Stan Lynn Part 41

They were so nearly within ken now that Stan could see that they were crowded with men, each a desperate and savage enemy.

"I wonder whether I can hit the first one who takes aim at me. I must or he'll hit me," muttered the lad. "But I shall have to be quick or he may hit me first."

He had hardly dwelt a moment upon this thought before he heard Blunt's voice in the long, narrow opening between the tea-chest wall and the buildings proper of house, offices, and stores, where the soft, shuffling sounds of feet could be plainly heard--sounds which Stan, who had been long enough in China to recognise them, knew to be caused by the collecting of the coolies.

Proof was afforded the next minute by Blunt's brisk voice addressing them with--

"Now, my lads, I want you to fight your best for us. How many of you can manage rifles?"

There was a few moments' silence, and then a deep voice said:

"No wantee lifle. Takee big ilon clowba', sha'p chip-chop knifee. Kill allee pilate, evely one."

"That will do. Wait, then, till the wretches rush in, and then use the bars and your knives. I see you mean to fight."

There was further shuffling of soft feet, and though he could see nothing, Stan knew that the big picked Chinamen, whose muscles were hardened by their tasks of handling and running to and fro over gangways with heavy bales, casks, and chests, were being posted in places of vantage ready to receive the enemy when they landed at the wharf and made their first onslaught.

Stan turned to watch the junks, whose sails were now lowered as unnecessary and stowed lengthwise to be out of the way, while great sweeps had been pa.s.sed out, not to urge on the vessels, but to keep a little way on and make them answer the steering-gear, the force of the current being enough for the enemy's purpose, which was to lay them alongside the wharf after--as was proved ere long--a sharp discharge from their clumsy artillery.

"How long they seem in coming!" thought Stan, though in reality the time was very short; and then he started, for Blunt had come close up behind him unperceived.

"Here I am," he said. "We are all ready, and our people are waiting for you to open the ball."

"For me?" cried Stan, who felt startled.

"You. You will fire the first shot when I give the word. That will be the signal that I consider the enemy sufficiently close, and the men will begin picking the wretches off. I say, look; clumsy as the great craft seem, they come on very steadily and well. There is no confusion.

See what a line they keep of about a couple of hundred yards apart.

Their captains are not bad sailors after all."

"Yes, they come on slowly and surely," said Stan in a sombre tone.--"I wish I didn't feel so nervous."

"It's quite natural," said Blunt. "I feel just as bad as you."

"You do?" cried Stan, staring. "Nonsense!"

"Indeed I do," said Blunt. "I'm in what schoolboys call a regular stew.

Every one in the place feels the same, I'll venture to say. It's really quite natural; but as soon as the game begins--"

"Game!" cried Stan bitterly.

"Oh, very well; drama, if you like. I say as soon as it begins we shall all be too busy to feel fear, and be working away like Britons. Here, it's going to begin sooner than I expected. By your leave, as the porters say, I want a look through my gla.s.s. Yes," he continued as he carefully scanned the leading junk, "they've got a big bra.s.s swivel-gun there, and they're loading it. How's your rifle sighted now?"

"For two hundred yards."

"That will do nicely. You shall have a shot soon. But they're going to let us have it. Keep well in cover. I hope the lads are all doing the same."

"Yes, they're going to begin," said Stan excitedly. "Bravo, good eyes!

How do you know?"

"Because I can see a man going along the deck with something smoking."

"That's right. Yes: I can see it. It's the linstock or slow-match.

Keep under cover, for we shall have a hail of ragged bullets of all kinds directly. They've laid the gun, and the man is waiting to apply the match."

"Yes: I can see that too. Look out: here it comes. I saw the smoke seem to make a dart downwards."

"Quite right; and I can see with the gla.s.s that the burning end is resting on the touch-hole."

"But it doesn't go off," said Stan excitedly.

"No; the priming must have been knocked off, or be damp or badly made.

It's a failure, certainly. There! I wish you could see with the gla.s.s; it's all as clear as if it was close to us. One of the men close to the breech of the long piece is priming it again."

"I can't see that--only that the men are busy," said Stan as the great leading junk, with its leering eyes, glided onward till it was somewhere about a hundred and fifty yards from the wharf and being swept closer insh.o.r.e. "Now then," cried Stan; "look out!"

For he could just distinguish the downward movement of the smoking match, which was followed directly after by a couple of puffs of smoke, one small from the breech, the other large and spreading, followed by a bellowing roar, almost following a strange rattling and crash as of stones about the face and surface of the wharf. There was a dull pattering, too, over the head of the watchers, and dust and sc.r.a.ps of stones ran down the front of the building.

Stan made some remark, but it was drowned by a deafening roar--nothing to do with barbaric artillery, but coming from the throats of hundreds of men, beginning with those in the first junk, right along from those which followed, to the very last; and to make the sounds more ear-stunning, men began belabouring gongs in every junk with all their muscle brought to bear.

"Nice row that, Lynn," said the manager coolly. "Just shows what fools these barbarians are. Of course, you know why they beat these gongs?"

"To frighten us, I suppose," said Stan.

"That's it; and I don't feel a bit alarmed. Do you?"

"Pooh! No; but I did feel scared when the charge of that big swivel-gun came rattling about us."

"Yes, and with reason, too," said Blunt quietly. "Their ragged bits of lead and sc.r.a.ps of iron make horribly painful wounds. I don't want to get a touch of that sort of thing."

The moment the booming of the gongs ceased, Blunt drew back and shouted to know if any one had been hurt by the discharge of the great swivel; but though he waited and called again, he had good proof in the silence that no one was injured.

"Do you hear there?" he cried again. "Is any one--"

His words were drowned by a roar from the enemy's gun, almost accompanied by the snarl-like noise made by its great charge, which came hurtling against the chests and bales this time, though a good half spattered angrily over the front of the stones.

"We mustn't let them have it all their own way, Lynn, my lad, or they'll come on with a rush full of confidence and do too much mischief. Now then, the distance is easy. Look yonder in the front of the junk: what can you see?"

"Two men pulling out the rammer of the long swivel-gun, and another pointing it, as it seems to me, exactly at this loophole."

"I don't believe he is, my lad, but it looks like it."

"Now he's taking the--linstock--don't you call it?--from the man who is holding it, and is going to fire."

"Don't let him," said Blunt sharply. "Take aim. Ready? Fire!"

In obedience to his companion's orders, Stan had dropped on one knee, taken a long and careful aim, and then drew trigger.

For a few moments the soft grey smoke hung before the lad's eyes and hid what was going on; but he did not waste time. Throwing out the empty cartridge, he began to fit in another, and as with trembling fingers he reclosed the breech he whispered sharply: