Chapter Twenty.
“Now then, Cartridges!”
There was an end to peaceful mercantile pursuits at the great warehouse and wharf, and all was hurry and bustle, but with little confusion, for Blunt had suddenly become military in his orders and issue of directions; while, full of excitement now, Stan dashed at the task in hand, proving himself a worthy lieutenant to the fighting manager. The men began busily handling boxes and bales, and at first sight it seemed as if they were preparing to load a trading-junk with the contents of the storehouse, so actively were they engaged in bearing out silk-bales and tea-chests; but the pleasant herb which cheers but does not inebriate was to be put to a very different purpose.
“You take that job in hand, Lynn,” cried Blunt, “and make the fellows plant the chests down right along the front, just as if you were building a wall of blocks of stone; but after the second row is placed, leave a loophole between every second and third chest so that we can fire through, while I set to work and make a breastwork with the silk-bales at every door and window. No bullets or shot that the enemy can fire will go through the soft, elastic silk.—Work away, my lads.”
Englishmen and Chinamen cheered together, and worked with might and main, every one feeling that it was a race against time, but growing lighter-hearted as they went on, the materials being so close at hand; and as they were brought down from above or taken from the huge stacks on the ground-floor, they were rapidly formed outside into a light but strong loopholed wall extending along the wharf and facing the sea. One easy enough to tear down, no doubt, if the enemy determinedly faced the storm of bullets poured upon them from the loopholes, but good enough to protect the defenders and keep the assailants in check for a time; while, when it began to yield, the besieged party had only to rush into the warehouse offices and dwelling, close and barricade the doors, to help to defend what formed the keep or stronghold of the mercantile fort, and continue the firing from behind the silk-bales advantageously placed as breastworks behind the first-floor windows, where they could fire down upon any of the pirates who tried to shelter themselves behind the tea-chest wall.
It was wonderful with what rapidity the wall and breastworks rose, while the Chinese carpenters, whose general work was the making of the chests, sawed and hammered away, barricading the lower windows, and placing planks ready for closing up the two doors that were left for temporary use.
“They’ll never get past the chest wall,” panted Stan excitedly as Blunt came down from where he had been showing his men how to wedge the silk-bales together so as to stand tightly in the windows.
“Don’t you be too sure, my boy,” said Blunt. “They are regular fiends, these half-wild Chinamen, and they’ll come swarming over the wall like monkeys.”
“And I thought it so strong that nothing but fire would have any effect upon it,” said Stan gloomily.
“Fire would have hardly any effect upon it,” said Blunt, “unless there was a strong wind. The chests might burn, but the tea would only smoulder away.”
“I am disappointed,” said Stan, wrinkling up his forehead.
“Not a bit. I’m delighted with what you have done. It is strong, but a party of our sappers and miners would laugh at it all and say it was as weak as so much cobweb.”
“But I say, if they come, how will they attack?”
“Like civilised savages: pour in a hail of swivel-gun balls, scrap-iron, and pebbles from the junks till they land, and then come on with spears, pitchforks, tridents, and swords. Some of them will have long jingals—matchlocks, you know—and no doubt muskets and rifles as well. Then, too, I dare say they will bring plenty of stink-pots to throw—earthen jars full of burning pitch. We shall have a high old time of it, Stan, my lad, as soon as the fight begins.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Stan suddenly, with a look of dismay.
“Hullo!” cried Blunt, looking at his companion in a peculiar way. “Beginning to think it will be too much of a good thing?”
“No-o-o-o!” cried Stan angrily. “That I wasn’t. I was thinking of the stink-pots.”
“Well, of course they’ll stink, as ’tis their nature to,” said Blunt merrily.
“Of course they will; but burning pitch—it will stick.”
“Pitch has a habit of doing so, my son,” said Blunt mockingly.
“Oh, you don’t see what I mean,” cried Stan excitedly. “The warehouse—wood—they’ll set the whole place on fire and burn us out.”
Phee-ew!
Blunt gave forth a long-drawn whistle.
“By Saint Jingo, the great fighting-man,” he cried, “I never thought of that Stan Lynn, you’re a regular Todleben—a prince of engineering defence. Why, of course! They’d roast us out, and it would hurt horribly, without reckoning how they would poke us back with their tridents to go on cooking if we tried to run away.”
“You see now, then?” said Stan.
“See? Yes. I can almost feel. I am glad you thought of that. All right. We’ll have half-a-dozen casks in the middle of the big office, and I’ll set a line of men to work across the wharf with buckets to fill the casks from the river.”
“So as to nip any little fire in the bud?” cried Stan eagerly.
“I don’t see how you can nip a fire in the bud,” said Blunt, with sham seriousness.
“Oh yes, you can,” cried Stan laughingly. “Nip it in the bud before it blossoms out into a big blaze.”
“Good boy, Stan! But the old people ought to have called you Solomon. Come on; let’s get the men at work filling the water-casks, and then we’ll serve out the firearms.”
