“Poor old Wing must have taken fright at nothing at all,” said Stan to himself; and with the terrors of the night seeming to have passed away like a dream, he visited his posts and chatted with the men, joining in the general anxiety whose subject was common to all – namely, how long would it be to breakfast, and would a good, hearty one be spread?
In due time the party were relieved by a couple of men who were sent up with glasses to the roof of the warehouse, after being duly cautioned not to meet with such a fate as that of poor Wing; and as soon as they were stationed Blunt made his appearance, looking eager, refreshed, and ready for anything that might come.
He greeted Stan warmly, and they went together to see how Wing was, the injured man having been fast asleep when Blunt arose.
“Well,” said the latter, as they found him now awake, “how are the broken pieces?”
“Allee quite wellee,” said the man, with a broad smile. “Wing going get up to bleakfas’.”
“That’s good news,” said Stan. “Shall I help you?”
“Help? No; Wing get up all ’lone.”
He tried to rise as he spoke, smiling the while, but his whole aspect changed, his face wrinkling up like that of an old man, as he sank back groaning with pain.
“Muchee achee all oveh,” he said piteously. “T’ink all bleaky af’ all.”
“Oh no,” said Blunt, smiling. “You’re stiff and bruised, and naturally you’ll feel pain as soon as you move; but do you know what you’ve done, sir?”
“Yes; fallee down. Almos’ bleak all to piecee.”
“No, no; I mean, giving us all such a scare. Where are your Chinese pirates?”
“Allee up livah. Long way.”
“Yes; and a very long way, too. They won’t come to attack us.”
“You t’inkee?” said Wing softly. “Ah! you wait lil bit, you see. Wing see velly hollible t’ing. Pilate fight, kill. Suah come soon.”
“Why are you sure?” said Blunt quickly.
“Pilate in junk. Come flom up livah. Mus’ come pas’ Lynn Blothee hong. No othey way.”
“Unless they go back,” said Blunt. “Well, we shall soon see. Can you eat some breakfast?”
“Wing velly ’ungly, sah. Quite empty. No eat nothing allee day yes’day.”
“Hungry – eh? That’s a capital sign. Well, you lie still for a day or two, and your stiffness and pain will soon go off.”
“No wantee Wing come fightee?”
“No; we can kill all the pirates who are likely to come.”
Wing smiled very feebly, and then winced, for in making a deprecating movement with his hands he brought bruised muscles of his back into play, giving himself an agonising pain.
“That’s his conscience pricking him for deceiving us about the attack, Lynn,” said Blunt dryly. “There! let’s see if this coffee is hot. – You, Wing; we’ll send you something to eat. And you understand, you are to lie still. Oh, here comes some one to say breakfast’s ready. I told them to set it in the long store.”
For as he was addressing Wing one of the Chinese servants hurried in to say that all was waiting.
“We must drop ceremony now, Lynn, and feed together, coolies and all. Be thankful to get anything at all under the circumstances. It isn’t a scare. The enemy are on the way.”
“What! you’ve seen them?”
“No; but I’ve seen that Wing’s tale is true, for not a boat has come down here with provisions this morning. Things are all wrong up-river or we should have had boats with vegetables, fruit, fish, poultry, butter, milk, and bread, while now – ”
Bang!
Chapter Twenty Four
“Dutch Courage.”
It was the report of a rifle in the clear morning air, fired from the warehouse gable occupied by the two lookout men.
“The pilates!” shouted Wing exultantly.
“It’s our breakfast knocked over, Lynn,” cried Blunt. “Come along, lad.”
He led the way out at the double, and the next minute was hailing the men on the roof.
“See them coming?” he shouted, with his hand to the side of his mouth.
“Yes, sir; half-a-dozen big junks yonder, right across the land there, in the second great bend of the river, I think.”
“Miles away, then?”
“Yes, sir; four or five.”
“Then the wind will be sometimes with them, sometimes against. That’s good news, Lynn; we shall be able to have our breakfast in peace, and digest it in war. Come along in.”
