Some of his barricades seem even abandoned, and stand lonely and quite

silent without any of the gaudily clothed soldiery to enliven them by

occasionally standing up and waving us their doubtful greetings. But,

curious contradiction, although some barricades have been practically

abandoned, others are being erected very cautiously, very quietly, and

without any ostentation, as if the enemy were preparing for

eventualities which he knows must inevitably occur. Sometimes, too,

there is even a little crackle of musketry in some remote corner,

which remains quite unexplained. A secret traffic in eggs and

ammunition is still going on with renegade soldiery from Tung

Fu-hsiang's camp; but no longer can these things be purchased openly,

for a Chinese commander has beheaded several men for this treachery,

and threatens to resume fighting if his soldiers are tampered with.

But there is another piece of curious news. A spy has come in and

offered to report the movements of the European army of relief, which

he alleges has already left Tientsin and is pushing back dense bodies

of Chinese troops. This offer has been accepted, and the man has been

given a sackful of dollars from Prince Su's treasure-rooms. He is to

report every day, and to be paid as richly as he cares if he gives us

the truth. Some people say he can only be a liar, who will trim his

sails to whatever breezes he meets. But the Japanese, who have

arranged with him, are not so sceptical; they think that something of

importance may be learned.

Down near the Water-Gate, which runs under the Tartar Wall, the

miserable natives imprisoned by our warfare are in a terrible state of

starvation. Their bones are cracking through their skin; their eyes

have an insane look; yet nothing is being done for them. They are

afraid to attempt escape even in this quiet, as the Water-Gate is

watched on the outside night and day by Chinese sharpshooters. It is

the last gap leading to the outer world which is still left open.

Tortured by the sight of these starving wretches, who moan and mutter

night and day, the posts near by shoot down dogs and cows and drag

them there. They say everything is devoured raw with cannibal-like

cries....

The position is therefore unchanged. We have had a week's quiet, and

some letters from the Tsung-li Yamen, which assures us of their

distinguished consideration, yet we are just as isolated and as uneasy

as we were before. This solitude is becoming killing.

XVIII

THE UNREST GROWS AND DIPLOMACY CONTINUES

27th July, 1900.

* * * * *

It is not so peaceful as it was. Trumpet calls have been blaring

outside; troops have been seen moving in big bodies with great banners

in their van; the Imperial world of Peking is in great tumult; the

soldier-spy alleges new storms must be brewing.

In spite of this, however, the Tsung-li Yamen messengers now come and

go with a certain regularity. This curious diplomatic correspondence

must be piling up. Even the messengers, who at first suffered such

agonies of doubt as they approached our lines, frantically waving

their flags of truce and fearing our rifles, are now quite accustomed

to their work, and are becoming communicative in a cautious, curious

Chinese way which hints at rather than boldly states. They tell us

that our barricades can only be approached with some sense of safety

from the eastern side--that is, the Franco-German quarter; in other

quarters they may be fired on and killed by their own people. The

Peking troops, who can be still controlled by Prince Ching and the

Tsung-li Yamen, are on the eastern side of the enclosing squares of

barricades; elsewhere there are field forces from other

provinces--men who cannot be trusted, and who would massacre the

messengers as soon as they would us, although they are clad in

official dress and represent the highest authority in the Empire. This

position is very strange.

But more ominous than all the trumpet calls and the large movements of

troops which have been spied from the top of the lofty Tartar Wall,

are the tappings and curious little noises underground. Everywhere

these little noises are being heard, always along the outskirts of our

defence. It must be that the mining of the French Legation is looked

upon as so successful, that the Chinese feel that could they but reach

every point of our outworks with black powder placed in narrow

subterranean passages, they would speedily blow us into an ever

narrower ring, until there was only that left of us which could be

calmly destroyed by shells. We now occupy such an extended area, and

are so well entrenched, that shelling, although nerve-wracking, has

lost almost all its power and terror. Were Chinese commanders united

in their purpose and their men faithful to them, a few determined

rushes would pierce our loose formation. As it is, it is our

salvation. In the quiet of the night all the outposts hear this

curious tapping. It is heard along the French lines, along the German

lines, along the Japanese lines, and all round the north of the

British Legation. Were we to remain quiescent the armistice might be

suddenly broken some day by all our fighting men being hoisted into

the air. Our counter-action has, however, already commenced.

