Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

  "WAIT TILL THE WRETCHES COME."

  The landing and stowing away of the cases of ammunition did not lastlong, for every one joined in it, four men without orders taking chargeof a box that one could have carried with ease. In fact, they lookedmore like a party of schoolboys bringing boxes of fireworks for a fetethan stern, energetic men fighting for the privilege of either carryingor simply watching the little chests, the possession of which turnedthem from helpless, unprotected beings, at the mercy of the nextpiratical crew that came down the river, to strong, vigorous folk readyfor a fleet of junks and eager to fight to any desperate end.

  The last case was placed in the little magazine, the trap-door shut downand locked, and then there was a burst of cheering which sounded stifledin the great stack-filled store.

  "Why, I thought at one time," said Uncle Jeff merrily when the wholeparty had filed out and the speaker was seated in Blunt's private room,"that they were all going to break out in a triumphal war-dance."

  Stan coloured and laughed.

  "Well, uncle," he said, "the men were so excited that I don't see thatI, a boy, need mind owning how I felt. It was something like what oneused to experience when one had a present years and years ago."

  "What!--ready to jump for joy, Stan?"

  "Yes, uncle."

  "I know the feeling," said Uncle Jeff, chuckling. "I remember just aswell as if it was yesterday. Ready to jump for joy; just, too, when Iwas so weak from some fever that if I had been out of bed my legswouldn't have borne me, let alone jumped. I remember it was fine summerweather, and my father had come down from London and brought me a newfishing-rod--a perfect marvel to my young eyes--reddish-yellow bamboo,with brass ferrules, and having one joint fitting beautifully into theother so as to form a walking-stick; and in addition, just as he hadbrought them and had them bundled up together in a parcel, there wasquite a heap of treasures tangled up together on the big sheet of paperspread out upon the white counterpane, while I sat up with two pillowsto support my weak back. Oh, it was grand!

  "Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the great stalwart fellow, with his eyes lightingup. "Didn't I have the window opened so that I could pull joint outfrom joint and put them together, making the rod grow till I sat holdingit out through the drawn-up sash. All the time I was seeing inimagination the great pond sheltered by the willows where thewater-lilies grew and the carp and tench sailed about underneath, everynow and then lifting a broad dark-green leaf or thrusting a stem aside,with the glistening beetles gliding about on the surface as if they wereplaying at engine-turning and describing beautiful geometric figures asthe big dragon-flies rustled their gauzy wings and darted here and therein chase of flies.

  "Then, too, I remember that I cried out against the window being shut,because three parts of my rod stood out in the open while I was busyexamining a hank of Indian twist, beautiful steel-blue hooks of allsizes, from tiny ones on gut to big, quaintly shaped large ones, loose,but with eyes for attachment to the whipcord-like eel-line."

  Uncle Jeff stopped short and turned with a droll look at his nephew.

  "Here, Stan," he said, "you had better stop me or I shall go on with myrigmarole about that line with the blue-and-white cork float and theother with a quill, besides the one with the sharp-pointed porcupinewhich stuck through the bedclothes into my leg. Then there was the boxof split shot with the lid which stuck, and when I got it off thecontents jumped out, to go everywhere, over the bed, into it, under it,rattling between the jug and basin, and had to be hunted out. Thenthere was that lovely landing-net that was so rarely required for a bigfish, but did splendidly to catch butterflies. And the fishing-creel,too, and--Here, Blunt, my dear fellow, where's your box of Manillacigars?--Stan, get me a light. I must put something in my mouth or Ishall begin to tell you both about that little pike that I didn't catchand that big carp that I did--I mean the one that seemed to my boyisheyes as if he wore a suit of armour made of young half-sovereignsoverlapping one another from tail to head. Ah, Stan!" cried Uncle Jeff,"you're a lucky young dog to be a boy, though you don't know it, andnever will till you grow up to be a man."

  "Why, uncle," cried Stan, "haven't I just had to play at being a man andhandle the rifle?"

  "I'm sorry to say yes, my lad, and I'd a great deal rather have heardthat you had spent your time wandering on the banks of this splendidriver, catching nothing, perhaps, but filling your young mind withthings to remember when you grow old. Ah! life's a very lovely thing ifhuman beings would not spoil it as they do."

  Stan smiled at his uncle's words, but he did not see life in the samelight after his experiences at Hai-Hai and at the _hong_; though he wasquite ready to agree as to the way in which men spoil the world, and hedid say this, very tersely, later on:

  "Especially Chinese pirates, uncle."

  "Just so, my boy. But really it is all so beautiful here," said UncleJeff, "that now I have been refreshed and feel rested, it is more thanever hard to believe what a desperate fight you have had. I wish I hadbeen here."

  "So do I, uncle," said Stan merrily; but he turned serious the nextmoment. "No, I do not, uncle. It was very horrible, and you might havebeen shot."