“Oh, I couldn’t eat now!” cried Stan excitedly, for his heart was giving big thumps as he gazed right away overland towards where the river curved round the end of a mountain-spur.
“I thought you meant to help us to beat the enemy off.”
“Of course I do,” cried Stan.
“Well, a steam-engine won’t work without coal, and a human being can’t fight unless you feed him. Come! no nonsense. All our preparations were made yesterday, so we’ve nothing to do but man our works.”
“So as to be ready?” panted Stan, whose breath came short from excitement.
“We don’t want to be ready two hours too soon, and tire the men out with anxious watching before the enemy come near. We’re going to have a regular good hearty meal to put strength and courage into us.”
“Dutch courage,” said Stan rather contemptuously.
“Can’t be Dutch courage, because we are all English who are not Chinese. But that’s a stupid old expression, my lad, meaning, of course, that the Dutch are cowardly. Now, I don’t know much about history, but whenever I’ve read anything about the Dutch in war, it has gone to prove that the Hollanders are a thoroughly sturdy, brave, and obstinate set of men. There! don’t get in a nervous state of flurry; it will spoil your shooting, and I shall want you to fire steadily and well. Why, you don’t want to go into action with your veins jumping and your nerves all of a slack quiver.”
“Of course not,” said Stan huskily.
“That’s right. You want every string screwed up tight and in the best of tune, so that you can play an air that will make the savage scoundrels dance a figure that is quite new to them. Eh?”
“Yes, that’s what I want to do,” said Stan; “but – ”
“Never mind the butting; leave that to the pirates. Let them come and butt their heads against our wharf. Here, I’m captain of the good ship Lynn Brothers, and you’re only lieutenant, so obey orders. – It’s all right, gentlemen,” he continued coolly and pleasantly the next moment to the little crowd of his people who had hurried out and were waiting for their orders; “the enemy are coming, just when it seemed as if, after all our preparations, they had got wind of what was waiting for them and had made up their minds to disappoint us.”
He was interrupted here by a loud cheer, in which the Chinese employees joined with a peculiar yell, which did not improve the heartiness of the cheer, but gave it a fierce, rasping, savage tone.
But it evidently meant business, all the same, and altogether seemed to thrill Stan from top to toe and make him feel, as he put it to himself, in better heart.
“That sounds right,” said Blunt as the cheers died out into what was a series of vocal Chinese exclamations. “Now listen; we’ve got a sharp fight before us, in which we are going to show those savage scoundrels that they have made the greatest mistake they ever made in their lives.”
There was another cheer at this, one in which Stan found himself joining and waving his cap, just as if it were at home and the cheering had something to do with a football victory.
“Now,” continued Blunt, “I reckon that we have two hours of waiting to do before the music begins to play, so we’ll spend part of the time in enjoying the breakfast I have ordered to be ready for every one here. In the name, then, of our employers’ son and nephew, I ask you to come and breakfast with him – all but you two gentlemen up yonder. You must stay and continue your lookout, but my Chinese servants will bring you up all you want.”
There was another cheer at this – one that threatened to be terribly prolonged – but Blunt held up his hand.
“That will do for the present; keep the rest of the shouts till we have driven off the enemy. Now then, pile arms and file in to breakfast. No ceremony; we must all be equal over this meal, as we shall be when we are fighting the enemy.”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” came in chorus, and the men began to flock in.
“Stop a minute,” cried Stan excitedly, catching at his captain’s arm.
“What is it?”
“The men on the roof want to say something.”
“Do they? – Ahoy, there! What is it?”
“Can’t we have a big bamboo up here, sir?” said the clerk who had been waiting to speak.
“A big bamboo?” cried Blunt. “Do you want to bastinado your comrade?”
“No, no, sir. One of the biggest down yonder in the yard. If you sent us up a rope, sir, we could haul the great pole up and lash it to this chimney-stack. We feel as if we ought to have a Union-jack hoisted up here.”
“Why, of course,” cried Stan excitedly.
“Yes – of course,” cried Blunt. “I’m glad you mentioned it. I never thought of that. But there’s plenty of time. Breakfast first, and the flag afterwards. Come along, Lynn.”
