There seemed to be nothing left but ignominious surrender, when the idea occurred to Stan which enabled his party to turn the tables. It was merely to catch the ready-made balls of snow and return them instantly to the throwers. And with this memory coming to him in the emergency, just when the stink-pots were coming thickest and the doors below threatened to give way to the battering and hacking they received from the furious party beneath the windows, Stan brought his coolies together and gave his orders, which were to raise the blazing pots with crowbars and carry them to the openings over the threatened doors, after the barricading bales had been dragged away; and then, just when the attack was at its worst, two half-dozens of the blazing grenades were quietly dropped at once amongst the constituents of the Chinese forlorn-hope.
The effect was as instantaneous as it was horrible. Several of the men at each door were splashed with the burning resinous material, while one or two were in an instant blazing. There was a wild yelling of pain and despair, and, as much to avoid their fellows as the missiles flung after them, the whole of the attacking party took to flight to gain the other side of the wall, such of them as were burning making for the river.
This stopped the assault upon the doors, but only increased the fury of the enemy’s firing from their shelters, while more blazing pots were being brought rapidly down from the junks, to be handed up to the throwers and then hurled in as before.
“Never mind,” shouted Stan; “we’ve checked them a bit. Fire away at the men who bring the stink-pots.—Eh—what? Getting to the last cartridges? Plenty more.—Here, Mr Lawrence,” he continued, turning to his lieutenant; “there’s a whole case in the magazine; fetch them up.”
“Is the trap-door locked?” said the man thoughtfully.
“No—only shut down. Quick! We must not slacken our fire now.”
Lawrence placed his rifle against the breastwork from behind which he had been bringing down enemy after enemy, ran along the great store floor, and narrowly escaped being hit by one of the fiery missiles which came flying in; but he reached the broad stairway in safety, plunged down, and returned in a marvellously short space of time with an open case of ammunition in his hands.
“Here, cartridges—cartridges!” shouted two of his fellows as he hurried by where they were firing; but he paid no heed to their cries, trotting on to where Stan was as busy as the rest, and with a fierce growl banged the case at his feet.
“Well done!” shouted Stan. “Quick! Hand the packets round. What!” he cried. “Dripping wet?”