The boys closed the door, and the owner piled some boxes and other goods against it; but there was no fastening up the window, for the fastenings were outside.
"Come upstairs," the man said, and the lads followed him to the floor above.
The battle was still raging in the street. Groups of Greeks and Italians stood together, defending themselves with their knives from the heavy sticks of their assailants, but were being fast beaten down. The shrieks of women rose loud above the shouting of the combatants, while from the upper windows the cracks of revolvers sounded out as the Greek, Maltese, and Italian shopkeepers who had not sallied out into the streets tried to aid their comrades below.
"Now, have you got any arms you can give us?" Tucker asked. "This looks like a regular rising of the natives. They would never all have their sticks handy if they hadn't prepared for it."
"There are some long knives in that cupboard," the man said, "and there is another pistol my brother Antonio has got. He is sick in bed."
Just at this moment the door opened and another Italian came in in trousers and shirt.
"The natives have risen and are massacring all the Europeans."
The sick man made his way to the window.
"I am not surprised," he said, as he discharged his pistol and brought down a native who was in the act of battering in the head of a fallen man. "You said only yesterday, you thought there was mischief brewing—that the natives were surly and insolent; but I did not think they would dare to do this."