“Ready?” said Uncle Jeff, staring. “Of course not.”
“Then they’ll be of no use to us this time.”
“Is anything the matter, Mr Blunt?” said Stan, whose late experiences had made him ready to take alarm.
“Yes, Lynn; a tea-grower from up-country has come down to warn me that some junks have been prepared, filled with men, and are coming down the river again.”
“A false alarm, perhaps.”
“No; I have too much faith in my informant, one of those with whom I have done most business since I have been here. He tells me that he had a hint that the pirates were on the way again so as to have revenge for their late defeat, and he came across country to warn me.”
“Then we can’t be ready for them this time, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff. “Never mind; put your paper away, and we’ll prepare for our visitors. We’ll take it out again and finish it when they have gone.”
The evil news was unexpected; there had been no warning giving time for preparation, and upon further inquiry it proved that the enemy were not coming slowly down the river, plundering villages on their way, but were making straight for the hong, bent upon revenge.
Every one there felt this, and knowing full well the mercilessness of the foe, all set to work in desperate earnest. There was no time for building up the outwork of chests and bales, but Stan declared that to be of no consequence, for all it did on the last occasion was to delay the enemy for a while, and when they did make a rush it did more harm than good, as it provided shelter for the attacking party, close up to the warehouse, from which they could assail in security, as well as supplying a platform from which to hurl the stink-pots.
“But it must have been a splendid place from which to fire,” said Uncle Jeff.