Stan Lynn Part 43

"Silence!" cried the poor fellow sternly. "The men are fighting splendidly now, and I want them to go on till such time as it is necessary to get inside and continue the defence from the upper windows.

Do you hear?"

"Yes; and I'll do all you wish, but I must have time to get you safe inside."

"Leave that to me," said Blunt slowly and in a more gentle tone. And then, as if warned by his sensations, he continued: "If I faint, use your own common-sense. Don't hesitate: fight till it seems folly to hold on longer here; then blow the whistle with all your might. Some of them are sure to rush to your help. Then let a couple take me by the hands and drag me--don't let them stop to carry me--drag me in through the first doorway."

"I'll take one hand myself."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," cried Blunt pa.s.sionately. "I order you to take my place as captain, and as your father's son save us all from this murderous sc.u.m. You're captain now--do you hear?"

Stan nodded.

"Then act sensibly. Do you want to give up directing and turn yourself into a coolie to save one helpless man, and perhaps sacrifice your own life?"

"But you are--"

"Only one," snapped the manager; "and the most useless one here. Now back to your place, and go on firing as the captain should, to bring down more of the miscreants and encourage our brave fellows. If you fail now I'm not able to strike, the rest will be out of heart at once."

"You are giving me more than I can do," half-groaned Stan. "I'm only a boy."

"Forget that, Stan," said his wounded comrade harshly. "I say you're acting like a man. Now fire at that giant of a fellow standing in the gangway waving his great broad-bladed sword--"

There was the sharp crack of Stan's rifle, and the big, showily dressed Chinaman followed the direction in which he waved the sword--that is, sh.o.r.eward--and literally dived off the junk into the river, to be seen no more by those in the bastion.

"Well done--for a boy!" cried Blunt mockingly as he pa.s.sed his left hand over his streaming brow. "I only hope every man at the back and right and left is doing as well. Mind when you retreat that the doors are well barricaded.--Reloaded?"

"Yes," cried Stan, who felt as if his companion's words were goading him to act in a way contrary to his nature, and without further urging he fired again and again.

"Good--good!" panted Blunt. "I daren't turn to look back, because I should expose myself--and I know that if I stirred I should faint--but tell me, how are the fellows behaving?"

"Keeping up a steady fire, just as you told them. I can see the poor wretches falling killed or wounded. There goes another into the river."

"Hah!" sighed Blunt. "I can't tell the difference between their firing and ours. It seemed, though, as if our fire was dropping off."

"It isn't that," said Stan, pa.s.sing his reloaded rifle into his left hand so as in turn to wipe his streaming face with his right, quite unconscious of the fact that he had covered it with the wet, black, exploded powder fresh from the breech of his piece and his used cartridges, and now leaving a broad black smudge across his forehead and down each cheek--"it isn't that. I'm sure our men are firing splendidly, but the enemy are using their clumsy pieces now from the junks."

"Yes, that's it," said Blunt slowly. "But what are they doing now? I can't see for this cloud of smoke."

"Getting the junks closer in with poles. They're going to leap ash.o.r.e, I think, and make a rush.--But there is no cloud," he muttered to himself; "the wind is driving it away."

"Be ready, then," said Blunt. "Fire once more right into the thick of them, reload--and--then be ready--to sound retreat--to--sound--"

Stan took a quick aim, fired, threw open the breech of his piece with his fingers trembling, and then closed it again, using stern resolution to carry out his orders, though all the time he felt sure that Blunt was as he found him when he looked round--that is to say, lying motionless on the floor of the bastion, but with his fingers still crooked in the cord of the bale.

"It must be nearly time," groaned Stan to himself, as he felt half-stunned for the moment.

But a moment only. The next he was grinding his teeth as he again pa.s.sed his rifle into his left hand to feel for his knife with the right, take it out, and open the blade.

For he foresaw a terrible difficulty as he glanced first at Blunt's hand still clinging to the cord, and in dread lest the desperate clutch might prove a hindrance, he bent down and, as quickly as he could, sawed through the tightly strained cord, which quivered and then, as the last strand was severed, sprang apart with a sharp crack, springing out of the wounded man's fingers and leaving the arm free to fall across his breast.

Stan sighed as he replaced the knife and turned to fire once more; but he saw at once that if the retreat was to be made and a fatal hand-to-hand conflict, which could only terminate in their all being borne down, avoided, the signal must be given at once.

The time had come. In fact, as he placed the whistle to his lips he felt that the call had been deferred too long, for there was a furious yelling, accompanied by a deafening beating of gongs, and with a roar a human torrent came pouring out of the gangways and off the sides of the two nearest junks; while the crews of two more, which were interlocked with their companions, rushed on to the nearer decks to cross and supplement the attack.