“Oh, don’t – pray don’t take things so coolly,” whispered Stan as they climbed in over the tea-chest wall.
“Why not? We must be cool, my lad, if we wish to win.”
“Yes; I suppose so. But hadn’t we better get the flag up first, and then it will be done?”
“No,” said Blunt shortly. “I’m not going to do anything till all our men have had a good meal. I’m not going to drive my team till every horse has had his corn, so in with you.”
“I suppose he’s right,” thought Stan; “but I couldn’t take matters like that with the enemy coming slowly and surely on.”
Right or wrong, Blunt took the head of the table, and made ready for Stan to sit on his right. Directly after the rattle of knives and forks began, the Chinese servants placed great steaming mugs of coffee at every man’s side, and the thick slices of bread-and-butter which kept coming in relays seemed to melt off the dishes as if they were a confection of ice, while the tall coffee-urns ran more and more dry, till there was a general falling-off in the demands for more, and the manager’s stores had shrunk to the lowest ebb.
“Now then,” he cried suddenly, rising and beating the side of his coffee-mug with a spoon, “there’s plenty of time, so file off quietly; but every man will now take his place. All of you remember this, however – that Mr Lynn and I want prudence, not rashness. When the firing begins every man is to make as much use as he can of his shelter. Some of us must be hit, but the fewer the better.”
There was a cheer at this.
“No more cheering,” cried Blunt firmly. “This is business, not pleasure. Now, one more thing I want you all to remember. When you aim at a man and draw trigger, it is not for the sake of making a noise, but for every one to prove his marksmanship and get rid of one enemy. That is all; now in silence, please, every man to his appointed station.”
The men, Europeans and Asiatics, filed out quietly, each man taking his rifle from where he had leaned it against the wall, and Stan turned to Blunt’s chief servant.
“Have you taken breakfast to Mr Wing?” he said.
The man smiled and nodded.
“Did he eat it?”
“Yes; eat and dlink muchee,” replied the man, with a broad smile, just as Blunt turned to the lad.
“I’ve got a flag about as big as a moderate tablecloth,” he said. “We’ll send that up to the roof by one of the stoutest Chinamen, along with a rope. Come and let us make two of the others pick out a large bamboo.”
This was all quickly done. The rope was lowered from where the two sentries and the sturdy picked Chinaman were standing by the chimney-stack, and directly after a stout twenty-foot pole was made fast, hauled up, and the flag secured to the end; and as there were no halyards attached, it was raised against the chimney-stack and secured by the big Chinaman, the rope having been cut in half so as to lash the bamboo in two places, and wedges driven in afterwards to tighten the rope to the greatest extent.
Another cheer which arose was not checked, for it was when the light morning breeze made the folds open out to float well over the centre of the big building, even Blunt and Stan joining in the salute of the flag whose united crosses seemed to promise victory for the brave defenders of the solitary hong.
“That’s a good job done, Lynn,” said Blunt; “and I’m very glad it was suggested. The men will fight all the better for it. I almost feel as if I shall.”
“Yes; it seems to put courage and confidence into one,” said the lad warmly; and then he coloured a little, for it seemed to him just then, as he met his leader’s eye, that Blunt was watching in a curiously inquiring way, looking, Stan thought, as if he felt a good deal of doubt as to how the lad was going to behave.
And all this time the great junks came slowly and steadily on, growing more and more distinct from the defences, but still seeming as if they were sailing right through the waving fields of growing grain.
Blunt had his glass in hand now where he stood in the little bale-made bastion, and after a good look he handed it to his companion.
“Have a good squint, my lad,” he said. “I make it that it will be quite half-an-hour before the leading junk comes round the bend into the straight part of the river, and even then it will take another half-hour before they have run down to us.”
“Yes; I can see the matting sails very clearly now,” said Stan after a good look, “but the hulls are quite hidden by the fields.”
“Yes, and will be till they reach the straight reach of the river. But I expect they are all crammed with men. How many junks can you make out?”
