"There's nothing that resembles a sheep
hereabouts." His eyes suddenly brightened as they lighted on a large
concourse of cocks and hens pecking in tolerably close order at some
fifty paces distant from us. "Boys," he shouted, "as these chaps can't
be made to understand, let's help ourselves. Each one seize what he
can get and make for the boat. Follow me." He sprang with incredible
agility towards the fowls, and in a trice had a couple of them
shrieking and fluttering in his grasp. In a breath the
Chinamen--thirty or forty strong--uttering a long, peculiar shout,
armed themselves with pitchforks--at all events, a species of weapon
that to my young eyes resembled a pitchfork,--sticks, and stones, and
gave chase. They tramped after us with the noise of an army in pursuit.
We flew towards the boat, screaming to the fellow in charge to haul in
and receive us. A stone struck me in the small of my back, and urged
me forwards faster than my legs were travelling. Down I should have
tumbled on my nose, and in that posture have been straightway
massacred, but for the timely grip of a sailor who was running by my
side. "Hold up, my hearty!" he roared, hooking his fingers into the
back of my collar and jerking me backwards.
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