one of the enemy at whom you can get a shot.”

“And do you think I could be so bloodthirsty?”

“I think you know us all pretty well here, and would be sorry to see us cut to pieces by a set of savages who are coming down in full force to the attack.”

“Cut to pieces!” said Stan contemptuously.

“Yes,” continued Blunt sternly; “cut to pieces – literally. I am making use of no high-flown figure of speech. I know from what I have heard and seen that these piratical Chinamen, after shooting down the people they attack, finish by spearing or beheading every fallen man; and then the braves, as they call themselves, go round with their big razor-edged swords and hack their victims to pieces.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Stan, with a shudder of horror.

“I think you will see that it is better for you to help us to the best of your ability with your rifle and bring down as many as possible. Mercy is a fine thing, and I dare say I should be content with taking a man prisoner who dropped upon his knees and threw down his arms; but Chinese pirates neither drop upon their knees nor throw down their arms. Now look here, my lad; you are young and naturally shrink from shedding blood, but this is no time for being squeamish. You are not going to fight against ordinary human beings, but against a set of fiends who live by robbery and the murder of their victims – men, women, and innocent children.”

Stan was silent for a few moments, and in that short period his face grew so lined that he looked years older.

“Is this perfectly true, Mr Blunt?” he said at last in a husky voice that did not sound like his own.

“On my word as a man who is about to stand up and face death, and may before an hour is over be lying on his back with his dead eyes gazing straight up beyond the clouds. You hear me?”

“Yes,” said Stan firmly.

“And you’ll do your best for the sake of those who would be ready to encourage you if they were here, for our sake, and for your own?”