“Six,” said Stan.
“Yes, that is what I saw. Now let us have a quiet walk round amongst the men and see if anything is needed to better the defence.”
Stan followed his leader, whose first examination was of the two doorways through which the defenders must pass when they gave up or were driven from their fragile wall.
Everything was as it should be; the doors were wide-open, but ready for closing, and half-a-dozen short, stout pieces of plank were standing in sight, waiting for placing and securing inside the door after it was closed. Even the holes were made ready for the insertion of big screws instead of nails, and all was in charge of two Chinese carpenters, with assistants ready to hold the plank while it was being screwed tightly to the door-posts.
Both doors were in the same state of preparation, and Blunt nodded his satisfaction.
“Capital,” he cried.
“If the men are not scared away by a rush of the enemy,” said Stan thoughtfully.
“That we must chance,” said Blunt. “But I do not think we shall be troubled that way, for the men who are retiring from the wall must keep the enemy in check. I propose being at the farther door: do you feel as if you could stand your ground with some of the men to hold this door till all is safe?”
“I haven’t much confidence in myself,” said Stan rather excitedly, “but I will try my best.”
“You can’t do better,” replied Blunt quietly.
“You see, I am not a man,” added Stan.
“No, not in years; but you can try to act like one.”
“Yes, I’ll do that,” said Stan.
“And here’s a bit of encouragement for you. I shall have four of our best fellows at each of the windows over these two doors. They’ll keep up such a rifle-rattle as is bound to check the Chinamen for a bit, besides which the men with you will keep on shooting till the last board is in its place.”
“And what about fire?”
“Ah! that’s the weak spot, my lad,” said Blunt, with a sigh. “They may not think of burning us out, but if they do – well, we have our supply of water and the buckets all ready. We can do no more. If they do start a blaze we must put it out. That is all that need be said: must put it out; and we will.”
A look round on the first floor showed everything ready for the defence that could be devised, and after inspecting this, with the open windows and breastworks ready for firing over, Blunt descended with his young lieutenant to inspect the cartridge supplies, one of the most trusted clerks being in charge of these. And then, to Stan’s intense satisfaction, for he had long been all of a fret, Blunt led the way out to the wharf, where the lad started in wonder, if not in alarm, to see the progress the junks had made: for there they were, six in all, well in the strait, and sailing steadily down like gigantic, great-eyed water-dragons making for the victims it was their mission to destroy.
For clearly enough now, as they were seen end-on by the watchers, each displayed on either bow a huge, grotesque, but cleverly painted eye, giving them the aspect of fabled monsters of the deep which had risen to the surface in search of prey, and were now leering with malicious satisfaction as they glided on.
Chapter Twenty Five
“Kill allee Pilate.”
“This will be your station, Lynn,” said Blunt as they passed along inside the thickest wall till they reached the bale bastion, where the manager halted. “You take that wide loophole shelter yourself at the side; there’s a capital place for resting your rifle, and with such a steady support, and as you will be able to cover so wide a sweep of the enemy’s advance, I shall expect you to make a good score.”
“A good score!” said Stan in a tone of voice full of disgust. “Any one would think I was going to shoot at a target.”
“At a good many targets,” said Blunt.
“Yes, human beings. You don’t really mean to say you want me to kill as many of those unfortunate wretches as I can?”
“Unfortunate? They haven’t proved to be unfortunate until they are badly beaten. Yes, that is what I mean. I want you to kill or disable every one of the enemy at whom you can get a shot.”
“And do you think I could be so bloodthirsty?”
“I think you know us all pretty well here, and would be sorry to see us cut to pieces by a set of savages who are coming down in full force to the attack.”
“Cut to pieces!” said Stan contemptuously.
“Yes,” continued Blunt sternly; “cut to pieces – literally. I am making use of no high-flown figure of speech. I know from what I have heard and seen that these piratical Chinamen, after shooting down the people they attack, finish by spearing or beheading every fallen man; and then the braves, as they call themselves, go round with their big razor-edged swords and hack their victims to pieces.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Stan, with a shudder of horror.
