"WING'S A--CHINAMAN."
Several anxious days were passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept
for the return of Wing with the ammunition; but still it did not come,
and, as Blunt reasonably said, they could not settle down comfortably to
invention and forms of defence by schemes until they could feel prepared
temporarily for an emergency.
"Once we have two or three cases of cartridges in hand we'll go to work
at our plans. But this waiting takes it out of a man."
"It is giving you time to get a little stronger," replied Stan.
"Oh, bother that! I could grow stronger fast enough if my mind were
quite at rest I'm beginning to think that poor old Wing has come to
grief, and if he doesn't reach here by to-morrow night I shall make up a
little cargo and send Mao with an urgent despatch to the principals.
It's growing serious. Here, come and let us plan what to send."
"You had better rest patiently," said Stan. "Who's to rest patiently
with not a dozen rifle-cartridges on the premises?"
"You," said Stan, smiling.
"What! Do you know the enemy may even now be on their way to make a
fresh attack?"
"No, they mayn't," replied Stan.
"What! How do you know?"
"By seeing your weather-glass point to fine weather."
"My weather-glass?"
"Yes--old Mao. He seems to be as satisfied as possible, sitting smoking
his opium-pipe and watching his men caulk and varnish the _Chee-ho_."
"Well, he does look pretty well content; but it's weary work waiting,
and I feel convinced that the message has never reached the principals."
"I can see a proof," cried Stan excitedly, "that you are only looking on
the black side of things."
"What do you mean?" said Blunt, staring at the way in which the lad had
sprung to his feet to run to the open window looking down the river.
"Here's the boat in sight, sir," cried Lawrence, hurriedly opening the
door.
"What! our boat?" cried Blunt excitedly.
"Yes, sir, with Wing showing his signal. Try the glass, sir."
Blunt snatched the glass offered to him, but before he could get to the
window and focus it with his trembling hands, Stan had taken down his
own binocular and was leaning out, bringing the matting-sailed boat
close into the room, as it were.
"Yes," he cried, "there's Wing holding up a little flag so that it blows
straight out."
"A pocket-handkerchief Union-jack?" cried Blunt.
"Yes, that's it; and there's some one else on board beside the boatmen.
Why--yes--no--yes--no.--Oh, do stand still, whoever you are! I can't
see if you bob about so.--Yes, it is. Look, Mr Blunt--look! Here's
Uncle Jeff come so as to see everything for himself."
"Right, Lynn, right," cried the manager; "so it is. Three cheers for
him. We'll give them when he's close up. Well, hurrah for one thing!
We're not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with
our burnt bodies."
"Ugh!" cried Stan. "What a gruesome idea! Let's get out and have the
flag hoisted on the pole."
"Ah! and we'll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome.
But are you quite sure it is your uncle?"
"Certain," cried Stan proudly. "You never saw anybody but Uncle Jeff
standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn't care a snap
of the fingers for the whole world."
"Yes, that's Mr Jeffrey," said Blunt, lowering his glass and drawing in
a deep breath; "the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good.
Out with you, Lynn, and send Lawrence to hail the boys. We'll all turn
out and man the edge of the wharf. I want your uncle to see that I
haven't lost a man."
A few minutes later clerks, warehousemen, and coolies were all standing
at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from
the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole;
while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance Lawrence acted as
fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. These, in
spite of the admixture of Chinese squeak from the throats of the
coolies--a squeak which ended with a hoarse croak--sounded so pleasant
to Uncle Jeff's anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed
it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty British hurrah,
while, not to be outdone, Wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed
head to wave his lacquered, shining black hat, and echoed the shout with
his alto pipe.
In another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat
glided up against the wharf, Stan sprang on board, to have his hands
grasped by his big, manly relative.
"Why, Stan, boy," he cried, "we never thought we were going to send you
out of the Hai-Hai frying-pan into the Nang Ti fire. But you were not
burnt?"
He held the lad back at arm's-length and uttered a loud puff like a
whale getting rid of its confined breath.
"No, I can see you were not. Eyes bright, colour fresh, and hearty as
can be. Hah! that's a comfort. We shouldn't have sent you if we had
known.--Here, Blunt," he continued, "do you call this management,
bringing down all the ruffians of the river to attack the place! Why,
hang it, man! you do look as if you have had more than your share of
trouble. You've lost pounds since I saw you last. Coming round again,
though, I can see."
"Yes; there's nothing much wrong now," was the reply as the pair shook
hands heartily. "The wound's healing up nicely, thanks to Wing here.--
Well, Wing, how are you?"
"Badly," was the reply. "Been fletting."
"Fretting? What about?"
"Misteh Blunt and young Lynn. S'posee pilate come back and Wing not
bling ca'tlidge."
"But you've brought them now?" said Blunt eagerly.
"Yes, plenty big box full. Bling Misteh Jeffley too. All leady fightee
when pilate come."