For while the enemy is pushing his lines cunningly and rapidly under

our walls and outworks, we are running out counter-mines under his--at

least, we are attempting this by plunging a great depth into the

earth, and only beginning to drive horizontally many feet below the

surface line. Hundreds of men are on this work, but the Peking soil is

not generous; it is, indeed, a cursed soil. On top there are thick

layers of dust--that terrible Peking dust which is so rapidly

converted into such clinging slush by a few minutes' rain. Then

immediately below, for eight feet or so, there is a curious soil full

of stones and _debris_, which must mean something geologically, but

which no one can explain. Finally, at about a fathom and a half there

is a sea of despond--the real and solid substratum, thick, tightly

bound clay, which has to be pared off in thin slices just as you would

do with very old cheese. This is work which breaks your hands and your

back. Somebody must do it, however; the same men who do everything

help this along as well....

With all this mining going on many curious finds are being made, which

give something to talk about. In one place, ten feet below the

surface, hundreds and hundreds of ancient stone cannon-balls have been

found which must go back very many centuries. Some say they are six

hundred years and more old, because the Mongol conqueror, Kublai Khan,

who built the Tartar City of Peking, lived in the thirteenth century,

and these cannon-balls lie beneath where tilled fields must then have

been. Are they traces of a forgotten siege? In other places splendid

drains have been bared--drains four feet high and three broad, which

run everywhere. Once, when Marco Polo was young, Peking must have been

a fit and proper place, and the magnificent streets magnificently

clean. Now ...!

To-day the soldier-spy has brought in news that the Court is preparing

to flee, because of the approach of our avenging armies, and that the

moving troops and the hundreds of carts which can be seen picking

their way through the burned and ruined Ch'ien Men great street in the

Chinese city will all be engaged in this flight. Our troops are

advancing steadily, he says, driving everything before them. Still no

one believes these stories very much. We have had six weeks of it now

and several distinct phases. Somehow it seems impossible that the

whole tragedy should end in this unfinished way--that thousands of

European troops should march in unmolested and find us as we are....

There is practically no day duty now and very easy work at night. One

can have a good sleep now, but even this seems strange and out of

place.

XIX

THE FIRST REAL NEWS

28th July, 1900.

* * * * *

Something has again happened, something of the highest importance. A

courier from Tientsin has arrived at last--a courier who slipped into

our lines, delivered his quill of a message which had been rolled up

and plaited into his hair for many days, and is now sitting and

fanning himself--a thin slip of a native boy, who has travelled all

the way down that long Tientsin road and all the way back again for a

very small earthly reward. A curious figure this messenger bringing

news from the outside world made as he sat calmly fanning himself with

the stoicism of his race. Nobody hurried him or questioned him much

after he had delivered his paper; he was left to rest himself, and

when he was cool he began to speak. I wish you could have heard him;

it seemed to me at once a message and a sermon--a sermon for those who

are so afraid. The little pictures this boy dropped out in jerks

showed us that there were worse terrors than being sealed in by

brickwork. He had been twenty-four days travelling up and down the

eighty miles of the Tientsin road, and four times he had been caught,

beaten, and threatened with death. Everywhere there were marauding

bands of Boxers; every village was hung with red cloth and pasted with

Boxer legends; and each time he had been captured he had been cruelly

beaten, because he had no excuse. Once he was tied up and made to work

for days at a village inn. Then he escaped at night, and went on

quickly, travelling by night across the fields. Somehow, by stealing

food, he finally reached Tientsin. The native city was full of Chinese

troops and armed Boxers; beyond were the Europeans. There was nothing

but fighting and disorder and a firing of big guns. By moving slowly

he had broken into the country again, and gained an outpost of

European troops, who captured him and took him into the camps. Then he

had delivered his message, and received the one he had brought back.

That is all; it had taken twenty-four days. This he repeated many

times, for everybody came and wished to hear. It was plain that many

felt secretly ashamed, and wished that there would be time to redeem

their reputations. There would be that!

For about then some one came out from headquarters and posted the

translation of that quill of a cipher message, and a dense crowd

gathered to see when the relief would march in. March in! The message

from an English Consul ran:

"Your letter of the 4th July received. Twenty-four thousand troops

landed and 19,000 at Tientsin. General Gaselee expected at Taku

to-morrow; Russians at Pei-tsang. Tientsin city under foreign

government. Boxer power exploded here. Plenty of troops on the way

if you can keep yourselves in food. Almost all the ladies have left

Tientsin."

I suppose it was cruel to laugh, but laugh I did with a few others.

Never has a man been so abused as was that luckless English Consul

who penned such a fatuous message. The spy had already marched our

troops half way and more; even the pessimistic allowed that they must

have started; an authentic message showed clearly that it was folly

and imagination. We would have to have weeks more of it, perhaps even

a whole month. The people wept and stormed, and soon lost all

enthusiasm for the poor messenger boy who had been so brave.

Two hours afterwards I found him still fanning himself and cooling

himself. He was quite alone; most people had rather he had never come.

