“And fight?”
“As well as I can,” said Stan rather sadly; “but I don’t think I shall—”
He got no farther, for his words were drowned by a loud cheer given heartily by the little band of European employees; while the strong gang of sturdy coolies and native workpeople, taking it for granted that they ought to follow their white fellow-workers’ example, cheered lustily as well.
“Do I understand you to mean that you will stop with us and fight it out?” said Blunt.
“Yes.”
“Don’t be deceived. Do you understand the danger?”
“I think I do.”
“You don’t, my lad, and I will not keep it back from you. Fight with Europeans, and if you are beaten you are taken prisoners; fight with the lower order Chinese, and you will have a set-to with some of the most savagely unmerciful people on the face of the earth. You had better think again. It may mean lying wounded and seeing the flames creeping towards you while you can’t raise hand or foot to get away.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mr Blunt, please,” cried the lad, “or you’ll make me a greater coward than I feel I am.”
“I want you to know what you may expect to meet,” said the manager coldly.