"And a very welcome recruit if needed," said Blunt, smiling. "But we
don't want any more of that work--at any rate till I get strong again.--
You've heard, Mr Lynn, how I caved in and left your nephew to fight the
battle?"
"Oh yes. I've heard all about it from Wing," said Uncle Jeff dryly. "I
gave him a lesson in the use of the revolver before he left home, but I
didn't know he was going to turn out such an awful fire-eater as he
has."
"Don't you think you had better come in and have something to eat,
uncle?" said Stan quietly. "It will do you more good than making fun of
me."
"Fun, Stan, my lad? Oh! I don't call this fun. Wing says you've
become quite a general."
"Wing's a--Chinaman," said Stan, with a laugh full of annoyance, which
made the two men exchange glances--looks which the lad interpreted to
mean, "Hadn't we better leave off?"
And in this spirit Uncle Jeff clapped his hand upon the boy's shoulder
and said heartily:
"Take me round and show me the damage done by the enemy, my boy."
"There's very little to see, uncle, but the chipped stone and the leaden
bullets and pieces of iron the enemy poured in."
"The bullets--eh? What! in the stone?"
"No, no, uncle," cried the lad. "Stuck in the door-posts and woodwork."
"What about the windows where the stink-pots came flying in as if all
the stars in the sky had broken loose?"
"Oh, they must have been flying across the office, uncle, when Wing was
nursing Mr Blunt. We didn't see those upstairs."
"But a great many did come in?"
"Yes, uncle, and burned great patches in the floor."
"Come, that's something; you must take me up and show me."
"I can't show you much, uncle," was the reply, "for the bales have been
stacked in their places again."
"Oh, come! this is disappointing," cried Uncle Jeff. "No ruins; no
wounds but Mr Blunt's; no burnt-out warehouses! Why, after such a
scare I expected to find the whole place crippled. Where's Wing?"
"Oh, I must have a word here," said Blunt. "I dare say Master Wing
painted the affair up pretty well, but it was as bad as it could be."
"Why, I thought you were bowled out at the first ball," said Uncle Jeff
sharply.
"So I was; but the other players had their innings, and told me all
about it afterwards. Old Lawrence says it was awful."
"So it was, uncle," cried Stan; "nothing could have been worse."
"Well, all I can say is," said Uncle Jeff some time later, "that you
have cleared away wonderfully. But there's one thing I don't like. It
sticks in my memory very tightly, and it seems to me that it is the one
weak spot in our armour if we are again attacked."
"And what's that, uncle?" asked Stan, for there was a pause.
"The traitor in the camp, my lad. You can't go on like this. What is
the use of making all kinds of preparations when there is an enemy in
the midst who is ready to spoil all and, as it were, sell you to the
enemy?"
"You mean about the water poured over the ammunition?" said Blunt,
speaking rather excitedly.
"Yes--of course. Now whom do you suspect?"
"At first I thought Wing might be the guilty party."
"Wing!" cried Uncle Jeff, starting. "Ah, to be sure!" he continued
after but a few moments' thought. "He was my informant, and very eager
to tell me all about it. Tried hard, I remember now, to make me
understand it must have been some one at the _hong_. Here, Stan, it's a
long time since I was at school; you've only just come away. What's
that French proverb about the man who tries to clear himself making
matters worse?"
"He who excuses himself accuses himself," said Stan promptly.
"Humph! Yes. But it sounds better in French. Here, I don't like to
think old Wing guilty; he has been such a true and faithful servant to
the `foreign devils,' as they call us. Besides, he is so much one of
us, and has been so well paid and treated. You've had no quarrel with
him, Blunt?"
"Not the slightest. Always the best of friends. Of course, you know my
way--short, sharp, and decisive."
"Yes; you always were a bit of a bully, Blunt."
"But I'm always just, sir."
"Perfectly; and I believe the people like you at bottom, even if you
have a rough side to your tongue."
"Oh yes, uncle," put in Stan eagerly, to be rewarded by a grateful
glance. "I'm sure there isn't a man here who wouldn't fight to the
death for Mr Blunt."
"I wouldn't go so far as that, Lynn," said Blunt, with the hot blood
colouring his pallid, sunken cheeks.
"But they've proved it," cried Stan energetically.
"I'm thinking it was more for you, Lynn," said Blunt quietly.
"Well, let that rest," cried Uncle Jeff; "and let's go on with the trial
of Master Wing. You have been good friends with him, Blunt?"
"Excellent."
"No sudden quarrel?"
"Oh no."
"Given him no cause of offence? These Asiatics are rather fond of
nursing up a bit of revenge."
"Oh no," repeated Blunt.
"What about the coolies, then? Any knocking down or punishing any of
them?"
"Nothing of the kind, sir. I am quite at a loss to think of anything
that could have prompted a Chinaman here to retaliate.--You can think of
nothing, can you, Lynn, in the short time you have been here?"
