It Could Have Been Heard a Mile Away.
Bim! bam! whang! After a full minute of it Seaman Henshaw looked as if he were still enjoying his task. Several of the men in the waiting column had grounded their rifle butts that they might hold at least one hand to an ear to shut out the din.
On the wall overhead the Chinese sentries moved uneasily away from close quarters.
Crash! zam! bing! That gong rang forth as, it is safe to say, it had not done before in centuries, for Henshaw was a young giant and proud of his muscle and endurance.
Zim! zim! zam! The racket was more than ears could endure for a long stretch.
At about the end of the third minute the double gates were thrown suddenly open. In the open gateway stood at least a score of armed soldiers, at their head a young Chinaman, tall, well-dressed and of rather commanding appearance.
Instantly Ensign Darrin pressed Henshaw’s unemployed arm. With a final crash the pounding of the gong died out.
“His excellency, the governor, demands to know why this din is being made at this gate,” declared the tall young Chinaman, in a haughty voice, but in excellent English.