We couldn't hear a single thing, and started out again. Then I ran into a tree, and the wet leaves and twigs scratched across the raw part of my face, and I let out a little "yelp", and we stopped to listen once more.
"We're too much to the right, sir," Miller whispered, and we both kept close together and moved towards the left.
We came on the wall all of a sudden, and felt that ledge. There still wasn't the least sound of anyone moving.
"You go that way, sir, and I'll go the other," Miller whispered, and left me, and I felt my way along towards where I thought the gateway must be. I felt any number of empty cartridge cases, and every now and again my fingers clutched a loaded one, and I slipped it into the bag; and I felt a rifle and was awfully pleased, and slung it round my neck—it was jolly difficult to do it with only one hand, and jolly uncomfortable too. Presently my foot hit up against some big wooden thing, and I knelt down and felt it, and thought it must be a part of the gateway, and that I must be right in the opening. That made me frightened, and I crept across and bumped into the other side of the door; it was simply swung back. I had kicked another rifle, but hadn't the pluck to go back and fetch it.
I just held on, trembling all over, and waited and listened, and then started again, following the door round till I got to the wall, and there, the first thing I felt, was a box on the ledge, right in the corner between the door and the wall. I felt it all over; it had a square hole in the top, and my hand went in and—oh! it was such a jolly feeling—it was nearly full of paper packets of ammunition.
It was too heavy to lift with my one hand, so I began to whistle very softly for Miller, and waited for him to come. I heard his whistle, but almost at the same moment I heard someone moving on the outside of the wall. I knew that it couldn't be Miller, and I do really believe that my hair stood on end with absolute funk. I couldn't have whistled again if I'd tried, and could not have run back to the house, however much I wanted to, because my feet wouldn't—absolutely wouldn't—move an inch.
There were more than one coming. There seemed to be a long string of them, and there was a funny rustling sound against the wall, as if they were carrying something soft, and they began coming round the doorway, some of them stepping on that rifle that I had kicked, but not picked up. The gate door was pushed back on me, and I squeezed myself into the corner against the ammunition box, and they began running past me, going along inside the wall—away from where Miller was. I could hear them breathing hard, and held my breath, till I thought I should burst, and thought they must hear my heart thumping—it was thumping away like anything. I'm not at all big, and I huddled down so close, that they went by without finding me, though once or twice something brushed my face, and knew by the touch and the smell of it that it was straw or hay, and that that was what had made that rustling sound.
I guessed directly what they were going to try to do—pile it up against the house and set fire to it.
I waited till the last one had gone, and then I managed to get to my feet, and heard Miller's whistle, very close, on the other side of that door, and that started my legs working, and I ran, stumbling, back to the house, with Miller after me. We bumped up against it; I don't remember getting inside, but only remember telling Mr. Ching everything, and that the Chinese seemed to be following the wall in order to get to the back of the house.
"The left side of the gate door doesn't seem to be damaged, sir," I told him; "they swung it back on me."