"They'll never hear it!" thought Stan as he blew with all his might, just as every holder of a rifle was making it spit its deadly cones of lead right into the thick of the enemy's advance.

But he was wrong. At the first shrill chirrup of the silver whistle, its keen, strident tones cut through the heavy roar of the gongs and voices, and as the firing from the junks had ceased so as to allow the enemy to advance, so did that of the defence; and while Stan was drawing breath to repeat the piercing call, there was the quick sound of footsteps, and two of the clerks appeared at the back.

"Dead?" shouted one as he saw Blunt lying motionless.

"No," shouted Stan. "Quick! A hand each, and drag him in. Off!"

The last words acted like an electric shock, and in less time than it takes to tell it the manager's hands were seized, and with his head just clear of the ground, the two bearers doubled with him along the back of the tea-chest wall and in through the open doorway.

Stan followed them till he too reached the opening, and then stood back against the chests waiting while man after man dashed up to this and the farther door, till the last had pa.s.sed in, and then with unconscious, bravery the lad followed.

It was none too soon, for as he reached the lintel the hands of a score of savages, armed with swords and spears, appeared above the frail defence, a.s.sisted to the top by their fellows. Directly after they began to tumble over, heedless of the firing now being opened upon them again from the upper windows of the warehouse; and then, wild with fury as several dropped, they made a dash at the doorway into which some of them had seen Stan dive.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

"THE DANGEROUS TASK."

It was none too soon, but soon enough, for as Stan rushed through, still blowing the whistle--for no reason at all save that he had forgotten to take it from his lips--the plan enforced by Blunt in his instructions acted like clockwork and the door was clapped to in the faces of the enemy with a sharp bang; half-a-dozen of the defenders stood fast with rifles presented ready to fire past the carpenters if there were need, and a doubt was rising in the breathless lad's breast. It was this:

"Oh, if the others don't secure that farther door!" The doubt was quelled by a second sharp bang, and a cheery voice--that of another doubter--cried: "It's all right there."

"Yes," cried Stan as he thrust the whistle back into his pocket.

"Splendidly done!"

There was no further talking, for the noise outside was deafening. The enemy, maddened at their check, were hard at work chopping frantically at the door with their heavy swords, and stabbing at the panelling with spears in a way which threatened to make short work of it. But all the time the right work was going on, the two great Chinese carpenters placing the prepared short lengths of timber in their places as coolly as if nothing was the matter, and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g them tightly with wonderful celerity, till the highest piece was being adjusted, when Stan pushed quickly past the men waiting to fire if the need arose, and made his way to the farther door, to find, to his great delight, that the barricading was even further advanced than at the one he had left.

"Well done!" he shouted, to make his voice heard above the horrible din without. "Now one man will be enough to stay on guard here ready to raise the alarm if the enemy begin to get through; the rest off at once to man the windows. Mind, don't waste a cartridge."

Stan actually blushed in the semi-darkness as he gave the order in an imperative voice, and then felt ashamed of himself for daring to order these men. But a strange feeling of exultation ran through him the next moment, and he felt the pride of power, for there was a hearty cheer, and his command was obeyed with such alacrity that he ran back, and found the little party he had left waiting still as if for a similar order.

This was given loudly and quite as a matter of course, and from that moment Stan felt as if he really was in command, ready to do his best to protect the place, and as if he had only to speak to find the defenders ready to fight for him to the death.

It is a strange thing, that natural readiness of the human being to follow the lead of the one who leaps to the front and displays his contempt of danger, and it has often done work that history is proud to record.

"What next?" thought Stan as the last man dashed off, rifle in hand, to augment the dropping fire from the carefully protected windows.

The answer came from his heart quite silently: it was to go and see how Blunt had fared, and where he had been placed. But the intent was crushed out by the orders that had been given him--by Blunt's own words about his only being _one_, and that Stan was not to do anything to sacrifice many lives for the sake of looking after one wounded.

His place, he knew the next moment, was to be on the upper floor, watching and directing, ready to send men here and there where the danger was most pressing, and above all to be on the watch for the great peril; and to this end he made his way to where the great water-casks stood ready filled, wishing to make sure that if the emergency arrived the coolies were at their posts ready to run here or there with buckets of water.

To his great delight, there they all were, every man stripped to the waist and with a great ready-bared knife stuck through his girdle, ready to salute him with a broad smile and seize a bucket to plunge into the open-ended casks.