CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
"ONE CARTRIDGE LEFT."
There was no doubt about the matter, for as they were speaking a tinycurl of smoke began to rise from the middle of the group of busy men onthe nearest junk, and Stan's voice rose, sounding hoarse and deep:
"Begin firing again, slow and careful shots, at the men carrying thematches. Stop; I'll begin."
He took aim across the bale of silk behind which he was kneeling, and--though he did not see it, others did plainly--the linstock flew up,jerked from the holder's hand, described a curve, and fell overboard tobe extinguished.
There was a yell at this, and half-a-dozen men or so began dischargingtheir matchlocks at the window from which the accurate shot had come;while directly after there was a roar from another junk, whose men hadcharged their brass gun unseen, and the contents went crashing andspattering about the opening, making a great uproar, but doing verylittle harm.
It was a disillusionment for the defenders which roused them to afeeling of bitterness and nerved every one present with determination,and the duel between the junks and the _hong_ went on fiercely, but withno serious harm to the defenders. The attacking party, however,suffered terribly, man after man of the crews, if they can be so called,of the guns falling killed or wounded from the slow, steady, accuratefire which picked off with almost unerring precision those who loadedand those who fired the junks' artillery, till the pirates yelled withrage and fury, crowding over one another to take the disabled men'splaces.
Meanwhile, in spite of the nerve-shattering discharges whenever theswivel-guns were fired, Stan's followers kept up their slow, steady,irregular reply. Sometimes minutes passed without a rifle being fired,for want of what was looked upon as a good opportunity; and then shotafter shot would snap out from one or another window, giving the enemythe work of carrying off as many dead or disabled men.
Again and again Stan deluded himself into the belief, caused by thecessation of the firing, that the enemy were once more out of heart; butthe pauses proved to be only due to the failure of ammunition or adifficulty in bringing up the lighted match, and the firing recommenced,and more gunners were in retaliation shot down.
"At last!" cried Stan exultantly, after the hottest passage of theattack yet endured, when all at once the firing ceased. "Look! they'vehad some accident; that big junk is on fire."
He pointed needlessly to a great body of smoke which seemed to be risingamidships of the first-coming junk but the last to be moored.
"Yes, there's something wrong there," said his lieutenant excitedly."No, no, no! Look out! Here they come."
To a man the defenders drew a deep breath, and their hands went to theirbandoliers to feel for cartridges. For it was plain enough: discouragedbut enraged by the ill-success of their firing, the Chinese leaders hadgiven their orders to their men, who needed no inciting, but beganpouring over the sides of the vessels again, many of them bearing theirabominable fire-pots, of which a number had been made ready in the holdof one of the junks; and, without leaders or any formation beyond thatof a yelling, surging crowd, the enemy began running up to the _hong_ togain the shelter of the wall of chests.
Here there was a halt for a few seconds till the front wall was crowded,while not a shot was fired by the defenders, who, in full expectation ofwhat was coming, had seen their young leader order up two-thirds of thecoolies, one half to deal with the fire-pots, and return them blazingamongst the enemy, and the other to be ready with buckets and bales tosmother out any fire which might arise.
The smoke of the pots was rising in a cloud, from the front of the wall,and though they could not see, the defenders surmised correctly enoughthat the bearers of the direful missiles were swinging them in the airto get them into a high state of combustion before beginning theassault; and all waited with knitted brows, wondering how long it wouldbe before the bewildering roar of the gongs began again, for the delayseemed, in their over-excited state, to be long and strange.
Just when the excitement of waiting was becoming unbearable, there was adiversion, the quaint-looking, pig-tailed head of Wing rising slowlyfrom the stairway, followed by the rest of him, and he began to limppainfully towards where Stan crouched rifle in hand, with its deadlycharge waiting to bring down the first prominent leader upon whom hecould bring the sight to bear.
He was about the only one of the defenders who did not see the coming ofWing, and he started as he felt the man's soft fingers touch his arm.
"Ah, you, Wing!" he cried sharply. "What do you want here?"
"Misteh Blunt send Wing young Lynn."
"Hah! Then he is awake?"
Wing nodded.
"Is he better?"
"No. Velly bad. Say smokee chokee. Tell Wing come say you takee ca'efi' no get to magazine and blow up allee ca'tlidge."
"Yes, yes; I'll take care. Tell him we are doing our best, Wing, andthat I can't come down to see him."
"No; can'tee come down. B'long warehouse. Mustee stop kill big lotpilate."
"Go down now, Wing," said Stan impatiently. "You'll only be in the wayhere."
"Yes, go down soon fight begin."
"And stay with Mr Blunt; he may want water."
"No stay 'long Misteh Blunt--no. Say Wing makee 'self useful. B'longwa'ehouse now. Stop see if fi' begin to buln, and put um out 'gain withbucketee wateh."
"Very well; do that, then."
