Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

Stan sighed as he replaced the knife and turned to fire once more; but he saw at once that if the retreat was to be made and a fatal hand-to-hand conflict, which could only terminate in their all being borne down, avoided, the signal must be given at once.

The time had come. In fact, as he placed the whistle to his lips he felt that the call had been deferred too long, for there was a furious yelling, accompanied by a deafening beating of gongs, and with a roar a human torrent came pouring out of the gangways and off the sides of the two nearest junks; while the crews of two more, which were interlocked with their companions, rushed on to the nearer decks to cross and supplement the attack.

“They’ll never hear it!” thought Stan as he blew with all his might, just as every holder of a rifle was making it spit its deadly cones of lead right into the thick of the enemy’s advance.

But he was wrong. At the first shrill chirrup of the silver whistle, its keen, strident tones cut through the heavy roar of the gongs and voices, and as the firing from the junks had ceased so as to allow the enemy to advance, so did that of the defence; and while Stan was drawing breath to repeat the piercing call, there was the quick sound of footsteps, and two of the clerks appeared at the back.

“Dead?” shouted one as he saw Blunt lying motionless.

“No,” shouted Stan. “Quick! A hand each, and drag him in. Off!”

The last words acted like an electric shock, and in less time than it takes to tell it the manager’s hands were seized, and with his head just clear of the ground, the two bearers doubled with him along the back of the tea-chest wall and in through the open doorway.

Stan followed them till he too reached the opening, and then stood back against the chests waiting while man after man dashed up to this and the farther door, till the last had passed in, and then with unconscious, bravery the lad followed.

It was none too soon, for as he reached the lintel the hands of a score of savages, armed with swords and spears, appeared above the frail defence, assisted to the top by their fellows. Directly after they began to tumble over, heedless of the firing now being opened upon them again from the upper windows of the warehouse; and then, wild with fury as several dropped, they made a dash at the doorway into which some of them had seen Stan dive.

Chapter Twenty Seven

“The Dangerous Task.”

It was none too soon, but soon enough, for as Stan rushed through, still blowing the whistle – for no reason at all save that he had forgotten to take it from his lips – the plan enforced by Blunt in his instructions acted like clockwork and the door was clapped to in the faces of the enemy with a sharp bang; half-a-dozen of the defenders stood fast with rifles presented ready to fire past the carpenters if there were need, and a doubt was rising in the breathless lad’s breast. It was this:

“Oh, if the others don’t secure that farther door!” The doubt was quelled by a second sharp bang, and a cheery voice – that of another doubter – cried: “It’s all right there.”

“Yes,” cried Stan as he thrust the whistle back into his pocket. “Splendidly done!”

There was no further talking, for the noise outside was deafening. The enemy, maddened at their check, were hard at work chopping frantically at the door with their heavy swords, and stabbing at the panelling with spears in a way which threatened to make short work of it. But all the time the right work was going on, the two great Chinese carpenters placing the prepared short lengths of timber in their places as coolly as if nothing was the matter, and screwing them tightly with wonderful celerity, till the highest piece was being adjusted, when Stan pushed quickly past the men waiting to fire if the need arose, and made his way to the farther door, to find, to his great delight, that the barricading was even further advanced than at the one he had left.

“Well done!” he shouted, to make his voice heard above the horrible din without. “Now one man will be enough to stay on guard here ready to raise the alarm if the enemy begin to get through; the rest off at once to man the windows. Mind, don’t waste a cartridge.”

Stan actually blushed in the semi-darkness as he gave the order in an imperative voice, and then felt ashamed of himself for daring to order these men. But a strange feeling of exultation ran through him the next moment, and he felt the pride of power, for there was a hearty cheer, and his command was obeyed with such alacrity that he ran back, and found the little party he had left waiting still as if for a similar order.

This was given loudly and quite as a matter of course, and from that moment Stan felt as if he really was in command, ready to do his best to protect the place, and as if he had only to speak to find the defenders ready to fight for him to the death.

It is a strange thing, that natural readiness of the human being to follow the lead of the one who leaps to the front and displays his contempt of danger, and it has often done work that history is proud to record.

“What next?” thought Stan as the last man dashed off, rifle in hand, to augment the dropping fire from the carefully protected windows.

