“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?”