  "Oh, I don't know, Stan. You and your men escaped pretty well.However, matters were best as they were--eh, Blunt?"

  "Certainly," said the manager. "The defence could not have been inbetter hands."

  "Oh, don't!" cried Stan, speaking like a pettish girl. "Now you areboth sneering at me."

  This was of course denied, but the lad was only half-convinced, and tooglad to hear the conversation take a different turn.

  "We must achieve some better means of defence, Blunt," said Uncle Jeff."You ought to have a good little piece of artillery here--something thatwould tell well on a junk--sink her if it was necessary."

  "That's what we were planning, uncle," cried Stan; "only we had somerather peculiar notions."

  The natural result of this remark was that the lad had to explain andgive a full account of his ideas, which was received with a grunt.

  "There's a lot in it that sounds well, Stan," said Uncle Jeff afterlistening for some time in silence, "but too much of the toy-shop andFifth of November about the rest. That kite-flying would never do."

  "Why, it would be so simple, uncle!"

  "Very simple indeed, my boy--Simple Simony. Why, Stan, how do you thinkyou are going to fly kites with the enemy in front?"

  "But they're only to raise burning things like the pirates' stink-pots."

  "I should have a deal more faith in something of that sort. But howwould you guide your kite with a fiery tail over the junk you meant todestroy?"

  "By means of the string. I could easily manage one, by pulling in andletting out till it was just over a junk; and then I should pull thesecond string, for of course there would be two; and then I should letone go, and down would fall the fiery shell right upon the junk's deck."

  "If it didn't go down splash into the river--eh?"

  "Oh, I should manage it better than that," said the lad confidently.

  "So I suppose," said Uncle Jeff sarcastically; "and of course the windwould be setting in the right direction--that is to say, straight fromyou and over the enemy's junks."

  "Of course, uncle," said Stan confidently.

  "Of course! Why, you too sanguine young enthusiast, the chances wouldbe five-and-twenty to one that the wind would not be right on the daythe enemy came. Won't do, Stan. Try again."

  "Oh, I can't if you go on like that, uncle," said the lad in anaggrieved tone. "You're not half such a good listener as Mr Blunt. Hethinks a good deal of my ideas."

  "Then it was quite time I came. He'd spoil you. I will not, you maydepend. Now then, let's have a better idea than that."

  "Well, uncle," said the boy rather grumpily, "I did think something ofhaving a boat always moored among the reeds--one filled with dangerouscombustibles--that I could steal up to after the junks had stopped tokill and plunder
us, apply a match, and, after lashing the rudder, causeit to float down with the stream right amongst the junks and set them onfire."

  "Splendid idea!" cried Uncle Jeff, clapping his hands.

  "You like that, then?" said Stan, brightening up.

  "I think the idea would be glorious. Deadly in the extreme to theenemy, but--"

  "Oh uncle! don't say _but_," cried the lad, growing crestfallen again.

  "Very well, my boy; I will not if you do not wish it. All the same,however, there's a defect in it that would be fatal."

  "What's that?" said the boy rather dismally.

  "The Chinese are very weak-minded, but they're not idiots."

  "No--of course not; but tell me what you mean."

  "Pooh! Can't you see for yourself? The enemy would see that thefire-boat was coming, and of course they'd either heave anchor or casttheir cables and slip away, if they didn't send your fire-boat to thebottom with a shot from one of their swivel-guns. Try again."

  "Oh, it's of no use to try, uncle."

  "Yes, it is. You've got gumption enough to make a pot without a hole inthe bottom. You're last idea is manageable; the kite-flying was not.Now then, you've got a better idea than that up your sleeve or in thatnoddle of yours, I'm sure.--Hasn't he, Blunt?"

  "Yes--a far better one."

  "I thought so.--Now then, boy, let's have it."

  Stan stood looking gloomy and silent.

  "Well, why don't you go on?" said Uncle Jeff.

  "Because I feel as if you are laughing at me for trying to inventsomething."

  "I am not, Stan--honour bright!" cried Uncle Jeff. "But even if I waslaughing, what right have you to kick against it? Every inventor getslaughed at if he brings out something new, and then stupid people whogrinned because they had never seen anything like it before are thefirst to praise. There! out with it, Stan; the third shot must be agood one."

  The gloom passed off the lad's countenance, and he laid bare his idea ofcontriving a kind of torpedo to sink off the wharf and connect by meansof a wire with an electric battery in the office, ready for firing assoon as one of the junks was well over it.

  "Ah! that sounds better," cried Uncle Jeff eagerly; "but could it bedone?"

  "Oh yes," said Blunt. "I think the idea is capital."

  "So do I," said Uncle Jeff; "but there's an old proverb about theengineer being hoist with his own petard, and however willing I might beto blow up a junk full of murderous pirates, I shouldn't like to go upwith them."

