"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.