Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

“Yes, here comes the breeze,” whispered Stan. “I can see the mist gliding by.”

“Yes, there it goes,” said Blunt, endorsing the lad’s words. “We shall be clear by sunrise.”

Quite half-an-hour passed before the air was much lighter, and Blunt ventured to give forth the hope that the enemy might have glided on so far down the river that they would be out of sight, when, almost before he had done speaking, the fog seemed to grow thinner, and directly after to turn to a deep orange, golden hue.

“Sun’s rising,” said Uncle Jeff. “I hope the junks are well out of sight. It will give us time for a good breakfast before they come back.”

“No breakfast,” said Stan bitterly, for he was thinking of hot coffee, and his appetite was suddenly damped by what he saw. For the lightening of the mist before the breeze meant that they were close to the edge of the moving bank of rolling mist-clouds, and as if the veil had been suddenly drawn aside, there were the horizontal rays of the sun shining right across the clustering men on the wharf and turning the grey fog-bank to one of gold. To their left the river was hidden, while to their right it was dazzlingly bright, with only a few golden wreaths floating here and there – a glorious scene, but having one of threatening horror behind; for close inshore, about half a mile down-stream, were the piratical junks with grapnels out, holding on to keep from being carried lower, two on the right bank, and four on the left; and as the crews caught sight of them when the mist glided off they set up a yell of savage exultation, and a busy scene ensued as some began to haul in their grapnels, some to hoist sail, while others thrust the long sweeps overboard, and the watchers saw them dip.

“Humph!” grunted Uncle Jeff in a low voice to his nephew; “it’s a long time since I was at school, Stan, but I am going to give an order that used to be very familiar to me in the old days.”

“What’s that, uncle?” said Stan wonderingly.

“All in to begin, my boy.”

“To be sure,” said Blunt grimly. “All in to begin it is; not that we need hurry, for it will be a full half-hour before they can get up here against the sharp current. We’ll have it all in – not to begin fighting, but breakfast. In with you, my lads,” he cried smartly; “breakfast.”

The defenders gave a cheer, and in less than five minutes the Chinese servants were handing round bread-cake, biscuits, and mugs of coffee to all, while the principals carried theirs out to take on the wharf and watch as well.

In a quarter of an hour Blunt gave orders to the carpenters, and the last open doorway was, being closed up, while the men rose from what all felt might be their last meal to take their places for the defence, the narrow slits at the windows between the closely packed chests and bales looking very ominous, the more so in their desertion, not the barrel of a rifle nor a glittering watchful eye being seen.

“All ready?” said Blunt as soon as he reached the upper floor, after seeing to the last strengthenings being given to the two doors.

A cheer was the answer, and he turned to Uncle Jeff.

“There’s plenty of time, sir,” he said. “Will you say a few encouraging words to the men?”

“I’d rather not,” replied Uncle Jeff. “I came up here to fight, not talk.”

“But it will encourage them, sir – put heart into them. It does not matter how few words so long as they are to the point.”

“Very well,” said Uncle Jeff, flushing, as he drew in a deep breath and filled out his chest. – “Just a word, my lads, all of you, English and Chinese, for we have to fight like brothers to-day.”

There was a hearty cheer, and Uncle Jeff seemed to be encouraged by this, and spoke out more firmly as he went on.

“There’s our duty before us,” he continued, “to kill or wound as many of these murderous savages as we can, for the sake of being left at peace to earn our livings like men.”

There was another cheer at this, and as it died out Uncle Jeff continued:

“Then all I have to say more to you is this, that we are going to share all dangers with you, and in return we ask you to behave like men.”

That was all, and the echo of the final words was drowned by a burst of applause and cries of “We will! We will!”

“Now,” shouted Blunt; “once more: no random shots. Every cartridge used ought to mean one enemy the less, every miss a mistake. Don’t fire, then, till you are sure. – Now then, coolies, you with knife, club, and bar will always be ready to come to the first window to help to beat down the enemy if they try to get in. When not wanted for that, half of you are to be ready to hurl back the stink-pots thrown in, and the others to keep to the buckets and dash out any fire that threatens to take hold. Now then, every man in his place.”

