"ALL IN TO BEGIN."
With so great a danger at hand not a bound was made, every man, weapon
in hand, listening and waiting for the next phase of the pirates'
approach; while many a heart that had sunk low in the presence of the
peril began to beat less heavily as the minutes glided on, with the veil
of mist which hid them from their enemies growing thicker.
"Are we saved?" said Uncle Jeff at last in a whisper--"I don't want to
fight."
"Nor do I, uncle," whispered back Stan; "but it seems to be too good to
be true."
"What are you talking about?" asked Blunt from out of the mist close at
hand--"the pirates going by?"
"Yes," replied Uncle Jeff; "we've got off, haven't we?"
"Till the fog clears away; and that will not be long. They won't give
us up. It's only a question of time and their having to beat up against
wind and stream. No," he added, holding his hand up on high; "only
against stream. I can feel the breeze rising, and that will carry off
the fog before long."
"Then you will not be disappointed of your savage desires, Stan," said
Uncle Jeff good-humouredly. "What a fellow you are to fight!"
"Oh! don't try to make jokes now, uncle; it's too horrible."
"For the enemy, Stan, my lad; and I don't pity them a bit. They have
the means in their hands to escape all fighting by leaving us carefully
alone; but they will come on these murdering expeditions, to let's give
them all the bullets we can."
"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."
Stan looked wildly round as he raised his rifle to fire through the
loophole again at the wretches waiting to catch them on bristling
trident forks and spears, and it seemed a mockery, though the
rifle-shots were fast pattering down, for him to think of destroying
still more life when so near the termination of his own; but Blunt was
his captain to the last, and his eye was on the sight, his finger on the
trigger, and almost by instinct he was marking down one of the wretches
right in front. Once more his nerves were tensely strained, and in
another instant the enemy before him would have fallen, dangerously
wounded if not dead, when there was a sudden shock, as if the fire had
reached the little magazine and the cartridges had proved how they would
act under the circumstances. The place literally rocked, there was a
deafening roar, and the savage yelling of the attacking force was
drowned.