The answer came from his heart quite silently: it was to go and see how Blunt had fared, and where he had been placed. But the intent was crushed out by the orders that had been given him – by Blunt’s own words about his only being one, and that Stan was not to do anything to sacrifice many lives for the sake of looking after one wounded.

His place, he knew the next moment, was to be on the upper floor, watching and directing, ready to send men here and there where the danger was most pressing, and above all to be on the watch for the great peril; and to this end he made his way to where the great water-casks stood ready filled, wishing to make sure that if the emergency arrived the coolies were at their posts ready to run here or there with buckets of water.

To his great delight, there they all were, every man stripped to the waist and with a great ready-bared knife stuck through his girdle, ready to salute him with a broad smile and seize a bucket to plunge into the open-ended casks.

“No, no – not yet!” cried Stan authoritatively. “Be ready.”

A grunting murmur of satisfaction followed him as he hurried back towards the broad stairs, at the foot of which the big carpenters and their two assistants stood, knife-armed like the rest, and having a great moving crowbar resting with one end upon the floor.

Stan was about to spring up the stairs with the intention of sending one of the clerks to the office to report upon his chief’s state, when he heard a shrill cry, and turning sharply, he became aware that Wing, in spite of his injuries, was up and dressed, and limping painfully in his efforts to overtake him.

“Ah, Wing!” he cried. “Up? You ought to be lying down out of danger.”

“Wing not lil bit ’flaid,” said the man quickly. “Wing look see if young Lynn allee light, quite well, casee you wantee know allee ’bout Misteh Blunt.”

“Yes, yes; I was going to send. I can’t come yet,” cried Stan eagerly.

“Wing t’ink muchee jus’ come tell young Lynn Misteh Blunt lie on back. Tablee. Close Wing. Wing see what matteh.”

“Yes, yes. Is he very bad?” cried Stan.

“Dleadful bad,” said the man solemnly. “Gottee big hole light floo heah.”

The position he denominated “heah” was pointed out by the Chinaman with his two thumbs, one placed on his shoulder-blade, the other on the upper part of his right chest.

“Oh! that must be dangerous,” cried Stan wildly.

“Yes, velly bad,” said Wing, frowning and shaking his head. “Wing findee bullet lead inside py-yama.”

“And you have tried to bind it up?”

Wing nodded importantly.

“Bad place,” he said. “Wind come out flont, blood lun out behind.”

“There must be a big bandage put over the place. Go and tear up a sheet.”

“No,” said Wing, still more importantly. “Gettee clean tablee-cloff – cuttee long piecee.”

“You have done that?”

“Yes,” said Wing, rather pompously now, as if exceedingly proud of his knowledge. “Wing know allee ’bout it. Mend bloken leg oncee. Big tub fallee flom clane when wind um up. Fall on coolie leg. Poo’ Chinaman. Wing mend leg. Misteh Blunt got hole floo heah,” – the thumbs illustrating again – “Wing get softee cotton, pushee piecee in flont hole, ’top wind come out; pokee piecee in back, keepee blood in. Allee blood lun out, Masteh Blunt die velly fast.”

“But have you bandaged the place well?”

“Bandage? Yes; tie velly long piece tablee-cloff lound and lound and oveh shouldeh. ’Top wind, ’top blood. Get well now.”

“Go and stop with him, Wing,” cried Stan excitedly. “I can’t come.”

“Wing know. Got tellee men how to fight.”

“Yes. Stop with Mr Blunt. You’re a splendid fellow, Wing,” cried Stan excitedly.

“Young Lynn glad Wing ’top place?”

“Yes, I tell you. Capital! Off with you back.”

“Yes, Wing go back. T’ink young Lynn like know.”

Stan only heard a part of this, for the firing was going on furiously, the enemy were battering at the doors, and just then there was a crash and a heavy report.

“They’ve begun to use the guns again,” panted the lad as he sprang up the broad warehouse stairs two at a time, to see half-way down the great store one of the windows wrecked as to its defences, bales and boards lying some feet in, the former tumbled over and the latter in splinters, while the two defenders who had been stationed there lay upon the floor.