Lynn remained silent and looked very conscious, while Uncle Jeff watched
him sideways.
"Hah!" he said at last. "Dumb. Now, Stan, lad, what are you thinking
of? Out with it."
The lad tried to clear his throat, but in vain, for his voice sounded
husky as he said:
"I was thinking about Wing being on the watch, uncle--about my shooting
at him, Mr Blunt, and his tumble."
"Puss! puss! puss! puss! puss!" said Uncle Jeff softly, and he looked
towards the door.
It was the turn of Stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they
looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind.
But he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of
insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint
dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks.
"What are you staring at, Stan?" he said at last.
"I--I couldn't make out what you meant, uncle. Do you want the cat?
She's generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of
the river-bank."
"Oh no; I wasn't alluding to that one, but to the other."
"There is no other cat on the premises, sir," said Blunt, staring in
turn.
"Oh yes, there is. I mean the metaphorical cat. She's out of the bag
now, and I was calling her back. Why, hang it, man! there's the cause
of the plot. Tell us all about it."
The incident was repeated to the end.
"A great pity," said Uncle Jeff gravely.
"Yes, sir, it was," said Blunt. "I acted on the impulse of the moment,
and of course I alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner
I insisted upon your nephew firing. Of course, I only meant, in my
annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. But
I've felt sorry ever since."
"I am sorry too," said Uncle Jeff.
"And I too, uncle."
"You are, I know, Stan. Well, it's of no use to cry over spilt milk.
The thing's done and can't be undone. But there's the motive, and now
the poor weak fellow has gratified his revengeful bit of spite let us
hope he is satisfied and that all will go smoothly. Still, it is a
painful thought that we have had a traitor in the camp."
"I don't care," said Stan firmly.
"It is of no use to care, my lad; but if we have the enemy back I should
certainly lock Master Wing where he could do no mischief."
"You misunderstand me, uncle," said Stan. "I didn't finish what I meant
to say."
"Let's have it, then, boy."
"I meant to say, I don't care; I don't believe Wing would do such a
thing."
"Neither do I," said Blunt warmly. "The poor fellow is too true. He
was quite affectionate to me in attending to my wounds, and nothing
could have been better than the plucky way in which he ran all risks
through the fight, and afterwards undertook the commission to go and
fetch the cartridges. No; I say Wing was not the guilty party."
"Well," said Uncle Jeff, "I want to be with you, for I like old Wing.
There's a something about him that puts me in mind of a faithful dog.
We'll agree that it was not he, and that drives us to suspect the
coolies."
"Yes," said Blunt; "and I don't like suspecting them, for a better set
of fellows never lived."
"There couldn't be," said Stan. "They almost worship Mr Blunt, uncle."
"Hah!" said the latter. "It's a puzzle, then, and I can't help thinking
that the best way will be to drop the matter and be watchful. If we
begin investigating we may not find out the guilty, but we're bound to
upset the innocent by our suspicions. I say, Blunt, I wouldn't wake up
sleeping Chinese again with the rifle."
"You may depend upon it I shall not, sir," said Blunt frankly. "And
now, if I may change the subject, I want to be put out of my misery."
"With a rifle, Blunt?" said Uncle Jeff dryly.
"No, no; not in that way, though I do want it done with cartridges. I
shall be in misery till we get those ashore and in the magazine."
"Quite right; we'll have them seen to at once. We must be ready if the
enemy do come."
"I say, uncle," cried Stan merrily, "how you keep on _we_ing! Any one
would think you meant to stop."
"I do mean to stop, my boy," said Uncle Jeff sharply.--"No, no, no, no,
Blunt; don't take it like that," he continued as he saw the change in
the manager's countenance. "I have not come to supersede you, only as a
humble recruit, ready if wanted, which I fervently hope I shall not be.
I should have brought half-a-dozen good fighting-men with me, only there
are none in stock at Hai-Hai. It is getting to be every man for
himself, too, and we shall be very unsettled until our Government makes
a move and puts a few men-of-war on the station for the protection of
the mercantile folk. My brother and several more are bestirring
themselves, however, and I hope something will be done before long."
"But you will take the lead, sir, while you stay, of course," said Blunt
rather coldly. "As you see, I am weak."
"I shall do nothing of the kind, Blunt. My brother and I are only too
well satisfied with your management. I have come here to help to take
care of Nephew Stanley, and when the care is not necessary I am going to
have a rest, fishing, botanising, and shooting--in other words, to have
a spell of idleness, for I don't think you will be attacked again after
the taste you have given the miscreants of our quality here at the
_hong_. Now then, Blunt," he added, "are you satisfied?"
The manager hesitated and still looked doubtful, but the look that
accompanied Uncle Jeff's outstretched hand was sufficient, and he
brightened up at once.
"Yes, sir," he said warmly--"quite."