There was a rush, and Uncle Jeff, who was watching the coming junks, cocked his rifle.

It was like a clicking signal for every one to do the same, the sounds running strangely along the stack-encumbered floor.

Then all was silent till Blunt, who was once more taking the lead, his thin, sunken lineaments giving him a fiercely haggard aspect, spoke again.

“Here they come,” he said; “but no firing until the first men land. Save only for us,” he added in a low voice. “You, Mr Lynn – you, Lynn junior – will do as I do: keep our best marksmanship for the leaders and the men working and firing the guns.”

A low, growling whisper was the reply, and then all watched the coming ships with their grotesque heads and listened to the buzzing booming of the gongs.

“You gave them a severe lesson last time, Stan,” said Blunt after watching the manoeuvres of the enemy for a few minutes, not a swivel-gun nor jingal being fired as the junks were worked up in a double line close alongside of the wharf, where great hooks were thrown ashore, as well as from junk to junk. “They’re not going to waste time, but are coming on for a big assault all at once.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Jeff calmly. “Well, we must shoot down their leaders, and if the rest come on they’ll have a hard job to get in at any of the windows.”

The gongs kept on their monotonous booming, while the watchers with bated breath noted that the previous losses had made no perceptible difference, the decks of the clumsy vessels being as thronged as ever, while more discipline was visible, parties of men working together under leaders, and with a wonderful absence of confusion.

“They mean mischief, uncle,” said Stan, who found it hard to bear the waiting, his young blood being full of excitement, and he was longing to begin.

“So do we, my boy,” said Uncle Jeff coolly; “more than they expect. I don’t want to brag, but I learnt to be a good shot, and I feel as if I can’t miss a man at this short distance. You feel the same, don’t you?”

“No, uncle; I feel my hands all of a shake, and as if I should miss every one I shot at.”

“Never mind. Fire away steadily when you begin, boy. As I said before, they are so close that it will not matter; if you miss one man you are sure to hit another.”

“But it does seem so murderous, uncle,” whispered Stan passionately.

“A mistake, boy: not murderous; it’s only justice. We are playing the parts of executioners to criminals.”

“Ah! I thought so,” said Blunt suddenly.

“Thought what?” cried Stan, who felt glad that the discussion was at an end.

“Look at that smoke rising out from the middle of every junk.”

“Stink-pots!” cried Stan excitedly.

“The fire to light them from,” was the reply.

Blunt was rights for in a few minutes scores of wreaths of black smoke were rising out of the little fleet, and as soon as the horrible missiles were well alight the sounding of the gongs stopped for a minute. Then three heavy bangs were given from the nearest boat, and directly after the decks were seen clear of the horrible smoke, and seemed to have suddenly begun to bristle with matchlock barrels, pitchforks, tridents, and spears, while every now and then a gleam of sunlight flashed from some heavy sword-blade.

The scene was weird and strange, for the rapid motion of the crowding crews set the smoke wreathing and floating here and there, while the soft morning breeze wafted the clouds, one minute revealing the deadly preparations, the next hiding all in smoke.

“A grand sight, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff.

“Yes, and such a lovely morning, too,” replied the lad.

“Ah! The more fools the enemy not to go peaceably to work or play, and enjoy it, instead of coming out a-murdering for the sake of a few bales of silk and chests of tea. They will have it, so it is not our fault. I’m in hopes, however, that they’ll soon have had enough of it when we give them a taste of what we can do. Hullo! Look out! Here they come.”

“Ah-h!” came like a gasp from Stan’s chest as he let the breath he had been holding escape.

For the enemy, in answer to six heavy booms from one gong, were now waiting motionless, as if they had been carefully drilled to perform some special evolution.

Then one loud resounding bang, and there was a yell from every junk.

Crash! went a dozen gongs then, with their beaters toiling furiously, and every junk was full of motion, their occupants pouring over the sides of the three first on to the wharf, while their places were taken by those in the three outer junks lashed to the inner, and a rush was made for the wharf as fast as room was made.

The yelling continued, but there was no firing as yet, all waiting till the whole of the pirate force was on shore ready.

