Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

“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 say but,” 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 the Dairy.”

“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 the hong, 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 the hong?”

“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.”