Chapter Thirty Seven.
“But we weren’t beaten.”
Stan looked round, and the man at whom he had aimed escaped.
“What’s that?” he shouted as he looked for the crumbling down of the walls.
The answer to his question came in the shrill, piping voice of Wing:
“Um t’inkee gleat Englis’ man-o’-wa come ’long.”
The Chinaman spoke as he rushed away across the wide floor, to begin climbing the narrow ladder on one side—the steps leading to the roof and the trap-door through which he had passed to play the part of lookout.
“Oh, impossible!” cried Uncle Jeff hoarsely.—“Don’t believe him, Stan, boy; it’s too good to be true.”
Boom! thud! and a sound like a crash, followed by a cessation of the yelling for a perceptible space, and then a peculiar murmuring, with the enemy outside becoming wildly excited, and then as if by one volition swarming for the edge of the wharf.