Meanwhile the movements had augmented the thick smoke of the stink-pots, whose contents now began to burn fiercely, sparks and flashes of flame darting through the black fumes.

“Now,” cried Blunt suddenly after literally torturing those he commanded by his reticence; “leaders only.”

For several showily dressed, red-hatted men began to marshal their forces previous to a general advance, sending the stink-pot bearers to the front, ready for the orders for an advance, which seemed to be imminent. Blunt’s command was given just as the leaders began to wave their swords and the bearers of the barbaric hand-grenades took a step forward; but no sooner was the order to fire given than three rifles rang out, and three of the leaders went down; while, as directly after a ragged volley came from the warehouse loopholes, down went the other three leaders, in company with several of the stink-pot bearers, and with them all the carefully inculcated discipline. For with a savage yell of fury the whole body of men dashed across the wharf towards the barricaded windows, shaking their weapons, firing at random, and finally making way for the companions who were bearing the fuming earthenware vessels, eager to hurl them in at the first opening they could see.

They rushed on bravely enough, and in a few moments the whole building was resounding and echoing with the casting of the fuming pots, blows from bill-hook, hatchet, and spear, shots from jingals, and the shouts of the attacking force.

In reply a steady fire was kept up by the defenders at the most prominent of the attacking party, and Uncle Jeff’s remarks had plain illustration, for the enemy were literally so thick that where one was missed another was hit.

But it seemed to make very little difference. The pirates dashed up to the front, and then dividing, went off to right and left, to hurry yelling round to the back, meet there, and then rush back again, keeping up a fierce hacking and beating at door and barricaded window; firing too, and hurling the blazing pots wherever there seemed to be a chance to make one lodge, but always to find the lower openings invulnerable, and the grenades fall back among them in company with deadly shots.

In the midst of the wild excitement in front men were raised up on their fellows’ shoulders to get height before hurling in the pots, or to enable others to reach and make deadly thrusts with their spears through the loopholes.

Vain effort, for the bearers could not reach high enough, and after a few efforts the coolies within served back such of the stink-pots as reached the inside, and returned them on the heads of the spearmen and their bearers, sending the pirates back covered with the blazing material, and yelling with rage and pain, to follow the example set them by others at the former attack and plunge off the wharf into the river.

This assault was kept up for fully ten minutes, the steady resistance sprinkling the level wharf with wounded and dead; but though little impression was made, the enemy, in their fierce fury, seemed to be in nowise rebuffed. They kept on, their voices and gesticulations combining with their savage faces to enforce upon the defenders what must be their fate should they not succeed in beating their foemen back.

The pressure was kept up without effect till the supply of fiery grenades was exhausted, when, utterly baffled by the calm, steady fire, and discouraged by their utter inability to make an impression, the pirates made a sudden rush back to their vessels. In an instant the firing ceased, the defenders gladly accepting the respite to see to such injuries as had been inflicted, and to extinguish the fire at a couple of spots where the blazing resin was gradually creeping up one corner of the building at a place the coolies had been unable to reach it with the water without exposing themselves to the spears of the enemy.

The damage proved to be slight, and the personal injuries trifling in the extreme, merely calling for a little plastering and a bandage, both being dexterously applied by Wing, who seemed quite at home repairing damages, as Uncle Jeff termed it, the injured coming back to their posts quite as a matter of course, ready for the next onslaught if one came.

Stan clung to the hope that the enemy had learned enough and would now go. But he was soon undeceived, for freshly lit pots began to appear amidships of the junks, and as soon as they were blazing well they were raised, and the men came on again. Then the fight raged once more, being kept on for nearly half-an-hour without a sign of yielding on either side, while, fast growing weary, Stan began to look anxiously from one to the other of his two leaders.

It was not till he had glanced at them for the second time that Uncle Jeff caught his eye, and said quietly as he went on loading and firing:

“They’re tough, Stan, but they must give up soon, for they are losing men fast.”

“But what about us, uncle?”

“Eh? Oh, we’re all right, my lad. Ah! fire at those two mandarin-like fellows who are hounding the men on.”

Their two rifles went off together, and the one Stan fired at stopped short and then staggered back towards the nearest junk, while the other made a dash forward and disappeared round the corner of the building.