“I think you will see that it is better for you to help us to the best of your ability with your rifle and bring down as many as possible. Mercy is a fine thing, and I dare say I should be content with taking a man prisoner who dropped upon his knees and threw down his arms; but Chinese pirates neither drop upon their knees nor throw down their arms. Now look here, my lad; you are young and naturally shrink from shedding blood, but this is no time for being squeamish. You are not going to fight against ordinary human beings, but against a set of fiends who live by robbery and the murder of their victims – men, women, and innocent children.”
Stan was silent for a few moments, and in that short period his face grew so lined that he looked years older.
“Is this perfectly true, Mr Blunt?” he said at last in a husky voice that did not sound like his own.
“On my word as a man who is about to stand up and face death, and may before an hour is over be lying on his back with his dead eyes gazing straight up beyond the clouds. You hear me?”
“Yes,” said Stan firmly.
“And you’ll do your best for the sake of those who would be ready to encourage you if they were here, for our sake, and for your own?”
“Yes, I’m quite ready now,” replied Stan firmly.
“That’s right. Then shake hands, my lad.”
“What for?” asked Stan.
“Because,” was the reply, given in a grave, solemn tone, “we may never have the chance again.”
“You think it is as bad as that?”
“Quite,” was the reply as hand pressed hand. “There! we shall be at it soon, and I’m sorry, Lynn. When you first came I thought I should always detest you as a young meddler sent here to be in my way.”
“But you don’t think so now?” said Stan, smiling.
“Quite the contrary, my lad. There! we’ve talked enough. Only one word or so more. Keep cool, load steadily, and fire only when you feel sure of your man. Never hurry. Recollect that one carefully taken shot is worth a score of bad ones, which mean so much waste of ammunition. There! I’m off now to talk to the rest. I’ll come and be with you as much as I can.”
“Thank you; but I can see what you have done. You’ve put me in one of the best-sheltered places, and you are going to expose yourself in the most dangerous.”
“You are only partly right, my lad. I have not put you in one of the best-sheltered places, but I am going to expose myself in one of the worst as much as I can, and that is here – the place where I have stationed you.”
Stan’s next words slipped out unconsciously:
“Why have you put me in the most risky place?”
“Because I saw that you liked shooting since you brought your gun and revolver, and I gathered so, too, from your conversation and the way in which you handled that rifle. Now are you satisfied?”
Stan nodded, and the next minute he was alone, but with men at all the loopholes near.
As soon as he was left to himself a peculiar chill came creeping over him. Blunt’s words seemed to be ringing in his ears about being face to face with death, and in imagination he pictured the aspect of his newly made friend lying stark and stiff gazing up into the skies. He would have given anything in those brief minutes to have seen him come back, not to act as a shield from the firing too soon to begin, but so as to have his companionship; for, near though the others were, the little bastion seemed to be horribly lonely, and the silence about the great warehouse too oppressive to bear.
But as the boy – for he was a mere boy after all – stood at the opening with his hand grasping the barrel of the rifle whose butt rested between his feet, and gazing out at the glittering river, his image-forming thoughts became blurred; the figure of Blunt passed away, and another picture formed itself upon the retina of his eyes. There before him were the smoking ruins of a native village, and, so horribly distinct that he shuddered and turned cold again, there lay in all directions and attitudes the slaughtered victims of the pirates’ attack, and all so ghastly that the lad uttered a peculiar sibilant sound as he sharply drew in his breath between his teeth.
The next instant the chill of horror had been swept away with the imaginary picture – imaginary, but too often real in a country where the teeming population hold human life to be cheap as the dirt beneath their feet – and Stan, with his brows knit, was carefully cocking and uncocking his rifle to see if the mechanism worked accurately, before throwing open the breech to take out and replace the cartridge, when he closed it smartly and looked out at the coming junks, which glided nearer and nearer like fate.
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 passed 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 glass. Yes,” he continued as he carefully scanned the leading junk, “they’ve got a big brass 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 glass 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 glass; 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 inshore. “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 scraps 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 scraps 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.