In very few minutes the empty casks were in place, and two lines of coolies at work dipping water from the edge of the wharf, passing it from hand to hand along one line to where it was emptied into the open casks, and sending the empty buckets back along the other line to be refilled.
“Goes like clockwork,” said Stan as he watched the men.
“Thanks to you, my lad,” said Blunt. “Now then, let us consult the oracle.”
“Eh?” asked Stan.
“Old Wing,” replied Blunt; and stepping outside, he hailed the Chinaman where he was perched upon the extremity of one gable, using the glass most energetically.
“Ahoy, there! Hullo, Wing!” shouted the manager. “How many junks can you see, and how many pirates in each?”
“No see not one yet while,” cried Wing, lowering his glass. “Velly, velly long time coming.”
“And a good job too, my man. Have you looked right out yonder where the river bends round?”
“Yes; Wing look evelywheh. No junk come yet.”
“That’s right. Keep on looking out.”
“You think junk full o’ pilate come now?”
“Of course I do. Didn’t you say they were coming?”
“Yes. Wing think allee junk come long ago.”
“Which means he is getting very tired of sitting perched up there,” said Stan, laughing.
“Yes; and we’re getting very tired of working down here, but it has to be done,” responded Blunt. Then aloud: “Never mind what you expected, Wing; keep a sharp lookout all round, and don’t miss the enemy unless you want to have a sharp something round your neck, and your head off before you know it.”
“Yes, Wing look all alound. No wantee head choppee off by pilate man.”
“That’s right,” said Blunt, turning away.—“Well, we are getting into a good state of defence even now, and of course we are bound to have a couple of hours’ notice, unless the enemy make their attack in the dark.”
“In the dark?” said Stan, whom the idea quite appalled.
“Yes; they may wait till dark, and then drop down slowly with the stream. It will be bad for us if they do, but we must take things as they come; but I should like it to be daylight for our job.”
Stan felt ready to shiver, but he suppressed it.
“You see it is of no use to be nice about this bit of business, my lad,” said Blunt gravely. “There’ll be no compunction on the part of the enemy. They’ll come on with the intention of massacring us all, and they’ll do it if they can.”
“But they can’t,” said Stan hoarsely.
“They shan’t,” said Blunt; “for, as I said, it will be no time for being nice. We’ve got to kill every one of the wretches if we can.”
“For the benefit of humanity,” said Stan eagerly.
“I suppose so, my lad, but principally for the benefit of ourselves. We want to live out our time, and we’ll do it too, so we must shoot them when the game begins. There! don’t let us talk about what may be; the pirates haven’t arrived yet. All we’ve got to do is to be ready for them if they do come.”
“Then you think that perhaps, after all, they may not attack us?”
“No, I don’t,” said Blunt in the roughest manner. “I trust Wing—as far as one can trust a Chinaman—but it is always on the cards that the scare is not so bad as he made out. Now then, let’s see about the shooting-tackle.”
Blunt led the way quickly, and with a decision in his step that showed how much he was in earnest, to the portion of the warehouse set apart for the arms-rack, chest, and the magazine.
“This is the sort of thing your people at Hai-Hai ought to set up,” said Blunt. “I hinted at it when I was over there, but your father said so plainly that he preferred to trust to the police there that I said no more, only made up my mind that, as we have no police or protection of any kind here, I was quite right in being prepared for the worst. What do you say?”
“I hate the idea of using such things,” said Stan gravely, “but it must be right here.”
“Of course; and you won’t mind using a rifle?”
“I shall mind very much,” replied Stan, “but I’m going to use one.”
“That’s right. Here we are,” said Blunt, unlocking and raising the trap-door in the floor by its ring, and descending half-a-dozen steps into a bricked-in place with something resembling a wine-bin of three shelves on one side, in which were stacked a few boxes not unlike cases of wine.
“Here! let’s have them out at once,” said Blunt, and he handed up to his young companion case after case.
“Set them on that big table,” he said. “Mind be careful. I don’t know whether if one were dropped the cartridges would explode, but I shouldn’t like to try it. There you are; two cases for the rifles, and one for the revolvers. We’ll leave the rest here, with the key in ready if wanted. Now for the tools themselves.”
He stepped out, closed the trap, and turned to the arms-rack.
“You, Stan, take to the arms-chest and open it ready. I’ll serve out the rifles; you do the same with the revolvers.—Hi, you!” was shouted to one of the clerks busy helping to pass out more tea-chests for the continuation of the wall-building; “pass the word for the men to come for their rifles.”
The order was given, and as the men filed up each received a Martini-Henry, bandolier, and revolver, afterwards proceeding to the big table to wait till the weapons were supplied to all who needed them.
“There you are,” said Blunt as the last one was supplied. “Splendid new weapons that shoot perfectly straight if you hold them so. Now then, cartridges!”
Packets of large and small cartridges were handed to the men for rifle and revolver, several of them receiving instructions how to fit the little rolls of powder and lead into the clips of the bandoliers, before they marched out, ready for the great emergency, keeping their weapons with them now as they went on with their several duties of finishing the defences.