Meanwhile, in spite of the nerve-shattering discharges whenever the swivel-guns were fired, Stan’s followers kept up their slow, steady, irregular reply. Sometimes minutes passed without a rifle being fired, for want of what was looked upon as a good opportunity; and then shot after shot would snap out from one or another window, giving the enemy the work of carrying off as many dead or disabled men.
Again and again Stan deluded himself into the belief, caused by the cessation of the firing, that the enemy were once more out of heart; but the pauses proved to be only due to the failure of ammunition or a difficulty in bringing up the lighted match, and the firing recommenced, and more gunners were in retaliation shot down.
“At last!” cried Stan exultantly, after the hottest passage of the attack yet endured, when all at once the firing ceased. “Look! they’ve had some accident; that big junk is on fire.”
He pointed needlessly to a great body of smoke which seemed to be rising amidships of the first-coming junk but the last to be moored.
“Yes, there’s something wrong there,” said his lieutenant excitedly. “No, no, no! Look out! Here they come.”
To a man the defenders drew a deep breath, and their hands went to their bandoliers to feel for cartridges. For it was plain enough: discouraged but enraged by the ill-success of their firing, the Chinese leaders had given their orders to their men, who needed no inciting, but began pouring over the sides of the vessels again, many of them bearing their abominable fire-pots, of which a number had been made ready in the hold of one of the junks; and, without leaders or any formation beyond that of a yelling, surging crowd, the enemy began running up to the hong to gain the shelter of the wall of chests.
Here there was a halt for a few seconds till the front wall was crowded, while not a shot was fired by the defenders, who, in full expectation of what was coming, had seen their young leader order up two-thirds of the coolies, one half to deal with the fire-pots, and return them blazing amongst the enemy, and the other to be ready with buckets and bales to smother out any fire which might arise.
The smoke of the pots was rising in a cloud, from the front of the wall, and though they could not see, the defenders surmised correctly enough that the bearers of the direful missiles were swinging them in the air to get them into a high state of combustion before beginning the assault; and all waited with knitted brows, wondering how long it would be before the bewildering roar of the gongs began again, for the delay seemed, in their over-excited state, to be long and strange.
Just when the excitement of waiting was becoming unbearable, there was a diversion, the quaint-looking, pig-tailed head of Wing rising slowly from the stairway, followed by the rest of him, and he began to limp painfully towards where Stan crouched rifle in hand, with its deadly charge waiting to bring down the first prominent leader upon whom he could bring the sight to bear.
He was about the only one of the defenders who did not see the coming of Wing, and he started as he felt the man’s soft fingers touch his arm.