"BUT WE WEREN'T BEATEN."
Stan looked round, and the man at whom he had aimed escaped.
"What's that?" he shouted as he looked for the crumbling down of the
walls.
The answer to his question came in the shrill, piping voice of Wing:
"Um t'inkee gleat Englis' man-o'-wa come 'long."
The Chinaman spoke as he rushed away across the wide floor, to begin
climbing the narrow ladder on one side--the steps leading to the roof
and the trap-door through which he had passed to play the part of
lookout.
"Oh, impossible!" cried Uncle Jeff hoarsely.--"Don't believe him, Stan,
boy; it's too good to be true."
_Boom_! _thud_! and a sound like a crash, followed by a cessation of the
yelling for a perceptible space, and then a peculiar murmuring, with the
enemy outside becoming wildly excited, and then as if by one volition
swarming for the edge of the wharf.
"Wing's right," cried Blunt. "It must be a gunboat, and they are firing
shell."
"Yes, yes," shouted Stan, and there was a peculiar hysterical ring in
his voice. "Look, uncle! that junk to the right is torn open; the poop
is smashed. There's the smoke of the shell rising, and--Hurrah! She's
going down!"
Stan's triumphant cry was taken up three times over, the defenders
crowding the narrow slits to get a glimpse of what was going on--for the
first shot had checked the attack, literally paralysing the pirates with
astonishment; the second turned the assault into a retreat, while as the
fierce hurrahs of the people in the _hong_ went on, the gangways of the
junks were being crowded in the rush for safety.
"Hoolay! hoolay! hoolay!" came from the ceiling of the great room; while
as Stan turned, there was Wing's head visible as he thrust it down, and
as soon as he saw that he was observed the Chinaman shouted, "Big
Englis' ship fi'e two-bang shot."
_Boom_! came another report, and, almost at the same moment, _crash_!
Another shell had burst just over the second junk close up to the wharf,
the splintering of fragments causing terrible havoc, which was trampled
out of sight directly by the men crowding aboard.
For the moment Stan forgot all about their own perilous position, for
the air rushing in through the barricaded windows was cool and
refreshing; but Blunt had had eyes for what was going on below and
within, where the air was growing stifling with smoke and heat.
"Here, Lynn," he shouted. "Quick! That whistle! Blow, lad, blow!"
The shrill note rang out, and brought every one crowding up to one end
of the great stacked-up floor.
"Ah! that's right," cried Uncle Jeff. "Nothing to fear from the enemy
now, lads; clear this window."
"Yes; and throw the bales down the staircase. It will block the way,"
cried Blunt.
The men cheered, and worked with all their might, bale after bale being
tossed into the wide opening and filling it up so that the great draught
of heat was checked and the place rendered more bearable as the flame
and smoke ceased to rush up as if through some great flue.
This done, Blunt gave a fresh order, and the party began to drop one
after another through the window, those behind covering them with their
rifles in case of an attack.
But the precaution was needless, for the enemy had but one aim now--to
get all on board their vessels, cast them off from the wharf, and make
sail.
Hence it was that the defenders reached the outside of the burning
_hong_ uninterrupted, and while the pirates were busy their intended
victims followed the whistle once more, being led by Blunt and Uncle
Jeff round to the broken-down window at the back which the enemy had
forced.
Here Blunt leapt in, followed by Stan and Uncle Jeff, marshalling his
men for that which he had in view--the saving of the great warehouse
before it was too late.
Lucky it was that such precautions against fire had been taken and the
coolies and warehousemen were so drilled.
For there was only the smoke to fear now. The great casks stood full,
and the buckets ready to be seized and passed along to Uncle Jeff and
Lawrence, who, all soiled like the rest, and half-suffocated, sent the
water streaming over the parts where the fire was eating its way along
the woodwork and up the stairs, till in ten minutes flames and sparks
began to give place to smoke and steam to such an extent that it was
safe for some of the clerks to assist the carpenters, who, by Blunt's
orders, began to tear down the planks over the windows and let in air
that could be breathed.
It was none too soon, for even Uncle Jeff of the mighty muscles began to
feel that he must crawl out or stifle, while as the first puff of
wholesome air rushed in Lawrence dropped, and he was being raised to be
carried out into the open air, but began to struggle and make signs that
he should be set down. Five minutes later he was vigorously swinging a
bucket again.
"Hurrah, Stan!" shouted Uncle Jeff at last. "There's nothing more to
fear.--Do you see, Blunt? A splash here and a splash there. Keep the
coolies at it and the mischief will not be so bad after all. Here, I
must see what they're doing outside."
