Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

  "KILL ALLEE PILATE."

  "This will be your station, Lynn," said Blunt as they passed alonginside the thickest wall till they reached the bale bastion, where themanager halted. "You take that wide loophole shelter yourself at theside; there's a capital place for resting your rifle, and with such asteady support, and as you will be able to cover so wide a sweep of theenemy's advance, I shall expect you to make a good score."

  "A good score!" said Stan in a tone of voice full of disgust. "Any onewould think I was going to shoot at a target."

  "At a good many targets," said Blunt.

  "Yes, human beings. You don't really mean to say you want me to kill asmany of those unfortunate wretches as I can?"

  "Unfortunate? They haven't proved to be unfortunate until they arebadly beaten. Yes, that is what I mean. I want you to kill or disableevery one of the enemy at whom you can get a shot."

  "And do you think I could be so bloodthirsty?"

  "I think you know us all pretty well here, and would be sorry to see uscut to pieces by a set of savages who are coming down in full force tothe attack."

  "Cut to pieces!" said Stan contemptuously.

  "Yes," continued Blunt sternly; "cut to pieces--literally. I am makinguse of no high-flown figure of speech. I know from what I have heardand seen that these piratical Chinamen, after shooting down the peoplethey attack, finish by spearing or beheading every fallen man; and thenthe braves, as they call themselves, go round with their big razor-edgedswords and hack their victims to pieces."

  "Ugh!" ejaculated Stan, with a shudder of horror.

  "I think you will see that it is better for you to help us to the bestof your ability with your rifle and bring down as many as possible.Mercy is a fine thing, and I dare say I should be content with taking aman prisoner who dropped upon his knees and threw down his arms; butChinese pirates neither drop upon their knees nor throw down their arms.Now look here, my lad; you are young and naturally shrink from sheddingblood, but this is no time for being squeamish. You are not going tofight against ordinary human beings, but against a set of fiends wholive by robbery and the murder of their victims--men, women, andinnocent children."

  Stan was silent for a few moments, and in that short period his facegrew so lined that he looked years older.

  "Is this perfectly true, Mr Blunt?" he said at last in a husky voicethat did not sound like his own.

  "On my word as a man who is about to stand up and face death, and maybefore an hour is over be lying on his back with his dead eyes gazingstraight up beyond the clouds. You hear me?"

  "Yes," said Stan firmly.

  "And you'll do your best for the sake of those who would be ready toencourage you if they were here, for our sake, and for your own?"

  "Yes, I'm quite ready now," replied Stan firmly.

  "That's right. Then shake hands, my lad."

  "What for?" asked Stan.

  "Because," was the reply, given in a grave, solemn tone, "we may neverhave the chance again."

  "You think it is as bad as that?"

  "Quite," was the reply as hand pressed hand. "There! we shall be at itsoon, and I'm sorry, Lynn. When you first came I thought I shouldalways detest you as a young meddler sent here to be in my way."

  "But you don't think so now?" said Stan, smiling.

  "Quite the contrary, my lad. There! we've talked enough. Only one wordor so more. Keep cool, load steadily, and fire only when you feel sureof your man. Never hurry. Recollect that one carefully taken shot isworth a score of bad ones, which mean so much waste of ammunition.There! I'm off now to talk to the rest. I'll come and be with you asmuch as I can."

  "Thank you; but I can see what you have done. You've put me in one ofthe best-sheltered places, and you are going to expose yourself in themost dangerous."

  "You are only partly right, my lad. I have not put you in one of thebest-sheltered places, but I am going to expose myself in one of theworst as much as I can, and that is here--the place where I havestationed you."

  Stan's next words slipped out unconsciously:

  "Why have you put me in the most risky place?"

  "Because I saw that you liked shooting since you brought your gun andrevolver, and I gathered so, too, from your conversation and the way inwhich you handled that rifle. Now are you satisfied?"

  Stan nodded, and the next minute he was alone, but with men at all theloopholes near.

  As soon as he was left to himself a peculiar chill came creeping overhim. Blunt's words seemed to be ringing in his ears about being face toface with death, and in imagination he pictured the aspect of his newlymade friend lying stark and stiff gazing up into the skies. He wouldhave given anything in those brief minutes to have seen him come back,not to act as a shield from the firing too soon to begin, but so as tohave his companionship; for, near though the others were, the littlebastion seemed to be horribly lonely, and the silence about the greatwarehouse too oppressive to bear.

  But as the boy--for he was a mere boy after all--stood at the openingwith his hand grasping the barrel of the rifle whose butt rested betweenhis feet, and gazing out at the glittering river, his image-formingthoughts became blurred; the figure of Blunt passed away, and anotherpicture formed itself upon the retina of his eyes. There before himwere the smoking ruins of a native village, and, so horribly distinctthat he shuddered and turned cold again, there lay in all directions andattitudes the slaughtered victims of the pirates' attack, and all soghastly that the lad uttered a peculiar sibilant sound as he sharplydrew in his breath between his teeth.

