'No, no!' the big Chinaman exclaimed. 'You no speak allee same one face. To-mollow you say half chop-chop. Me takee ship, an' go allee same China. Savvee? Me chop you head off now. Me plenty gun, an' shoot foreign devil.'
'S'pose you fire, me kill you,' the old man replied. 'Give me your guns, and I takee you allee same San Francisco.'
'Me no go dere. Plenty chop-chop when you dead. Savvee?'
'You scoundrel, I'll have the lot of you tried at San Francisco!' Captain Thorne cried.
'Let us give the ruffians a volley, and have done with it!' Mr. Sennit exclaimed, furious at the loss of his men. 'That fellow is trying to bluff you.'
'Very likely,' the old man returned; 'but I'm not to be caught that way. I feel our loss as keenly as anyone, but want to show later on that every possible means of quelling the outbreak was taken before a shot was fired.'
'You are right, sir,' the mate said.
A final appeal to surrender and return below was howled down by the mob.
With fearful cries they flung themselves on the stockade. Captain Thorne, in the hope of easing the pressure on it, ordered some of his men to thrust between the bars the long spears captured from the savages in Torres Strait, and although Mr. Sennit strongly advised the immediate adoption of sterner measures, the old man would not allow a shot to be fired.
'Let them do that first,' he said.