Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

“That I shan’t!” muttered the boy, gripping sword and pistol tightly. “Father doesn’t wish me to do that.”

“Come along,” said Uncle Jeff. “Shall I lead, Noll?”

“Yes; go on. – Take care how you come, Stan. And mind this, boy: if the enemy do begin to fire, throw yourself flat on your face at once.”

“Yes, father,” was the reply; and the next minute, as Stan judged, they were standing in a wide passage, listening to the scraping, tearing noise, which sounded dull and smothered, till all at once, after a faint rustling which indicated that Uncle Jeff had unlocked, unbarred, unbolted, and thrown open a door, the cracking and tearing sounded quite loud.

“Bless ’em!” whispered Uncle Jeff, “they mean silk. Never mind; we’ll give them lead instead. Be ready! Silence! They don’t know we’re here.”

As he spoke Uncle Jeff moved towards the spot from which the noise came, and Stan felt his arm grasped above the elbow by his father and guided in one particular direction till he touched his uncle in the dark.

In the brief moments which ensued, Stan, now fully awake not only to what was going on but to the danger of his position, seemed to see a group of rough-looking, semi-savage Chinese – with whose stolid, half-cunning, half-treacherous countenances he had become acquainted during his short sojourn in port – standing just outside the office door, looking on while three or four were plying crowbars and trying to prise open the stout door, which seemed to be bravely resisting their efforts, till all at once there was a sharp crack and the falling inside of a piece of wood.

As the wood fell with a soft, clattering sound all became silent, the attacking party evidently listening for the occupants of the house to raise an alarm, or at all events to make some sign.

But no one inside stirred until, after quite ten minutes – which seemed to Stan like sixty – the cracking and breaking of wood was heard again.

Then Uncle Jeff turned to his brother and whispered:

“Hold your hand. I’ll try what a shot by way of warning will do. If we fire and wound the wretches they will be furious, and we are very weak.”

Stanley’s father whispered back two words which did not in the least accord with the position of the listeners, for he said:

“Very well.”

The next moment Stan saw a bright flash of light cut the darkness, showing by its diagonal direction that the pistol had been fired towards the ceiling.

The report sounded loud, and was followed once more by perfect silence.

The lad’s heart gave a leap, and a feeling of profound relief and satisfaction came over him.

“Frightened them away!” he said to himself; and the horrible thoughts which had attacked him like a nightmare, of the atrocities of which the marauding Chinese were reported to have been guilty, were dying slowly away, when the lad’s spirits sank again to zero, and he felt as cold, for all at once a savage burst of yells arose, followed by a fierce attack upon the door. All attempt at concealment was now at an end, and the attempt became perfectly open.

“Won’t this bring help, father?” said Stan in a voice that sounded rather choking.

“No,” said Uncle Jeff shortly. “People will think it is some Chinese row, and by the time the right sort of help comes it will be too late if we don’t take care. – Now then, Oliver, it means business. We must hold the place till help does come. Make ready, and let’s give them three shots through the door. I don’t suppose it will do any harm to them, but it may scare them off. Now then! – You will fire too, Stan?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Quick, then! Aim straight at the spot where the noise is loudest. Ready! – Fire!”

Three revolver-shots sounded almost like one, and this was followed by a low, fierce snarl. The beating and breaking of the woodwork ceased, and there was an angry, passionate cry, with a deep, hurried growling as of many voices.

“Some one hit,” said Stanley’s father.

“And serve the wretch right!” cried Uncle Jeff fiercely. “Come, Oliver, old fellow, it is no time for being squeamish; it’s our lives or theirs.”

“Yes,” said Stanley’s father firmly. “Forgive me if I had a few minutes’ hesitation. We must fight, Jeff, and do our best. Help must come at last.”

“But can’t I go and fetch help, father – uncle?”

“No, boy – no,” said his uncle impatiently. “Do you want to be hacked to pieces?”

“No, uncle. They wouldn’t see me in the dark.”

“Perhaps not, boy, but they’d feel you. There are dozens of them, and you may rest assured that they have surrounded the place. Help must come from without. All we can do is to hold out and fight as savagely as they do.”

“Hush! what’s that?” said Stanley’s father sharply.

“I can hear it: hammering somewhere at the back,” said Stanley excitedly.

“It’s what I expected,” said his uncle. “They are trying to break in there. Let’s give them a couple of rounds, and then get out of here and barricade the door.”

“I don’t like giving up till they force a way in,” said Stanley’s father; and the lad felt that he was right, until his uncle spoke.

“Are we fit to meet such an onslaught as they will make?” he said angrily. “They’ll rush in with spear and sword – you know their reckless way. We should be overpowered at once. Come, Oliver, leave all to me. Firing is our only chance.”

“Yes,” said Stanley’s father. “Give the word.”

It was given, and another little volley was delivered, filling the office with light for a moment, and the dense, dank smell of burnt gunpowder for long enough.

This volley did more mischief, for much of the woodwork of the panels had been cut away; but the result was only to enrage the attacking party more and more, making them hack furiously at the door, and with such effect that the proximity of the sounds indicated that it could not be long before it was broken right away.

“Be ready for the retreat,” said Uncle Jeff. “Can you find your way, Stan?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Then, when I give the word, pass through first and stand aside while I bolt and bar the inner door. – Ah! it’s time to move. Now then, fire, and then dash through into the lobby.”

It was none too soon, for all at once, after a thundering crack or two, the remains of the door gave way. The marauders rushed in with a yell, but to be met with another little volley; and as they came on, yelling savagely, and making a rush for the position occupied by the defenders, as indicated by the flashes of the revolvers, yet another volley was fired, checking them for the moment, and giving Uncle Jeff time to slam the inner door in their faces, and to lock and bolt it rapidly in the black darkness.

“There!” he said; “that will take them some time to get through, and every minute is of value now.”

Stan could hear the enemy raging round the office they had just quitted; and then, after a little shouting, the shape of the door became visible, marked out as it was by faint lines of light, while from the keyhole came a vivid ray which cut through the black passage and formed a dull spot upon the wall at the end.

“Let’s go up now,” said Uncle Jeff, “and do a little firing from one of the upstair windows.”

“Do you mean to come down here again?” asked Stanley’s father.

“Not while these ruffians are near. – What do you say, Stan?”

“It would be like throwing our lives away, uncle.”

“Quite right, my boy. No; we will lock the door at the top of the stairs and then barricade it. We shall be pretty safe then from attack made below.”

“They will try to reach us by one of the first-floor windows.”

“Yes; but they will only be able to come up one at a time, and so long as the ammunition lasts I think we can keep them back. – Why, Stan, my lad, this is a queer experience for you,” continued Uncle Jeff as, taking everything quite coolly, he helped his brother to lock and carefully secure what was literally the front-door of their dwelling, although it was entered by means of a flight of steps, and was on the first floor of the newly built house.