“They’ve got one of the biggest guns to bear on the window,” said one of the defenders of the next window excitedly.

Stan nodded and ran to the weakened place, to go down on one knee and look out.

He was not cautious enough, for he was seen from the deck of one of the junks and saluted by a yell, followed directly after by the discharge of some half-dozen jingals, whose ill-directed bullets whistled by his ears.

“Take care!” shouted three or four voices.

“I should think I will,” muttered Stan, dropping on his face, his rifle striking the floor with a bang. Then quickly drawing back, he got behind one of the bales that had been driven in, rested his rifle upon it, and raising his head cautiously, prepared to fire.

For at his first look out he had seen all he wanted, and following almost directly upon the sharp clicking of his rifle-lock, the man nearest to him heard the lad draw a deep breath and fire.

Stan’s fresh companion peered from his side to see the object of the lad’s shot, and he uttered a loud “Bravo!” for Stan had continued his former luck, as, seeing that the gun on board the biggest junk was being reloaded, and that the firing-match was just about to be applied, he steadied himself, took the long breath the young clerk had heard, and then drew trigger, with the result that there was no heavy report and crash of another of the defences.

Another attempt was made to fire the gun, but a second man went down. A third fared no better, and amidst cheers from the different windows, joined in by the two injured men, who were stunned by the woodwork driven in upon them but not seriously hurt, one of the officers of the junk was to be seen raging about giving orders, which produced a ragged volley from the clumsy Chinese firelocks, bullets and pieces of iron hurtling through the window; but no more harm was done, except to the officer, who fell pierced by a shot from farther along the great goods floor.

While the party who had landed, quite seventy strong, were raging and tearing round the building, battering at door and barricaded window, and every now and then making a vain thrust with their spears at the firing party quite beyond their reach at the upper windows, and frequently getting a bullet in return which laid a desperate aggressor low, some of the more cautious sheltered themselves on the outside of the wall of bales and chests to begin firing up at the defenders. But with no advantage to themselves, for while crouching down behind the wall they could only bring their heavy, clumsy matchlocks to bear at such an angle that the charge went up high above the defenders’ heads. And whenever a man who had grown furious from several disappointments rose up to get a better aim, he went down to a certainty, riddled by a bullet sent home by one or other of the watchful clerks.

And all the while effort after effort was made by the leaders of the pirates to bring the swivel-guns of their junks to bear, but without avail; for, with a strong desire to emulate the success of Stan’s shots, quite half-a-dozen of the clerks and warehousemen who commanded the dangerous spots waited patiently and watchfully with presented piece and finger on trigger for the opportunities that were not long in coming. Man after man of those working the guns was shot down, till, in spite of yells and blows from their leaders, not a single pirate could be induced to carry out the dangerous task of loading, laying, or firing the heavy swivel-guns.

Chapter Twenty Eight

“Fiery Missiles.”

The desperate fight had been going on for quite an hour from the time of the landing of the attacking party, and the men who had gained an entrance into the first defence had grown exhausted by the vain efforts they had made to break a way through, and contented themselves, such as could, with getting back outside to the shelter of the walls and, crouched there, watching their companions’ fire, while turning a deaf ear, and then sullen looks, towards their leaders on the junks, who kept on furiously yelling to them to go on.

They did not seem inclined to risk it, but scowled at those who ordered the attack, and waited. After a short consultation among the junk captains – a consultation carried on by shouts and yells from vessel to vessel, delivered through hands held trumpet fashion to the lips – it became evident to Stan and his little garrison that an attack was to be made upon a larger scale. For the crews of the junks manned the sweeps, and while those close in strove to lay their craft alongside the wharf above and below the spot where their three junks were grappled together, the other two began to creep up inshore as if to land their men where they could get right round to the back of the great hong and the outbuildings; while, to add to the peril, one of the men on the far side of the roof-ridge – a point of vantage from which several successful shots had been sent into the vessels – shouted the bad news that the first junk, which had been carried down the river till she had disappeared round a bend, was coming up again full sail, evidently to rejoin the others.

“It looks very bad now, Mr Lynn,” said Lawrence, the foreman, who had distinguished himself by the way in which he had maintained his coolness. “They’re going to make a grand attack now in force.”

