Stan Lynn Part 42

"Did I hit?"

"I fancy so; the man sprang up in the air and fell backwards. You've no time 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 him to think of what he had done, for Blunt's voice made him start, as he was bending over him.

"Loaded?" he said.

"Yes."

"Take aim, then, at that man with the match. He is shifting the gun a little 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 bulwark and was seen no more.

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

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

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

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

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

"Why did you do that?" he cried sharply, for the blow stirred him into making 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're hurt!"

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

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

"Hah!" exclaimed Blunt, as if mastering a spasm of pain. "Never mind me. Go on firing, my lad. Don't you see how close they are in? Fire away, and shout to the others to keep it up. Stop them from loading if you 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 need for Stan to shout, and he took up his rifle again in obedience to his orders and went on aiming at the men on the junk who seemed to be most prominent. Firing was going on all around, and from the upper windows of the warehouse as well, the consequence being that the men at the sweeps fell one by one; and then the two men handling the huge steering-oar dropped away, with the result that, instead of the great junk being laid alongside of the wharf for the pirates crowding her to leap ash.o.r.e, they were carried on down-stream, with her captain and officers raging frantically, till the chief man received a bullet through one of his upraised arms and sank back into the arms of a subordinate.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"FIRE AWAY!"

The leading junk was soon some distance down the river, the confusion on board from the steady rifle-fire, which caused man after man to drop, checking all efforts to recover the lost ground; but the second junk had taken its place, and those on board were pouring in a hot fire from two clumsy swivel-guns, consisting of showers of rough missiles, bullets, broken iron, and the like.

But little damage was done to the sheltered defenders, who, animated by the example set from the little bastion, kept up a steady, regular fire, with certainly more than half the shots telling among the Chinamen working the guns or giving orders.

In the intervals of his firing, however, Stan kept on imploring Blunt to let him summon help, or cease firing and attend to the injury.

"Go on firing, as I told you," cried the wounded man in an angry snarl.

"Can't you see that you are helping me by what you are doing."

"But you must be getting faint."

"I am," said Blunt fiercely, "with the hard work to keep you at work.

Do you think I want our men to be put out of heart because I am bowled over?"

"No," said Stan, with his cheek against his rifle-stock, and he pulled the trigger, sending a leaden messenger at one of the enemy who was about to lower his smoking linstock, which produced a savage yell by its effect; for the man with the burning match flung up his hands, the linstock went flying overboard, and Stan's frown deepened as he felt that he had desperately wounded the gunner, who was being borne away before the lad's rifle was again charged.

"That was another hit, wasn't it?" said Blunt anxiously.

"I think so," was the reply, "but I'm not sure that it was my shot."

"Never mind so long as it's one murderer the less. Keep on firing, my lad, while you can get so good a chance. I can't see what the rest are doing. It seems to me that they are only wasting powder."

"Oh no," said Stan; "men on the junk keep on falling. But there are two more junks coming close up."

"And you haven't checked them. Fire away! Try and hit the steersmen."

"It's hard work to see them so as to pick them out," said Stan, "but I'll do my best."

The lad's best was to aim carefully at the men holding the steering-oars of the second and fourth junks, but excitement combined with the distance affected the steadiness of his aim, and he uttered an impatient e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n as he saw the two great crowded vessels coming steadily onward.

"We shall be having all three close in together," he muttered. "It's impossible to keep them off."

But better fortune had attended his efforts than he had given himself credit for. In each case his carefully aimed shot had taken effect, and they were supplemented by the shattering fire kept up by the defenders at the other loopholes. Certainly the third and fourth junks were coming in fast, but it was in an ungoverned way, and their action soon after produced a savagely furious volley from the captain of the second junk; for its companions came on to crash into it, with the accompaniment of falling masts and sails, and the confusion of top-hamper, a good deal of which came down upon the men, who yelled shrilly and angrily until they were extricated or able to get free.

In spite of the faintness and sinking caused by his wound, Blunt held tightly on by the cord binding the bale against which he had propped himself, and watched everything that took place with swimming eyes, but an intense feeling of satisfaction as he witnessed the disasters of the attacking pirates. And every now and again when the noise grew less overpowering he hurriedly went on giving his companion instructions to take careful aim at this one and that of the enemy's force, and did not fail to give praise when the shot was successful.

"Bravo! Well done, lieutenant!" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "That's a murderer the more put out of action. Don't shudder; three parts of them will unfortunately get better, but they're done for this time." Then: "Keep it up, my lad. You take my place now and lead the fighting. n.o.body knows yet that I'm down. You'll have to give the order soon to withdraw into the warehouse."

"Not fight it out here?" cried Stan eagerly, for he was fast growing intoxicated with the wild excitement of the fray, and had forgotten all about the danger of his position.

"No; it is impossible. You are only hindering them now and crippling them as much as is possible, but before long they will come like a wave over the sides of the junks, and swarm up to the defence here, and you will not be able to resist them."

"But we should all have a much better chance to shoot them down then."

"Of course; and a dozen or two would be struggling on the stones. But if a hundred were shot down it would make no difference; they would come on all the same in their blind, savage fury, for they think nothing of those who fall. Here, leave your rifle where it is for a few moments.

That's right. Now take this whistle. Put it in your vest-pocket, where you can get at it easily, and after they have made their first rush, use it."

"Yes," said Stan huskily as he thrust the little instrument into his watch-pocket; "but about you? Hadn't I better call a couple of the coolies to come and lift you into your room?"

"No!" snapped out Blunt, as if he were maddened by the pain he suffered.

"Do you want to turn a brave resistance into a panic?"

"No; of course not, but--"