  The next instant the chill of horror had been swept away with theimaginary picture--imaginary, but too often real in a country where theteeming population hold human life to be cheap as the dirt beneath theirfeet--and Stan, with his brows knit, was carefully cocking and uncockinghis rifle to see if the mechanism worked accurately, before throwingopen the breech to take out and replace the cartridge, when he closed itsmartly and looked out at the coming junks, which glided nearer andnearer like fate.

  They were so nearly within ken now that Stan could see that they werecrowded with men, each a desperate and savage enemy.

  "I wonder whether I can hit the first one who takes aim at me. I mustor he'll hit me," muttered the lad. "But I shall have to be quick or hemay hit me first."

  He had hardly dwelt a moment upon this thought before he heard Blunt'svoice in the long, narrow opening between the tea-chest wall and thebuildings proper of house, offices, and stores, where the soft,shuffling sounds of feet could be plainly heard--sounds which Stan, whohad been long enough in China to recognise them, knew to be caused bythe collecting of the coolies.

  Proof was afforded the next minute by Blunt's brisk voice addressingthem with--

  "Now, my lads, I want you to fight your best for us. How many of youcan manage rifles?"

  There was a few moments' silence, and then a deep voice said:

  "No wantee lifle. Takee big ilon clowba', sha'p chip-chop knifee. Killallee pilate, evely one."

  "That will do. Wait, then, till the wretches rush in, and then use thebars and your knives. I see you mean to fight."

  There was further shuffling of soft feet, and though he could seenothing, Stan knew that the big picked Chinamen, whose muscles werehardened by their tasks of handling and running to and fro over gangwayswith heavy bales, casks, and chests, were being posted in places ofvantage ready to receive the enemy when they landed at the wharf andmade their first onslaught.

  Stan turned to watch the junks, whose sails were now lowered asunnecessary and stowed lengthwise to be out of the way, while greatsweeps had been passed out, not to urge on the vessels, but to keep alittle way on and make them answer the steering-gear, the force of thecurrent being enough for the enemy's purpose, which was to lay themalongside the wharf after--as was proved ere long--a sharp dischargefrom their clumsy artillery.

  "How long they seem in coming!" thought Stan, though in reality
the timewas very short; and then he started, for Blunt had come close up behindhim unperceived.

  "Here I am," he said. "We are all ready, and our people are waiting foryou to open the ball."

  "For me?" cried Stan, who felt startled.

  "You. You will fire the first shot when I give the word. That will bethe signal that I consider the enemy sufficiently close, and the menwill begin picking the wretches off. I say, look; clumsy as the greatcraft seem, they come on very steadily and well. There is no confusion.See what a line they keep of about a couple of hundred yards apart.Their captains are not bad sailors after all."

  "Yes, they come on slowly and surely," said Stan in a sombre tone.--"Iwish I didn't feel so nervous."

  "It's quite natural," said Blunt. "I feel just as bad as you."

  "You do?" cried Stan, staring. "Nonsense!"

  "Indeed I do," said Blunt. "I'm in what schoolboys call a regular stew.Every one in the place feels the same, I'll venture to say. It'sreally quite natural; but as soon as the game begins--"

  "Game!" cried Stan bitterly.

  "Oh, very well; drama, if you like. I say as soon as it begins we shallall be too busy to feel fear, and be working away like Britons. Here,it's going to begin sooner than I expected. By your leave, as theporters say, I want a look through my glass. Yes," he continued as hecarefully scanned the leading junk, "they've got a big brass swivel-gunthere, and they're loading it. How's your rifle sighted now?"

  "For two hundred yards."

  "That will do nicely. You shall have a shot soon. But they're going tolet us have it. Keep well in cover. I hope the lads are all doing thesame."

  "Yes, they're going to begin," said Stan excitedly. "Bravo, good eyes!How do you know?"

  "Because I can see a man going along the deck with something smoking."

  "That's right. Yes: I can see it. It's the linstock or slow-match.Keep under cover, for we shall have a hail of ragged bullets of allkinds directly. They've laid the gun, and the man is waiting to applythe match."

  "Yes: I can see that too. Look out: here it comes. I saw the smokeseem to make a dart downwards."

  "Quite right; and I can see with the glass that the burning end isresting on the touch-hole."

  "But it doesn't go off," said Stan excitedly.

  "No; the priming must have been knocked off, or be damp or badly made.It's a failure, certainly. There! I wish you could see with the glass;it's all as clear as if it was close to us. One of the men close to thebreech of the long piece is priming it again."

  "I can't see that--only that the men are busy," said Stan as the greatleading junk, with its leering eyes, glided onward till it was somewhereabout a hundred and fifty yards from the wharf and being swept closerinshore. "Now then," cried Stan; "look out!"

  For he could just distinguish the downward movement of the smokingmatch, which was followed directly after by a couple of puffs of smoke,one small from the breech, the other large and spreading, followed by abellowing roar, almost following a strange rattling and crash as ofstones about the face and surface of the wharf. There was a dullpattering, too, over the head of the watchers, and dust and scraps ofstones ran down the front of the building.