“Both badly hit, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Let us hope that fellow’s too much hurt to do any more mischief.”

Their attention was taken off again to another party who were making desperate efforts to force one of the windows, but without effect. At last their success looked likely, for one of the men managed to climb high enough to get a knee on the sill of the opening; and help from his companions coming at the right moment, he raised himself up, spear in hand, and was just about to spring in, while others were following, when thrusts were made with a couple of rifle-barrels and the man’s balance was destroyed, making him leap backward to avoid a heavy fall, and being caught by his companions, who were surging about beneath the windows.

An exultant yell told the defenders that the enemy were satisfied that this was nearly an accomplishment of their desires, and encouraged now with the thought that the task was possible, the men came on like a furious wave, literally hurling themselves frantically against the walls and, regardless of life, swarming up at every opening.

“Getting warm,” shouted Uncle Jeff to Blunt. “Try and keep your men cool; the enemy can’t carry this on long.”

“I’m doing my best with them,” said Blunt, shouting to make his voice heard in the frightful din, and having a narrow escape, for one of the flaming pots came full in his face, to be avoided by a sharp wince, and then crashed down on the floor, where a coolie pounced upon it and dashed it flaming back.

“Good, Stan!” shouted Uncle Jeff in his nephew’s ear. “I saw you bring down the fellow who flung that wretched thing. Quick, boy! Fire faster. – Fire, all of you; they’re coming on more and more. How many are there of the wretches?”

“I’m firing as fast as I can, uncle,” cried Stan; “but I’m afraid that they’re doing something round at the back.”

“Then don’t be afraid – don’t be afraid of anything,” growled Uncle Jeff. “We don’t want imagination to help the real. That is bad enough. – Hah! That has settled you, my bloodthirsty scoundrel!” he growled as he reached out and shot a man down. But a spear came darting up and scratched the side of his face, making him utter an angry snarl, while his eyes lit up with rage as he glared through a loophole at the swarming enemy raging about beneath as if nothing but the defenders’ blood would suffice.

“Not going to be too much for us, are they?” thought Stan, whose blood was well up; but a slight feeling of dread attacked him as to their future. For the enemy seemed, in spite of their losses, by no means quelled, only spurred on to fresh attacks, which grew fiercer as the moments glided by.

“Eh? What?” cried Uncle Jeff suddenly, as a blue-frocked, particularly clean and tidy-looking individual forced his way amongst the powder-and-pitch-smoke blackened party of four defending Stan’s window.

“You here, Wing?” cried Stan, turning from taking aim, and feeling a hand grasp his arm.

“Come, quick!” cried the Chinaman, with a highly pitched squeak. “Pilate got in bottom. Plenty lot come ’long fast; cuttee allee float.”

“Quick, all!” roared Blunt at that moment. “The stairs – the stairs!”

A rush was made towards the opening, and Uncle Jeff sprang to the head of the broad stairs, just in time to bring his rifle-butt down on the head of a big Chinaman who, holding a great sword in both hands, was reaching forward to cut under the arms of Blunt, who was swinging his piece round, clubbed, to beat back three or four of the enemy who were crowding up.

Down came Blunt’s rifle, and with it two of the enemy; but half-a-dozen more were springing up ready to receive a tremendous blow from Uncle Jeff – a too tremendous blow, for though it tumbled one man down upon those beneath, the stock of the rifle went after him, and the barrel had to be used as a weapon alone.

Meanwhile Stan had dropped upon one knee, and waiting his opportunity, fired and brought down the next swordsman who reached up to cut at his uncle.

They were desperate moments, but those three held the pirates in check by their efforts till they were reinforced by the coolies who had dealt with the fire-pots, these flinging themselves bravely forward in defence of their masters; and the check grew more severe, giving the defenders time to improve their position.

Stan was the first to make a suggestion, and it was to Wing.

“Bring me a bale here,” he said, “to fight over.”

“Yes, and let’s have more and more,” cried Uncle Jeff.