“Yes,” replied Stan quietly, “it does look very bad. They’re too many for us.”

“But you won’t give in?” cried another anxiously. Before Stan could reply another broke out with: “They don’t want to kill us; only to plunder the hong. Why not take advantage of this lull and quietly get out on the other side, so as to get right away from the river? I don’t believe that they would pursue us.”

“Then you have a great deal more faith in the Chinese character than I have,” said the first speaker, “I believe that as soon as they saw our confession of weakness – ”

“We should make no confession of weakness,” retorted another. “We should only retire.”

“They would think we were beaten, and come after us for certain,” said another bitterly.

“Yes,” said the first speaker sharply, “and follow us till we were surrounded and overwhelmed out yonder in the marsh, or paddy-fields.”

“But why should they take all that trouble for nothing?”

“For nothing? They wouldn’t call it for nothing when they would get all our rifles and ammunition, in addition to having the profound satisfaction of spearing and hacking to pieces a party, of what they call foreign devils. What do you say, Mr Lynn?”

“Only this,” said Stan quietly, “that if we are to be killed it would be better to fall fighting to the last in our own defence.”

“Then you will fight?” cried Lawrence eagerly.

“Of course,” was the reply. “I am obeying Mr Blunt’s instructions to defend the place to the last.”

“But isn’t this the last, sir?” said the clerk who had proposed the retreat.

“Oh no. We are as safe or safer than ever, and though there are going to be a great many more to make the attack, it does not follow that any of them will get in.”

“Hear, hear!” shouted Lawrence.

“And besides,” continued Stan, “when it does come to their beginning to break in, we have all our big, strong coolies to join us and help with their knives and bars. I feel sure that they will fight bravely.”

“So do I, Mr Lynn,” said Lawrence warmly.

“But they are brother natives,” said the objector.

“That’s the very reason why they will fight all the fiercer for us. They hate pirates like poison, and will enjoy sending them out of the world far more than we shall. It is only fair, though, Mr Lynn, that you should give any one who likes to make the attempt to escape free leave to go.”

“Yes,” said Stan; “it is not fair to force any one to fight who wishes to escape.”

To Stan’s surprise, there was a dead silence; and after waiting a few moments listening to the storm of voices without, Stan continued:

“Then we’re all going to stand by one another?”

“Yes, to a man, sir,” said the objector. “I dare say I’m wrong in my ideas, and I give way.”

There was a cheer at this. Every man went back to his shelter and examined his rifle, afterwards taking out and examining his revolver before thrusting it back in its holster, while Stan went from man to man to inspect his supply of cartridges, and ended by having a fresh box up and himself seeing to the refilling of every bandolier.

While this was in progress those who kept a strict watch found that no further attack was being made. The matchlock firing had ceased, and the men beneath the outer defence lay crouched close as if waiting for further orders.

But the preparations on board the junks were being made with a determination that augured a serious encounter at the next attack. Men were collecting, armed with spears and the great heavy curved Chinese swords which widened out in the blade from about an inch and a half at the handle to more than double that width near the point; while something fresh suddenly took Stan’s attention, and he pointed it out to those with him in the great store.

“Yes, sir,” said his chief backer in the late debate; “that’s the ugliest thing we’ve seen yet.”

“Why, it looks like the preparation for a procession. Every hatch on the different junks has seven or eight great Chinese lanterns; but they’re not yet lit, so far as I can tell in this bright sunshine.”

“They mean it for a procession,” said Lawrence, “and they think it is for our funeral.”

“What!” cried Stan. “But look; what’s that smoke?”

“They’re lighting stink-pots to throw, sir. Those and the lanterns are to burn us out.”

“Think so?”

“I feel sure,” was the reply.

“But why didn’t they use the stink-pots before?”

“Because they thought they could drive us out without. They didn’t want to set fire to the place for fear of damaging the loot they mean to take. They can find a market fast enough for tea and silk; but they’re getting savage now, and mean to make an end of us, even if they have to burn the place down.”

“Well,” said Stan coolly, “we must not let them. I’ll go down now and fetch up the warehousemen and coolies to do nothing else but pick up and hurl back the fire-pots, for of course they will try and fling them in at these open windows.”