  Stan made some remark, but it was drowned by a deafening roar--nothingto do with barbaric artillery, but coming from the throats of hundredsof men, beginning with those in the first junk, right along from thosewhich followed, to the very last; and to make the sounds moreear-stunning, men began belabouring gongs in every junk with all theirmuscle brought to bear.

  "Nice row that, Lynn," said the manager coolly. "Just shows what foolsthese barbarians are. Of course, you know why they beat these gongs?"

  "To frighten us, I suppose," said Stan.

  "That's it; and I don't feel a bit alarmed. Do you?"

  "Pooh! No; but I did feel scared when the charge of that big swivel-guncame rattling about us."

  "Yes, and with reason, too," said Blunt quietly. "Their ragged bits oflead and scraps of iron make horribly painful wounds. I don't want toget a touch of that sort of thing."

  The moment the booming of the gongs ceased, Blunt drew back and shoutedto know if any one had been hurt by the discharge of the great swivel;but though he waited and called again, he had good proof in the silencethat no one was injured.

  "Do you hear there?" he cried again. "Is any one--"

  His words were drowned by a roar from the enemy's gun, almostaccompanied by the snarl-like noise made by its great charge, which camehurtling against the chests and bales this time, though a good halfspattered angrily over the front of the stones.

  "We mustn't let them have it all their own way, Lynn, my lad, or they'llcome on with a rush full of confidence and do too much mischief. Nowthen, the distance is easy. Look yonder in the front of the junk: whatcan you see?"

  "Two men pulling out the rammer of the long swivel-gun, and anotherpointing it, as it seems to me, exactly at this loophole."

  "I don't believe he is, my lad, but it looks like it."

  "Now he's taking the--linstock--don't you call it?--from the man who isholding it, and is going to fire."

  "Don't let him," said Blunt sharply. "Take aim. Ready? Fire!"

  In obedience to his companion's orders, Stan had dropped on one knee,taken a long and careful aim, and then drew trigger.

  For a few moments the soft grey smoke hung before the lad's eyes and hidwhat was going on; but he did not waste time. Throwing out the emptycartridge, he began to fit in another, and as with trembling fingers hereclosed the breech he whispered sharply:

  "Did I hit?"

  "I fancy so; the man sprang up in the air and fell backwards. You've notime to look, so take it from me. They are carrying the man away."

  Stan drew in his breath with a hissing sound, but no time was given himto think of what he had done, for Blunt's voice made him start, as hewas bending over him.

  "Loaded?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Take aim, then, at that man with the match. He is shifting the gun alittle to allow for the distance the junk has floated with the stream."

  "Yes; I see."

  "Let him have it, then. Sharp! He must not fire that piece."

  Stan's rifle rang out, and the Chinaman dropped behind the high bulwarkand was seen no more.

  "Load again, stupid!" cried Blunt, for Stan half-knelt behind theopening from which he had aimed, looking stunned and motionless,impressed as he was by his terrible success. But he started into activelife again under the spur of his companion's fierce words.

  "Keep on firing slowly and steadily, Lynn," said Blunt in tones whichmade the lad feel that he must obey, though the compunction was dyingand he knew how necessary it was to render the big piece useless bychecking the efforts of the gunners.

  He fired again just in the nick of time, and the man who now held thelinstock dropped it and stood gesticulating to his companions.

  "You've missed him, Lynn," said Blunt angrily. "Look! he has picked itup again."

  Stan needed no telling that he had only startled the gunner by sending abullet close to his head, and before he could fire again a puff of smokedarted from the mouth of the piece, and Blunt struck him sharply acrossthe back, spoiling his aim so that the bullet from his rifle wentanywhere.

  "Why did you do that?" he cried sharply, for the blow stirred him intomaking an angry retort, as he gazed through the smoke at his comrade."I've done the best I could. I'm not used to this sort of--Why--what--Mr Blunt!" he cried, as he saw a peculiar look in the manager's face,and that he was leaning sideways against the wall of bales. "Oh! you'rehurt!"

  The manager tightened his lips and nodded sharply before letting himselfsubside, gliding down half-resting against the defensive building, andsaving himself from falling headlong in his faintness.

  "Here," cried Stan, letting his rifle rest on the top of the bale fromwhich he had fired, "let me bind up the wound. Where are you hurt?"

  "Hah!" exclaimed Blu
nt, as if mastering a spasm of pain. "Never mindme. Go on firing, my lad. Don't you see how close they are in? Fireaway, and shout to the others to keep it up. Stop them from loading ifyou can; it may scare the next junk from coming on.--Ah, that's better!"

  For the sounds he heard were pleasant to his ears. There was no needfor Stan to shout, and he took up his rifle again in obedience to hisorders and went on aiming at the men on the junk who seemed to be mostprominent. Firing was going on all around, and from the upper windowsof the warehouse as well, the consequence being that the men at thesweeps fell one by one; and then the two men handling the hugesteering-oar dropped away, with the result that, instead of the greatjunk being laid alongside of the wharf for the pirates crowding her toleap ashore, they were carried on down-stream, with her captain andofficers raging frantically, till the chief man received a bulletthrough one of his upraised arms and sank back into the arms of asubordinate.