  "Oh, that would be easy enough, uncle," said Stan. "We should have tofill a big, perfectly waterproof canister with powder or some othercombustible, make a hole in the side or top, and pass a copper wirethrough so that it is right in the powder, then solder up the hole, andafter the canister has been sunk, bring the wire ashore ready."

  "Yes, and what then? I must confess that I know nothing aboutelectricity."

  "I'll tell you," said Stan. "You fetch the copper wire ashore and bringit in, say, through that window. There! like this piece of string,"continued the lad, illustrating his plans with a string-box which hetook from the office table, and after drawing out a sufficiency of thetwine, he dropped the string-box outside the window. "Now, uncle," hesaid, "that thing represents the canister of blasting-powder, and thestring is the wire. You see, I shut down the window to hold the wirefast, and bring the end here on to the office table."

  "I see," said Uncle Jeff; "but what next?"

  "I'll show you directly," continued Stan, with his forehead puckered upin lines as if it were a mental Clapham Junction. "Now then, thisstationery-case is my battery of cells, each charged with acid andstuff."

  "We don't want to put a dangerous battery on Mr Blunt's table to blowhim up," said Uncle Jeff. "He's too useful."

  "Of course he is, uncle; but we couldn't blow him up, because thebattery isn't dangerous."

  "Then what's the good of it?"

  "Ah! you don't see yet; you will directly," cried the boy. "There's nodanger at all till it is connected with the wire; and the wire, youknow, is connected with the canister of explosive, uncle. And don't yousee that it will be sunk right away there off the wharf? When weconnect the wire with the battery, it is not that which goes off, butthe powder in the canister under the junk."

  "Oh, I see!" said Uncle Jeff. "Good; but when it is connected what doesit do?"

  "Sends a current of electricity along the wire."

  "Of course; I do understand that. Sends an electric spark through thepowder and blows it up."

  "That's right, uncle; only, instead of sending a spark along the wire,it sends a current to the end of the wire, and that end begins to glowtill it turns white-hot. But long before that it has set the powderoff, and if all goes right we should have a great junk blown all topieces."

  "Bravo!" cried Uncle Jeff. "Three cheers for our inventor, Blunt!"

  "Nonsense, uncle! I didn't invent that. It's only what one has read inbooks on electricity. Now you can see, of course, that there is nodanger at the battery end of the wire."

  "If you tell me there is no danger, Stan, of course I am bound tobelieve it; but I don't quite see why the wire should not carry us themessage of the blow-up, and blow us up into the bargain."

  "Ah! but that would be outside the bargain, uncle," said Stan, laughing."It would be a good bargain for us."

  "And a horribly bad one for the Chinamen," said Uncle Jeff.--"Look here,Blunt, this seems to be quite feasible."

  "Quite," was the reply. "There is only one risk in it that I see."

  "And that is--"

  "Making a mistake: some one connecting the wire at the wrong time forthe friendly junk instead of an enemy. It wouldn't do to blow up Mao orold Wing."

  "No, uncle," said Stan quietly; "and it wouldn't do to take down riflesand shoot either of them. There would be no danger so long as we tookcare of the electric battery; nothing else would fire the canister."

  "All right," cried Uncle Jeff in his cheeriest way. "Then the nextthing to be done is to get so many tins."

  "They ought to be copper," said Stan.

  "Very well, then, coppers--ready to `sky,' Stan--eh? You rememberskying the copper--the old charwoman putting the gunpowder in the copperflue, as she said, to `burn up by degrees'?"

  "Yes, I remember," said Stan, laughing; "and when it had exploded shesaid, `Where is the powder blue?'"

  "Exactly. The result of meddling with explosives which she did notunderstand. I don't understand these things, so I feel nervous abouthandling them; but with the proviso that you two are careful, I shallsend an order for all the materials you want, so that we shall have somany mines ready for war-junks which come to meddle with us. But itmust take time."

  "Yes," said Blunt, "it will take some months, for everything will haveto come from England, I expect. But I honestly believe that it will belong before the enemy get over the defeat they have had, and meanwhile Ifeel quite happy, for you have brought me four times as large a supplyof cartridges as we had before, and yourself as reinforcement. Besides,our men are all veterans now, ready for the savage brutes if they doventure to come."

  "Well, the longer they keep off the better," said Uncle Jeff, "for youwill not be out of hospital for a month, Blunt."

  "What!" cried the manager fiercely. "Let them come, and they'd find meready for action now."

  Uncle Jeff glanced at him and shook his head.

  "But I am, I tell you," cried Blunt excitedly. "My eyes are clear, andmy hand is pretty steady. I could manage a rifle now as well as when Ipractised at a mark.--What do you say, Stan? Don't you think I couldfight?"

  "I believe you'd try."

  "Try: yes. I want to pay off old scores."

  "Ah, well!" said Uncle Jeff, "we have no need to fidget about that.Wait till the wretches come and then we'll see."