"FIRE AWAY!"
The leading junk was soon some distance down the river, the confusion on
board from the steady rifle-fire, which caused man after man to drop,
checking all efforts to recover the lost ground; but the second junk had
taken its place, and those on board were pouring in a hot fire from two
clumsy swivel-guns, consisting of showers of rough missiles, bullets,
broken iron, and the like.
But little damage was done to the sheltered defenders, who, animated by
the example set from the little bastion, kept up a steady, regular fire,
with certainly more than half the shots telling among the Chinamen
working the guns or giving orders.
In the intervals of his firing, however, Stan kept on imploring Blunt to
let him summon help, or cease firing and attend to the injury.
"Go on firing, as I told you," cried the wounded man in an angry snarl.
"Can't you see that you are helping me by what you are doing."
"But you must be getting faint."
"I am," said Blunt fiercely, "with the hard work to keep you at work.
Do you think I want our men to be put out of heart because I am bowled
over?"
"No," said Stan, with his cheek against his rifle-stock, and he pulled
the trigger, sending a leaden messenger at one of the enemy who was
about to lower his smoking linstock, which produced a savage yell by its
effect; for the man with the burning match flung up his hands, the
linstock went flying overboard, and Stan's frown deepened as he felt
that he had desperately wounded the gunner, who was being borne away
before the lad's rifle was again charged.
"That was another hit, wasn't it?" said Blunt anxiously.
"I think so," was the reply, "but I'm not sure that it was my shot."
"Never mind so long as it's one murderer the less. Keep on firing, my
lad, while you can get so good a chance. I can't see what the rest are
doing. It seems to me that they are only wasting powder."
"Oh no," said Stan; "men on the junk keep on falling. But there are two
more junks coming close up."
"And you haven't checked them. Fire away! Try and hit the steersmen."
"It's hard work to see them so as to pick them out," said Stan, "but
I'll do my best."
The lad's best was to aim carefully at the men holding the steering-oars
of the second and fourth junks, but excitement combined with the
distance affected the steadiness of his aim, and he uttered an impatient
ejaculation as he saw the two great crowded vessels coming steadily
onward.
"We shall be having all three close in together," he muttered. "It's
impossible to keep them off."
But better fortune had attended his efforts than he had given himself
credit for. In each case his carefully aimed shot had taken effect, and
they were supplemented by the shattering fire kept up by the defenders
at the other loopholes. Certainly the third and fourth junks were
coming in fast, but it was in an ungoverned way, and their action soon
after produced a savagely furious volley from the captain of the second
junk; for its companions came on to crash into it, with the
accompaniment of falling masts and sails, and the confusion of
top-hamper, a good deal of which came down upon the men, who yelled
shrilly and angrily until they were extricated or able to get free.
In spite of the faintness and sinking caused by his wound, Blunt held
tightly on by the cord binding the bale against which he had propped
himself, and watched everything that took place with swimming eyes, but
an intense feeling of satisfaction as he witnessed the disasters of the
attacking pirates. And every now and again when the noise grew less
overpowering he hurriedly went on giving his companion instructions to
take careful aim at this one and that of the enemy's force, and did not
fail to give praise when the shot was successful.
"Bravo! Well done, lieutenant!" he said hoarsely. "That's a murderer
the more put out of action. Don't shudder; three parts of them will
unfortunately get better, but they're done for this time." Then: "Keep
it up, my lad. You take my place now and lead the fighting. Nobody
knows yet that I'm down. You'll have to give the order soon to withdraw
into the warehouse."
"Not fight it out here?" cried Stan eagerly, for he was fast growing
intoxicated with the wild excitement of the fray, and had forgotten all
about the danger of his position.
"No; it is impossible. You are only hindering them now and crippling
them as much as is possible, but before long they will come like a wave
over the sides of the junks, and swarm up to the defence here, and you
will not be able to resist them."
"But we should all have a much better chance to shoot them down then."
"Of course; and a dozen or two would be struggling on the stones. But
if a hundred were shot down it would make no difference; they would come
on all the same in their blind, savage fury, for they think nothing of
those who fall. Here, leave your rifle where it is for a few moments.
That's right. Now take this whistle. Put it in your vest-pocket, where
you can get at it easily, and after they have made their first rush, use
it."
"Yes," said Stan huskily as he thrust the little instrument into his
watch-pocket; "but about you? Hadn't I better call a couple of the
coolies to come and lift you into your room?"