"Yes, Wing go stand 'longside ca'tlidge place. See no stinkee-pot comefloo."
"Yes; good. Be off; I'm going to fire."
"Go fi'?" said Wing. "Yes; no shootee Wing. Get 'way now."
It was quite time, as the Chinaman felt. Limping along the floor, hemade for the stairway, and had just reached it when, with a roar anddash, the fierce enemy climbed to the top of the little wall and beganto discharge their _jingals_ and fire-pots, no less than three of theselatter falling inside at the first discharge.
It was a repetition of the first assault, but earned on with more savageenergy, in spite of the calm, steady reply in single shots from thedefenders, who kept to their former tactics, with the result that nearlyevery time a rifle sent forth its jet of flame and faint puff of smokeit meant a message of death or temporary disablement to some miscreantwho was more prominent than his fellows in the assault.
But they were as far, apparently, as ever from carrying the place, andwhen, enraged by their ill-success, about a score of the most desperatedropped from the wall to try and batter in the doors, covered by afierce discharge of the fire-pots through the windows above, Stan,terrible as the time was, felt an old incident of schoolboy life flashacross his brain.
It was no time of fire, although it was mimic battle royal, for it wasan episode of snowballing when the weaker side were driven to takeflight and shelter themselves behind the dwarf wall of the covered-inportion of the playground, where no snow had of course fallen, whilejust outside it lay piled up consequent upon the roof having been sweptafter a heavy fall. Stan and his fellows were therefore in the positionof being without ammunition, while their adversaries were standingknee-deep in the midst of abundance.
There seemed to be nothing left but ignominious surrender, when the ideaoccurred to Stan which enabled his party to turn the tables. It wasmerely to catch the ready-made balls of snow and return them instantlyto the throwers. And with this memory coming to him in the emergency,just when the stink-pots were coming thickest and the doors belowthreatened to give way to the battering and hacking they received fromthe furious party beneath the windows, Stan brought his coolies togetherand gave his orders, which were to raise the blazing pots with crowbarsand carry them to the openings over the threatened doors, after thebarricading bales had been dragged away; and then, just when the attackwas at its worst, two half-dozens of the blazing grenades were quietlydropped at once amongst the constituents of the Chinese forlorn-hope.
The effect was as instantaneous as it was horrible. Several of the menat each door were splashed with the burning resinous mater
ial, while oneor two were in an instant blazing. There was a wild yelling of pain anddespair, and, as much to avoid their fellows as the missiles flung afterthem, the whole of the attacking party took to flight to gain the otherside of the wall, such of them as were burning making for the river.
This stopped the assault upon the doors, but only increased the fury ofthe enemy's firing from their shelters, while more blazing pots werebeing brought rapidly down from the junks, to be handed up to thethrowers and then hurled in as before.
"Never mind," shouted Stan; "we've checked them a bit. Fire away at themen who bring the stink-pots.--Eh--what? Getting to the lastcartridges? Plenty more.--Here, Mr Lawrence," he continued, turning tohis lieutenant; "there's a whole case in the magazine; fetch them up."
"Is the trap-door locked?" said the man thoughtfully.
"No--only shut down. Quick! We must not slacken our fire now."
Lawrence placed his rifle against the breastwork from behind which hehad been bringing down enemy after enemy, ran along the great storefloor, and narrowly escaped being hit by one of the fiery missiles whichcame flying in; but he reached the broad stairway in safety, plungeddown, and returned in a marvellously short space of time with an opencase of ammunition in his hands.
"Here, cartridges--cartridges!" shouted two of his fellows as he hurriedby where they were firing; but he paid no heed to their cries, trottingon to where Stan was as busy as the rest, and with a fierce growl bangedthe case at his feet.
"Well done!" shouted Stan. "Quick! Hand the packets round. What!" hecried. "Dripping wet?"
"Yes!" cried the bearer of the case and the most dire news that could becarried to men in so sore a strait--treachery. "The trap-door wasthrown back, and some cursed scoundrel had emptied a bucket into theopen chest. Look! The cases are saturated. I had to pour a gallon ofwater out into the iron bucket that was standing just below."
Stan's jaw dropped, and he stared for a moment or two helplessly atLawrence.
The cry of "Cartridges--this way!" brought him back to himself.
"Patience!" he shouted as loudly as he could, and throwing open thebreech of his rifle, he took out the full cartridge waiting to be firedand replaced it in his bandolier. Then, to break open one of the littlepackets in which the contents of the fresh case were wrapped, he snappedthe string and tore off the sodden paper, which, as he crushed it in hishand and then dropped it, fell with a soft dab on the floor.
The next instant he had placed one of the new cartridges in the chamberof his rifle, closed the breech, turned, took aim at once at the mostactive of the _jingal_ bearers, and drew trigger.
_Click_!
Just the falling of the hammer, and nothing more.