Yet the message has been heeded. The significant phrase is that we

must keep ourselves in food. Ponies are running short; there is only

sufficient grain for three weeks' rations; so if there is another

month, it will be a fair chance that a great many die for lack of

food. Lists are therefore being made of everything eatable there is,

and all private supplies are to be commandeered in a few days. People

are, of course, making false lists and hiding away a few things. If

there is another month of it there will be some very unpleasant

scenes--yes, some very unpleasant scenes.

XX

THE THIRD PHASE CONTINUES

30th July, 1900.

* * * * *

From the north that dull booming of guns ever continues. The Pei-t'ang

is still closely besieged, and no news comes as to how long

Monseigneur F----, with his few sailors and his many converts, can

hold out, or why they are exempted from this strange armistice, which

protects us temporarily. Nothing can be learned about them.

And yet our own armistice, in spite of Tsung-li Yamen despatches and

the mutual diplomatic assurances, cannot continue for ever. Barricade

building and mining prove that. To-day the last openings have been

closed in on us for some curious reason, and the stretch of street

which runs along under the pink Palace walls and across the Northern

canal bridge has been securely fortified with a very powerful

barricade. Outside the Water-Gate the Chinese sharpshooters have dug

also a trench....

This last barricade was not built without some attempt on our part to

stop such a menacing step, for we tried with all our might, by

directing a heavy rifle-fire, and at last dragging the Italian gun and

a machine-gun into position, to make the barricade-builders' task

impossible. But it was all in vain, and now we are neatly encased in a

vast circle of bricks and timber; we are absolutely enclosed and shut

in, and we can never break through.

Of course this has been a violation of the armistice, for it was

mutually agreed that neither side should continue offensive

fortification work, or push closer, and that violation would entail a

reopening of rifle and gun fire. We reopened our fire for a short

interval, but little good that did us. We lost two men in the

operation, for an Italian gunner was shot through the hand and made

useless for weeks, and a volunteer was pinked in both shoulders, and

may have to lose one arm. After that we stopped firing, for those

bleeding men showed us how soon our defence would have melted away had

we not even this questionable armistice.

Very soon there was a partial explanation of why this immense

barricade had been built. Late in the afternoon Chinese troops began

to stream past at a trot under cover of the structure. First there

were only infantrymen, whose rifles and banners could just be seen

from some of our lookout posts on the highest roofs. But presently

came artillery and cavalry. Everybody could see those, although the

men bent low. Unendingly they streamed past, until the alarm became

general. Even in Peking, quite close to us, there were thousands of

soldiery. When the others were driven in off the Tientsin road it

would be our doom.

From the top of the Tartar Wall came the same reports. Our outposts

saw nothing but moving troops picking their way through the ruins of

the Ch'ien Men great street--troops moving both in and out, and

accompanied by long tails of carts bearing their impedimenta. Yet it

was impossible to trace the movements of the corps streaming past

under cover of the newly built barricade. The flitting glimpses we

got of them as they swarmed past were not sufficient to allow any

identification. Perhaps they were passing out of the city; perhaps

they were being massed in the Palace; perhaps.... Anything was

possible, and, as one thought, imperceptibly the atmosphere seemed to

become more stifled, as if a storm was about to break on us, and we

knew our feebleness. Yet we are strong as we can ever be. The

fortification work has gone on without a break. It has become

unending....

XXI

MORE DIPLOMACY

31st July, 1900.

* * * * *

More despatches have been sent by our diplomats to the Tsung-li Yamen,

complaining about all the ominous signs we see around us, and asking

for explanations. Explanations--they are so easy to give! Every

question has been promptly answered, even though the Yamen itself is

probably only just managing to keep its head above the muddy waters of

revolution which surge around. Listen to the replies. The sound of

heavy guns we hear in the north of the city are due to the

government's orders to exterminate the Boxers and rebels, who have

been attacking the Pei-t'ang Cathedral and harassing the converts. The

great barricade across the Northern canal bridge was built solely to

protect the Chinese soldiery from the accuracy of our fire, which is

greatly feared. As for the mining, our ears must have played us false.

None is going on.

Such was the gist of the answers which have been promptly sent in.

These answers and this correspondence give our diplomats satisfaction,

I suppose, but most people think that they are making themselves more

undignified than they have been ever since this storm broke on us. The

Yamen can in any case do nothing; it is merely a consultative or

deliberative body of no importance. Probably exactly the same type of

despatches are being sent to the commanders of the relieving columns

at Tientsin.

There being so little for the rank and file to do or talk about at the

present moment, there is endless gossip and scandal going on. The

subject of eggs is one of the most burning ones! Great numbers of eggs

are being obtained by the payment of heavy sums to some of the more

friendly soldiery around us, who steal in with baskets and sacks, and

receive in return rolls of dollars, and these eggs are being

distributed by a committee. Some people are getting more than others.