"No!" snapped out Blunt, as if he were maddened by the pain he suffered.
"Do you want to turn a brave resistance into a panic?"
"No; of course not, but--"
"Silence!" cried the poor fellow sternly. "The men are fighting
splendidly now, and I want them to go on till such time as it is
necessary to get inside and continue the defence from the upper windows.
Do you hear?"
"Yes; and I'll do all you wish, but I must have time to get you safe
inside."
"Leave that to me," said Blunt slowly and in a more gentle tone. And
then, as if warned by his sensations, he continued: "If I faint, use
your own common-sense. Don't hesitate: fight till it seems folly to
hold on longer here; then blow the whistle with all your might. Some of
them are sure to rush to your help. Then let a couple take me by the
hands and drag me--don't let them stop to carry me--drag me in through
the first doorway."
"I'll take one hand myself."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," cried Blunt passionately. "I order you
to take my place as captain, and as your father's son save us all from
this murderous scum. You're captain now--do you hear?"
Stan nodded.
"Then act sensibly. Do you want to give up directing and turn yourself
into a coolie to save one helpless man, and perhaps sacrifice your own
life?"
"But you are--"
"Only one," snapped the manager; "and the most useless one here. Now
back to your place, and go on firing as the captain should, to bring
down more of the miscreants and encourage our brave fellows. If you
fail now I'm not able to strike, the rest will be out of heart at once."
"You are giving me more than I can do," half-groaned Stan. "I'm only a
boy."
"Forget that, Stan," said his wounded comrade harshly. "I say you're
acting like a man. Now fire at that giant of a fellow standing in the
gangway waving his great broad-bladed sword--"
There was the sharp crack of Stan's rifle, and the big, showily dressed
Chinaman followed the direction in which he waved the sword--that is,
shoreward--and literally dived off the junk into the river, to be seen
no more by those in the bastion.
"Well done--for a boy!" cried Blunt mockingly as he passed his left hand
over his streaming brow. "I only hope every man at the back and right
and left is doing as well. Mind when you retreat that the doors are
well barricaded.--Reloaded?"
"Yes," cried Stan, who felt as if his companion's words were goading him
to act in a way contrary to his nature, and without further urging he
fired again and again.
"Good--good!" panted Blunt. "I daren't turn to look back, because I
should expose myself--and I know that if I stirred I should faint--but
tell me, how are the fellows behaving?"
"Keeping up a steady fire, just as you told them. I can see the poor
wretches falling killed or wounded. There goes another into the river."
"Hah!" sighed Blunt. "I can't tell the difference between their firing
and ours. It seemed, though, as if our fire was dropping off."
"It isn't that," said Stan, passing his reloaded rifle into his left
hand so as in turn to wipe his streaming face with his right, quite
unconscious of the fact that he had covered it with the wet, black,
exploded powder fresh from the breech of his piece and his used
cartridges, and now leaving a broad black smudge across his forehead and
down each cheek--"it isn't that. I'm sure our men are firing
splendidly, but the enemy are using their clumsy pieces now from the
junks."
"Yes, that's it," said Blunt slowly. "But what are they doing now? I
can't see for this cloud of smoke."
"Getting the junks closer in with poles. They're going to leap ashore,
I think, and make a rush.--But there is no cloud," he muttered to
himself; "the wind is driving it away."
"Be ready, then," said Blunt. "Fire once more right into the thick of
them, reload--and--then be ready--to sound retreat--to--sound--"
Stan took a quick aim, fired, threw open the breech of his piece with
his fingers trembling, and then closed it again, using stern resolution
to carry out his orders, though all the time he felt sure that Blunt was
as he found him when he looked round--that is to say, lying motionless
on the floor of the bastion, but with his fingers still crooked in the
cord of the bale.
"It must be nearly time," groaned Stan to himself, as he felt
half-stunned for the moment.
But a moment only. The next he was grinding his teeth as he again
passed his rifle into his left hand to feel for his knife with the
right, take it out, and open the blade.
For he foresaw a terrible difficulty as he glanced first at Blunt's hand
still clinging to the cord, and in dread lest the desperate clutch might
prove a hindrance, he bent down and, as quickly as he could, sawed
through the tightly strained cord, which quivered and then, as the last
strand was severed, sprang apart with a sharp crack, springing out of
the wounded man's fingers and leaving the arm free to fall across his
breast.
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.