"That is the last case," said Stan softly, and without showing theslightest emotion, as he merely withdrew the little cylinder, to whosedetonator the water had evidently penetrated, though part of the powdermight still have remained unspoiled.
"Yes, sir, the very last. What's to be done now?"
"One moment," said Stan quietly as he once more put in the dry cartridgefrom his bandolier. "Just you try one from another packet," hewhispered.--"Halt!" he shouted down the room. "Cease firing.--Now tryone."
Another packet from the next layer was tried, but the wrapper was ifanything wetter, and a _click_! was the result.
"Oh, they're all spoiled," said Lawrence bitterly. "The game's up, soonly let us die fighting."
"Of course," said Stan coolly enough; "but we've not used our revolversyet. We'll give them a volley from our rifles, and then we must take toour pistols and wait till they come to close quarters."
"What do you say to retreating to the office after the volley, and thendefending the door as the brutes try to get at us? The revolvers willtell splendidly there, too, as we shall be firing into the dense mob whocrowd into the passage."
"The very thing," said Stan; "and we shall be defending Mr Blunt at thesame time. Of course; and we must set the coolies at work then to helpus with their knives."
"Yes," said Stan's lieutenant, "the coolies--Chinamen. Mr Lynn," hecried in a hoarse whisper, "it must have been one of those dogs who wereto be ready to stop the fire with their buckets."
"It couldn't have been," said Stan. "They were all up here."
"Then it was that cunning Chinese fox, Wing," growled Lawrence angrily;"and if we're to die he shall go first."
"Oh, impossible!" said Stan excitedly.
"I've got but one cartridge left," shouted a man at the far end of theroom.
"And I,"--"And I,"--"And I," cried others, while some of the restconfessed to having two or three.
"And the enemy are coming on for a fresh attack of some kind. There'squite a mob making for your window, Mr Lynn."
"And they've got about a dozen stink-pots with them, sir," criedanother.
Stan glanced round, and there was the situation plainly enough. Someten men were in the front of a cluster of about forty of the enemy, whowere coming steadily on with levelled _jingals_, obviously making forthe centre of the building.
"Now's your time, sir," whispered the lieutenant. "Let's give them onegood roar."
"Yes," said Stan, and he shouted to the occupants of the other windowsto close up round him and bring the coolies to stand ready for thefire-pots close behind.
The evolution, if such it can be called, was performed at once, thelittle party of riflemen placing themselves in three rows behind theirbarricade, the first kneeling, the second stooping a little to fire overtheir fellows' heads, and the back row perfectly upright, with thebarrels of their rifles resting on the shoulders of the second line.
"We must risk the fire-pots, gentlemen," said Stan; "but I hope to givethe wretches one good, startling volley before they are able to throw.Right into the thick of them, mind, and then, before the smoke rises,every man must dash down below and into the office. I mean to hold thatnow."
"But hadn't we better fill up our belts first, sir, with cartridges?"
"They have all been soaked with water," said Stan quietly. "There hasbeen treachery here."
His words were received with a groan.
"Then it's all over," said one young fellow piteously.
"Not while we have our revolvers," said Stan. "We can stop them fromreaching the office, I think, and our Chinese helpers will have a chanceto do something then."
A hearty cheer arose at this, for the cloud of despondency that wasgathering had been chased away, and once more every eye was bright andnerves strung for the final effort.
"They're nearly close enough," said Stan quietly. "When they are at thedensest, and the order is given to advance, I shall utter the word.Then fire right into the centre; never mind the fire-pot throwers.Let's try to startle them if we can."
There was a low murmur of assent, and then all waited, glaring past thebristling barrels of their rifles at the coming enemy, who, contrary totheir former action, now crowded closely together as they came insomething like discipline, their movements pointing to the fact thatthey were about to deliver fire from their _jingals_ and then to make arush. What they intended with the stink-pots which were being carriedwas not evident until they were closer in, when the fire-bearers struckoff suddenly to the left as if to deliver them from a fresh point.
At this moment, as if to excite and drive the party on into making amore desperate attack, and to fill the defenders with dismay, the gongson every junk suddenly boomed out with a terrific din; the fresh partyuttered a yell, and then stopped short to fire.
Stan's voice was almost drowned, but not quite. There was enough of hisorder heard to animate his little body of defenders. Trigger was drawnbefore a single match could be lowered upon the powder-pans of the_jingals_, and the rifles made almost one report, their bullets tearingthrough the group of pirates, who were not twenty yards away. Then,blind to the effect of their volley, screened as everything was by thesmoke, the defenders started back from the window and hurried down thestairway to make for t
he office, where Blunt, to the surprise of all,was found sitting back in a cane chair, with Wing assiduously operatingto keep him cool with a palm-leaf fan.
"Wouldn't stop lying down," began Wing to the nearest man; but hisexplanation was not heeded, the men preparing to barricade their keep,only leaving space for the rest to file in.