“You couldn’t do a better thing, sir.”

“No,” said Stan thoughtfully. Then raising his voice, he cried: “If any one here can suggest anything more to be done, pray speak out.”

“Nothing more could be done, sir,” said a clerk. “Your arrangements are excellent.”

“Mr Blunt’s are, you mean,” said Stan, smiling. “Very well, then; I want to stay up here and watch. You, Mr Lawrence, go down and bring up the coolies, and tell them what they are wanted to do; but you had better leave half below to be ready to help with the water-buckets.”

The messenger went down, and returned with the sturdy body of Chinese labourers, who were placed at intervals from end to end of the great open space, well back in shelter; and as soon as this disposition of the defensive force had been carried out, and the young chief had satisfied himself that the men thoroughly grasped the duties they had to perform, Stan gave orders for all who handled rifles to be in readiness to take good aim and mark out for punishment every prominent leader amongst the enemy, so as to try and bring him down, and thus throw confusion amongst the men who were being led to the next attack.

Then began a weary wait, evidently caused by the leaders of the expedition holding their men in hand until the first junk had beaten up against the wind till she was some distance beyond the hong, when the watchers saw the sails suddenly begin to glide down and the great junk slacken and stop in its upward course; while directly after, with the sweeps on either side thrust out, she began, after hanging upon the current for a few moments, to drop down again, the huge oars being plied vigorously, so as to run her ashore just below the edge of the wharf.

“Now,” cried Stan suddenly, “four of you, fire at the steersmen.”

Three shots rang out simultaneously, with the result that the two steersmen went down. But two more sprang to their places, seized the great rudder oar, and the rowers toiling hard, the progress of the junk was apparently not checked, and she came steadily on.

Two more shots rang out, mere cracks in the vast space, but the junk still kept on, till her bows touched the ground and her stern swung round parallel with the wharf, while her crew uttered a fierce yell and crowded to the side; but they were some fifteen feet away from the wharf-edge.

“Hah!” said Stan to himself. “They mean business now;” for once more there was silence for a few moments before the old tactics were carried out, a signal was given, and full warning afforded to the defenders that the enemy was coming on. For on each junk men rushed forward and aft to begin belabouring the great hanging gongs with all their might, and this formed the accompaniment to a terrific chorus of yells.

“I should have liked to go down and see poor Mr Blunt once more,” said Stan to himself; “but I dare not go now.”

Then he started, for his words suddenly assumed a strange significance. It seemed to him as if his seeing Blunt once more meant that it would be for the last time, and something like a shudder ran through him.

He made an effort, however, and it was gone, leaving him firm and ready to an extent that startled him, for he could not believe that in the face of such terrible danger it would last.

There was no more thinking then. The enemy, keeping up the horrible din which was evidently intended to terrify the defenders of the hong into submission, came pouring now from the various junks, some over the sides to leap down from bulwark to wharf, some through the regular gangway, and those from the freshly returned junk making no scruple about dropping from the rail at the nearest point down into the river, to wade or swim ashore. The manoeuvre resulted in several unfortunates being crowded down, to rise after an interval, and in several instances to be swept away by the sharp current now running between the side of the junk and the wharf, where, as fast as the assailants gathered, they rushed yelling to the tea-chest barrier and began to climb.

All was wild excitement on the part of the assailants, who, as they pushed one another up, to be pulled up in turn by those at the top, kept up a continuous chorus of savage abuse and threats of the way that they would treat their victims as soon as they got them down; but the furious outburst seemed to have not the slightest effect upon the defenders, who, crouching well below their barricades, remained perfectly calm and firm. They knew their cut-out task, and contented themselves with the delivery of a well-directed shot now and again. There would be a well-concealed loophole, with nothing visible to the attacking pirates, giving them perfect confidence that the defenders were hiding away from them, and then all at once there followed a sharp, pale spurt of flame, a little puff of smoke, and some leading man of the attacking party would go down from the top of the wall, where he had been urging his followers on, while as he fell it was as often as not to lie perfectly motionless, unnoticed by his people; though upon some occasions, after staggering and falling, he would struggle to his hands and knees and crawl out of the hurrying crowd, to try and creep back to one or other of the junks.