"Yes--of course," whispered back the lad; "but I don't know what you
mean. What time's up?"
"Why, your time. Hang it all! You take it pretty coolly, when at any
moment some hundreds of savage cut-throats may be down upon us. I
couldn't have slept like that."
"Like what?" said Stan sharply.
"In the way you have done."
"I? I've not been asleep."
"Oh, haven't you? Why, you're asleep now."
"If I'd been asleep, how--Oh, what nonsense! If I was asleep, how could
I have come out here to keep you company?"
"What!" cried Blunt, with a soft, chuckling laugh. "Well, you are a rum
fellow! Do you know where you are?"
"Yes; standing out here on the wharf, with the river flowing softly down
at our feet."
"Stoop down and put your hand in it, then."
Stan stretched out his right hand at once, and felt the rough boards,
while at the same moment Wing drew one of those deep breaths which are
so like snores.
The next moment Stan was sitting up feeling for his rifle.
"Here, I say, I haven't been asleep?"
"Of course not. You said you hadn't, and I can't doubt the word of a
gentleman."
"Oh, how stupid!" said Stan in a hoarse whisper, as he felt his rifle,
and sprang up at once. "What time is it?"
"Just struck two by the American clock in the big warehouse."
"Then I have been asleep."
"I think it's very likely," said Blunt dryly.
"Then I must have been dreaming that I came out to you on the wharf
because I couldn't sleep."
"And instead of your coming to me, my lad, I came to you. There! come
along outside in the cool air; that will wake you up thoroughly; and I
want to give you a few instructions and then lie down for an hour or two
to get a little rest before the enemy come in the morning."
"Then you think they will come?"
"Most likely," said Blunt dryly. "Come along."
Stan was wide enough awake now, and proved it as soon as they were out
on the wharf, where a pleasantly fresh breeze came off the water.
"Did you visit all the six posts?" he said.
"Yes, every one."
"Regularly?"
"Of course."
"Find any one asleep?"
"No; everybody was keenly on the watch."
"How did you know when the hours were up?"
"Guessed it," said Blunt quickly. "Are you wide awake enough now, my
lad? You know where all the men are stationed?"
"Oh yes."
"Repeat the places."
Stan ran rapidly through the posts--east, west, north, south, back and
front--and Blunt grunted his satisfaction.
"Good!" he said. "The fresh men have relieved those who watched with
me, and there is a new password. Don't forget it. As soon as you
approach you'll be challenged with `Who goes there?'"
"Yes; I understand," said Stan eagerly.
"No, you don't. What word will you give to prove that you are a
friend?"
"Don't know."
"Of course not. Remember it, then. `Cartridge.' Understand?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Then I'm off. I'm dead-beat, my lad. Every hour, mind, as near as you
can guess. Take hold of my whistle, and keep a sharp lookout up the
river from where I did."
"What! from up on that pile of stones at the edge of the wharf?"
"Eh?" said Blunt sharply. "How did you know I watched from that heap of
stones at the edge of the wharf?"
"I saw you there."
"What! When did you come?"
Stan was silent, feeling quite confused,
"Did you come and look at me before you went to sleep?"
"No," said Stan slowly--"no; I'm sure now that I did not."
"But you said you saw me there, and I never told you nor any one else
that I was going to make that my post of observation."
"You didn't tell me," said Stan; "and it seems very strange. I thought
I came out to you and you caught me by the shoulder."
"You did not, and I did not catch you by the shoulder till I came and
shook you to wake you up."
"Then I must have dreamed it," said Stan, "for I certainly seemed to see
you there in the darkness."
"Yes, you must have dreamed it; but it seems very strange."
"Horribly," said Stan.
"Don't you get dreaming any more of that sort of stuff, then," said
Blunt shortly. "Here, catch hold of this whistle; but mind, you are not
to use it unless the enemy come in sight. Then blow as if you wanted to
bring the place down. Pleasant watch to you. I'm off. If I don't go
and lie down I shall fall down and sleep on these stones."
"Good rest to you," said Stan quietly. "One moment: where are you going
to lie down?"
"On the planks that formed your bed. They're nice and soft now, I
suppose."
"No; horribly hard. Put some bags under you."
"Not I," said Blunt gruffly. "I could sleep now on a row of spikes.
Good-night--morning, or whatever it is."
The manager walked quickly to the nearest opening in the wall of chests
and passed through it, leaving Stan to his watch, which he commenced by
giving a good searching look up river and down, and then placing his
hand behind his ear to listen, before, feeling satisfied that all was
right, he stepped to the bottom of the piled-up block of stones, mounted
it carefully, rested the butt of his rifle at his feet, felt whether his
revolver was within easy reach of his hand, and then began to think
about his dream and the strangeness of his imagining that he had walked
out to get to the wharf and had then seen his brother-officer, as Blunt
seemed to have become now, standing exactly where he had taken his own
place.
"All imagination," he said to himself at last, for he could make nothing
else of it, and forcing himself to think of something fresh, he began to
peer into the darkness in every direction, and long for his first hour
to pass so that he could have something more active to employ his time
and go and visit the different posts.
"Let me see," he mused; "they will challenge me by saying, `Who goes
there?' and I shall answer, `Stranger, quickly tell'--Nonsense! `A
friend.' No, no; that's wrong. What did Mr Blunt tell me to say?
Why, I've forgotten the word. I remember that he told me something, but
it seems to have gone right out of my head. How stupid, to be sure! I
couldn't have been half-awake after all.
"What shall I do?" thought Stan again, after striving vainly to recall
the word. "I must go and ask him again, and that means waking him up.
Why, he'll call me an idiot. I know; I'll go to the nearest sentry and
ask him."
The lad stopped short in his musings, for a cold chill ran through him
at the thought of the risk he would have to run--the idea of the risk
coming to his brain with the thought:
"Why, if I can't give the answer just when he challenges me, he'll fire
and send a bullet through my head."
The more the lad thought and strove to recall the password, the more
confused his brain seemed to grow. Hundreds of words flowed through,
but not one which suggested that which was correct. Time, too, was
gliding steadily on, and in imagination he felt that he must be getting
very near the end of the hour when his duty would lead him to the first
post--for what? He felt ready to groan as he told himself that it was
to be shot at.
"Whatever shall I do?" he said at last, when he stood on the stone pile
fully believing that the time was past, and that if he did not visit the
posts the sentries would grow uneasy and give some alarm, the result of
which would be that Blunt would wake up; and how could he meet him after
being guilty of such a contemptible lapse of duty?
"He'll look upon me as a complete idiot," thought the lad; "just, too,
when I was trying so hard to behave in a manly way, and making him begin
to believe in me. It's dreadful; it's horrible! Am I going mad?"
In utter despair, Stan let his rifle-barrel sink into the crook of his
left arm, and turning his hands into a binocular, gave a long, careful
look up the river, half-expecting to see some tall-sailed junk dropping
quietly down the stream. In his excitement he turned trees into masts,
and projections from the banks and a solitary long low hut into vessels;
but after further inspection he was bound to believe that there was no
sign of danger, and at last, with a sigh of weariness, he sank down into
a sitting position, with his legs hanging over the side of the pile and
his rifle across his knees, to make one more desperate effort to recall
the password from the black depths of his brain into which it seemed to
have sunk down.
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!