“Yes; and throw the bales down the staircase. It will block the way,” cried Blunt.
The men cheered, and worked with all their might, bale after bale being tossed into the wide opening and filling it up so that the great draught of heat was checked and the place rendered more bearable as the flame and smoke ceased to rush up as if through some great flue.
This done, Blunt gave a fresh order, and the party began to drop one after another through the window, those behind covering them with their rifles in case of an attack.
But the precaution was needless, for the enemy had but one aim now—to get all on board their vessels, cast them off from the wharf, and make sail.
Hence it was that the defenders reached the outside of the burning hong uninterrupted, and while the pirates were busy their intended victims followed the whistle once more, being led by Blunt and Uncle Jeff round to the broken-down window at the back which the enemy had forced.
Here Blunt leapt in, followed by Stan and Uncle Jeff, marshalling his men for that which he had in view—the saving of the great warehouse before it was too late.
Lucky it was that such precautions against fire had been taken and the coolies and warehousemen were so drilled.
For there was only the smoke to fear now. The great casks stood full, and the buckets ready to be seized and passed along to Uncle Jeff and Lawrence, who, all soiled like the rest, and half-suffocated, sent the water streaming over the parts where the fire was eating its way along the woodwork and up the stairs, till in ten minutes flames and sparks began to give place to smoke and steam to such an extent that it was safe for some of the clerks to assist the carpenters, who, by Blunt’s orders, began to tear down the planks over the windows and let in air that could be breathed.
It was none too soon, for even Uncle Jeff of the mighty muscles began to feel that he must crawl out or stifle, while as the first puff of wholesome air rushed in Lawrence dropped, and he was being raised to be carried out into the open air, but began to struggle and make signs that he should be set down. Five minutes later he was vigorously swinging a bucket again.
“Hurrah, Stan!” shouted Uncle Jeff at last. “There’s nothing more to fear.—Do you see, Blunt? A splash here and a splash there. Keep the coolies at it and the mischief will not be so bad after all. Here, I must see what they’re doing outside.”