Stan Lynn Part 64

blood would suffice.

"Not going to be too much for us, are they?" thought Stan, whose blood was well up; but a slight feeling of dread attacked him as to their future. For the enemy seemed, in spite of their losses, by no means quelled, only spurred on to fresh attacks, which grew fiercer as the moments glided by.

"Eh? What?" cried Uncle Jeff suddenly, as a blue-frocked, particularly clean and tidy-looking individual forced his way amongst the powder-and-pitch-smoke blackened party of four defending Stan's window.

"You here, Wing?" cried Stan, turning from taking aim, and feeling a hand grasp his arm.

"Come, quick!" cried the Chinaman, with a highly pitched squeak.

"Pilate got in bottom. Plenty lot come 'long fast; cuttee allee float."

"Quick, all!" roared Blunt at that moment. "The stairs--the stairs!"

A rush was made towards the opening, and Uncle Jeff sprang to the head of the broad stairs, just in time to bring his rifle-b.u.t.t down on the head of a big Chinaman who, holding a great sword in both hands, was reaching forward to cut under the arms of Blunt, who was swinging his piece round, clubbed, to beat back three or four of the enemy who were crowding up.

Down came Blunt's rifle, and with it two of the enemy; but half-a-dozen more were springing up ready to receive a tremendous blow from Uncle Jeff--a too tremendous blow, for though it tumbled one man down upon those beneath, the stock of the rifle went after him, and the barrel had to be used as a weapon alone.

Meanwhile Stan had dropped upon one knee, and waiting his opportunity, fired and brought down the next swordsman who reached up to cut at his uncle.

They were desperate moments, but those three held the pirates in check by their efforts till they were reinforced by the coolies who had dealt with the fire-pots, these flinging themselves bravely forward in defence of their masters; and the check grew more severe, giving the defenders time to improve their position.

Stan was the first to make a suggestion, and it was to Wing.

"Bring me a bale here," he said, "to fight over."

"Yes, and let's have more and more," cried Uncle Jeff.

Wing showed no signs of his old injury, and as he jabbered fiercely to the coolies, they followed his example, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time bales and tea-chests were thrust to the edge of the broad opening, forming something of a defence against the attacking party, who were checked but not damped, for three of the defenders of the windows came to Stan's help, firing with him from behind the new breastwork, over which Uncle Jeff raged like an angry lion; while Blunt, whose strength was failing fast, only struck at intervals as opportunities came.

"It's all over," thought Stan as he kept on loading and firing mechanically, for it was plain enough that somehow or another the enemy had forced a way into the lower floor, through which they were shouting defiance and fulminating threats; but they made no farther progress, for heads had only to be shown up the stairs for their owners to be beaten down by rifle-barrel or pistol-b.u.t.t, and their supporters to stumble back or be riddled by one or other of the bullets that were fired with unerring aim.

"Oh deah!" came in a whining voice close to Stan's ear in a momentary pause between two attacks; and turning his head sharply as his fingers were busy with the breech of his piece, there, bent over him, was Wing, with a tremendous knife in his hand. "Wing wish to be fighting-man.

Allee fall downee. Pilate come fastee fastee. Look, look! Going buln evelybody up."

Wing's eyes and nostrils had been busier than Stan's, for, engrossed as he was with his firing, he had seen nothing but those who were about to attack his uncle, and the greatest peril of all had escaped his notice.

But now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up.

"See that, uncle?" he panted.

"Yes, my boy; they're going to make our fall warm for us."

"But the water-buckets!"

"No good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here."

"Fire!" cried Blunt hoa.r.s.ely.

"Yes, fire," said Uncle Jeff; "but don't slacken your efforts, man.

Keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. If not, I hope they will be caught in their own trap."

"But us--your nephew--escape?"

"I don't see how," said Uncle Jeff.--"Do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, Stan?"

"Are you all coming too, uncle?" said the lad.

"No, my boy; it is impossible. We must fight to the last."

"Yes," said Stan quietly; "of course it's impossible. I should only jump into a crowd and be hacked to pieces. I'd rather stay here."

Uncle Jeff was silent, but he lowered one hand to squeeze his nephew's.

"Bless you, my boy!" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "It's very hard, but there's nothing for it unless help comes."

"And no help will come that I can see," panted Blunt, who was reeling with weakness.

"Ah-h-h! Takee ca'e!" shrieked Wing, bringing down his big knife with all his might, as, regardless of flame and smoke rising with stifling fumes through the square opening of the stairs, some half-dozen of the enemy made a rush to get at the defenders. And once more a desperate struggle ensued, which was repeated till the suffocating wreaths were too much even for the much-diminished attacking party, who now drew back to make way for a strong force of their companions. These rushed to the foot of the stairs to hurl about a dozen of the flaming missiles up at the defenders, and then dashed away again, just in time to escape a furious burst of flame which indicated that the fire was beginning to rage below; in fact, within five minutes the staircase was perfectly impa.s.sable, the flames roaring up being augmented with fresh fuel by the enemy, who hurled in pot after pot.

"No escape there, Stan," said Uncle Jeff as they drew back from the scorching heat.

"But no more attack, uncle," replied Stan. "We are safe from that."

"And safe to be burned out."

"Yes," said Blunt bitterly; "but we can't die like this.--Come, my lads, back to the windows, and let us make the wretches feel that they will have to go on paying for our lives to the last."

"Yes," said Uncle Jeff solemnly; "it has all been bravely done, and so we have done our duty. I suppose we could not make a dash from one window and fight our way to some boat?"

"No," said Blunt as he shared the old window with them again, the men going back to their former stations--"no; it would be utter madness to try it. Ah I look below."

"Yes; swarming with their spears," said Uncle Jeff.

"To catch us as we spring out from the fire," cried Stan. "Oh uncle, can we do nothing?"

"Nothing but kill a few more of the wretches before we go, my boy. I should be acting the part of a coward now if I did not own that we have reached the worst."

"Oh uncle," cried Stan pa.s.sionately, "why did you come?"

"To help you, boy; and I am sorry I've failed. There! shake hands, my dear lad; life is always short, but this is too short for you."

"Fire! fire!" cried Blunt pa.s.sionately. "My rifle's useless, and in another ten minutes we shall be too late."

Stan looked wildly round as he raised his rifle to fire through the loophole again at the wretches waiting to catch them on bristling trident forks and spears, and it seemed a mockery, though the rifle-shots were fast pattering down, for him to think of destroying still more life when so near the termination of his own; but Blunt was his captain to the last, and his eye was on the sight, his finger on the trigger, and almost by instinct he was marking down one of the wretches right in front. Once more his nerves were tensely strained, and in another instant the enemy before him would have fallen, dangerously wounded if not dead, when there was a sudden shock, as if the fire had reached the little magazine and the cartridges had proved how they would act under the circ.u.mstances. The place literally rocked, there was a deafening roar, and the savage yelling of the attacking force was drowned.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

"BUT WE WEREN'T BEATEN."