Wing showed no signs of his old injury, and as he jabbered fiercely to the coolies, they followed his example, and in an incredibly short space of time bales and tea-chests were thrust to the edge of the broad opening, forming something of a defence against the attacking party, who were checked but not damped, for three of the defenders of the windows came to Stan’s help, firing with him from behind the new breastwork, over which Uncle Jeff raged like an angry lion; while Blunt, whose strength was failing fast, only struck at intervals as opportunities came.

“It’s all over,” thought Stan as he kept on loading and firing mechanically, for it was plain enough that somehow or another the enemy had forced a way into the lower floor, through which they were shouting defiance and fulminating threats; but they made no farther progress, for heads had only to be shown up the stairs for their owners to be beaten down by rifle-barrel or pistol-butt, and their supporters to stumble back or be riddled by one or other of the bullets that were fired with unerring aim.

“Oh deah!” came in a whining voice close to Stan’s ear in a momentary pause between two attacks; and turning his head sharply as his fingers were busy with the breech of his piece, there, bent over him, was Wing, with a tremendous knife in his hand. “Wing wish to be fighting-man. Allee fall downee. Pilate come fastee fastee. Look, look! Going buln evelybody up.”

Wing’s eyes and nostrils had been busier than Stan’s, for, engrossed as he was with his firing, he had seen nothing but those who were about to attack his uncle, and the greatest peril of all had escaped his notice.

But now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up.

“See that, uncle?” he panted.

“Yes, my boy; they’re going to make our fall warm for us.”

“But the water-buckets!”

“No good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here.”

“Fire!” cried Blunt hoarsely.

“Yes, fire,” said Uncle Jeff; “but don’t slacken your efforts, man. Keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. If not, I hope they will be caught in their own trap.”

“But us – your nephew – escape?”

“I don’t see how,” said Uncle Jeff. – “Do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, Stan?”

“Are you all coming too, uncle?” said the lad.

“No, my boy; it is impossible. We must fight to the last.”

“Yes,” said Stan quietly; “of course it’s impossible. I should only jump into a crowd and be hacked to pieces. I’d rather stay here.”

Uncle Jeff was silent, but he lowered one hand to squeeze his nephew’s.

“Bless you, my boy!” he said hoarsely. “It’s very hard, but there’s nothing for it unless help comes.”

“And no help will come that I can see,” panted Blunt, who was reeling with weakness.

“Ah-h-h! Takee ca’e!” shrieked Wing, bringing down his big knife with all his might, as, regardless of flame and smoke rising with stifling fumes through the square opening of the stairs, some half-dozen of the enemy made a rush to get at the defenders. And once more a desperate struggle ensued, which was repeated till the suffocating wreaths were too much even for the much-diminished attacking party, who now drew back to make way for a strong force of their companions. These rushed to the foot of the stairs to hurl about a dozen of the flaming missiles up at the defenders, and then dashed away again, just in time to escape a furious burst of flame which indicated that the fire was beginning to rage below; in fact, within five minutes the staircase was perfectly impassable, the flames roaring up being augmented with fresh fuel by the enemy, who hurled in pot after pot.

“No escape there, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff as they drew back from the scorching heat.

“But no more attack, uncle,” replied Stan. “We are safe from that.”

“And safe to be burned out.”

“Yes,” said Blunt bitterly; “but we can’t die like this. – Come, my lads, back to the windows, and let us make the wretches feel that they will have to go on paying for our lives to the last.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff solemnly; “it has all been bravely done, and so we have done our duty. I suppose we could not make a dash from one window and fight our way to some boat?”

“No,” said Blunt as he shared the old window with them again, the men going back to their former stations – “no; it would be utter madness to try it. Ah I look below.”

“Yes; swarming with their spears,” said Uncle Jeff.

“To catch us as we spring out from the fire,” cried Stan. “Oh uncle, can we do nothing?”

“Nothing but kill a few more of the wretches before we go, my boy. I should be acting the part of a coward now if I did not own that we have reached the worst.”

“Oh uncle,” cried Stan passionately, “why did you come?”

“To help you, boy; and I am sorry I’ve failed. There! shake hands, my dear lad; life is always short, but this is too short for you.”

“Fire! fire!” cried Blunt passionately. “My rifle’s useless, and in another ten minutes we shall be too late.”