"Me know--I know," piped Wing, who always seemed to be ready for
everything but heavy manual labour such as might break his nails. "Wing
been gone look outside off _hong_ whooff. Big ship come all steam up
livah. Shoot, shoot topside big junk. Numbee one topside junk go
bottom. Numbee two topside junk float down livah go close 'longside.
Allee ovey--junk lun 'way up livah. Steamship shoot, shoot, shoot
two-bang gun."
Poor Wing in his excitement suffered to such an extent from incoherency
that his speech was hard to grasp; but helped by a lookout from the
wharf, where the enemy was represented only by the dead, the state of
affairs was fully grasped. For the masts and parts of the sails of two
junks rose from the river a few yards from the wharf-edge; the wreckage
of another lying over on its side was floating down-stream, while in
response to the fire of a grim-looking grey gunboat, whose shells went
through her sides as if they were papier-mache, a fourth was settling
down a couple of hundred yards away, and her late occupants were
swimming for the farther bank across the river.
As Stan shaded his eyes, which were dim and painful from the effect of
the smoke, he saw enough to prove that the fate of the other junks was
sealed. They were sailing up-stream, but the grey gunboat was churning
up the water astern as she stole after them like fate, every now and
then sending forth a great ball of white smoke with a roar, followed by
a stinging crack-like echo when a shell burst with unerring precision,
the result being that the river seemed in the distance to be dotted in
all directions with strange specks, all of which drifted for the farther
shore.
"Ah, Uncle Jeff!" cried Stan suddenly, as he heard a sharp scratch, and
turned to see a match burning in the bright sunshine.
"Yes, Stan, Uncle Jeff it is: come out to breathe and have a cigar.
I've used up all my stuff, boy. Pumped out. Here we are, you see;
safe, though, after all.--My word, how those Jacks can shoot! Did you
see?"
"Yes, uncle. Why, that junk must be half a mile away."
"Yes, splendid practice; but she'll go no farther than to the bottom,
and the lads will have a shell into that other directly."
Uncle Jeff was right. It took two more shells as he sat smoking, and
then the last of the six pirate junks was so much bamboo chip floating
down the stream.
"Poor wretches!" he said. "It seems very terrible; but it would have
been much worse if the poor warehouse had been smoking ashes now, and
our bones beneath."
"Yes," said Stan, shuddering. "I say, uncle, this is a horrible
place.--Ah, Wing! You there?"
"Yes; come see you like cup tea."
"What! can you get some?" cried Stan.
"Yes, plenty tea. Wateh nea'ly boil."
"Oh! I should," cried Stan huskily, "for I feel quite sick at heart."
There were a few rifle-shots fired at fugitives on the banks, but the
object of the gunboat's crew was more to scatter the savage miscreants
than to add to their destruction; for the commander on board was
satisfied with the blow at the pirates' power, and he said so
half-an-hour later, when his vessel had steamed back and was moored to
the wharf.
He had landed to inspect the place and congratulate its defenders
warmly.
"As brave a defence as I know of, gentlemen," he said. "And it seems to
me that I only just came up in time."
"Only just," said Uncle Jeff; "but we weren't beaten."
"Beaten--up!" said the officer sharply. "You'd have kept the miserable
brutes off, but I'm afraid that the fire would have been rather too
much--eh?"
"Yes," said Uncle Jeff; "we should have had to strike our colours to
that. But there I don't talk about it. We've had an awful escape."
"You have, and no mistake. Here! come on board and have a wash while
something to eat is made ready."
"A wash!" cried Stan. "Oh yes.--I say, uncle, you look awful."
"Do I, my boy? Humph!--I say, captain, do you carry a pocket-mirror?"
"No; but there's a looking-glass or two in the cabins. Do you want to
shave?"
"What! cut off my growing beard?" said Uncle Jeff fiercely. "No, nor my
head either. I wanted my nephew to see his face."
"My face?" cried Stan, colouring invisibly--that is to say, the red was
hidden by the black. "Is it very bad?"
He glanced at Blunt as he spoke.
"Well," was the reply, "did you ever see a sweep?"
The hospitality on board the gunboat embraced the attentions of a doctor
as well as refreshments, and he had a busy hour with cuts and burns
before the night closed in, with sailors to keep the watch over those
who slept the sleep of utter exhaustion; though ward was needless, for
the remnants of the piratical gang were scattered far and wide,
completely crushed.