Everybody professes tremendous rage because a certain lady with

blue-black hair is supposed to have used a whole dozen in the washing

of her hair! She is one of those who have not been seen or heard of

since the rifles began to speak. There are lots of that sort, all well

nourished and timorous, while dozens of poor missionary women are

suffering great hardships. Several people who had relations in Paris

thirty years ago tell me it was the same thing then, and that it will

always be the same thing. This story of the eggs, however, has had one

immediate result. People are hiding away more provisions and marking

them off on their lists as eaten. What is the use of depriving one's

self for the common good later on under such circumstances? What,

indeed!

There is another sign which is not pleasing any one. An official diary

is being now written up under orders of the headquarters. It will be

full of our Peking diplomatic half-truths. But, worst of all, our only

correspondent, M----, who was shot the other day and is getting

convalescent, has been taken under the wing of our commander-in-chief,

and his lips will be sealed by the time we get out--if ever we get

out. With an official history and a discreet independent version, no

one will ever understand what bungling there has been, and what

culpability. It is our chicken-hearted chiefs, and they alone, who

should be discredited. With a few exceptions, they are more afraid

than the women, and never venture beyond the British Legation.

Everything is left to the younger men, whose economic value is

smaller! I hope I may live to see the official accounts....

XXII

THE WORLD BEYOND OUR BRICKS

2nd August, 1900.

* * * * *

A new month has dawned, and with it have come shoals of letters

bringing us exact tidings from the outer world. Yesterday one

messenger slipped in bearing three letters. To-day another has arrived

with six missives--making nine letters in all for those who have had

nothing at all except a couple of cipher messages for two entire

months. Those nine letters meant as much to us as a winter's mail by

the overland route in the old days....

For as each one confirms and adds to the news of the others, we can

now form a complete and well-connected story of almost everything that

has taken place. We even begin to understand why S---- and his two

thousand sailors never reached us. There have been so many things

doing.

But all minor details are forgotten in the fact that there is absolute

and definite news of the relief columns--news which is repeated and

confirmed nine times over and cannot be false this time. The columns

were forming for a general advance as the letters were sent off. The

advance guard was leaving immediately, the main body following two

days later; and the whole of the international forces would arrive

before the middle of the month of August. That is what the letters

said. Also, the American Minister's cipher message had got through,

and was now known to the entire world. Everybody's eyes were fixed on

Peking. There was nothing else spoken of. That made us stronger than

anything else. Poor human nature--we are so egotistical!

But there were other items of news. For the first time we learned that

Tientsin has had a siege and bombardment of its own; that all

Manchuria is in flames; that the Yangtse Valley has been trembling on

the brink of rebellion; that Tientsin city has at last been captured

by European troops and a provisional government firmly established;

and that many of the high Chinese officials have committed suicide in

many parts of China. It is curious what a shock all this news gave,

and how many people behaved almost as if their minds had become

unhinged. But then we have had two months of it, and in two months you

can travel far. In the hospital it was noticed, too, that all the

wounded became more sick.... It has been decided that any further news

must be only gradually divulged, and that despatches which give

absolute details can no longer be posted on the Bell-tower....

A network of ruined houses around the old Mongol market have just been

seized and occupied by a volunteer force. This is the last weak spot

there is--a half-closed gap, which could be rushed by bodies of men

coming in from the Ch'ien Men Gate and ordered to attack us. This new

angle of native houses are being sandbagged and loopholed. Both sides,

defenders and attacking forces, are now as ready as possible. What is

going to happen? I am mightily tired of speculating and of writing.

XXIII

TRIFLES

4th August, 1900.

* * * * *

There is now, and has been for the best part of the last forty-eight

hours, outpost shooting on all sides, which remains quite unexplained.

Listen how it happens.

You are sitting at a loophole, half asleep, perhaps, during the

daytime, when crack! a bullet sends a shower of brick chips and a

powder-puff of dust over your head. You swear, maybe, and quietly

continue dozing. Then come two or three rifle reports and more dust.

This time the thing seems more serious, it may mean something; so you

reach for your glasses and carefully survey the scene beyond through

your loophole. To remain absolutely hidden is the order of the day. So

there is nothing much to be seen. Far away, and very near, lie the

enemy's barricades, some running almost up to your own, but quite

peaceful and silent, others standing up frowningly hundreds of yards

off, monuments erected weeks ago. These latter are so distant that

they are unknown quantities. Then just as you are about to give it up

as a bad job, you see the top of a rifle barrel glistening in the sun.

You ... bang! perilously near your glasses another bullet has struck.

So you pull up your rifle by the strap, open out your loophole a

little by removing some of the bricks, and carefully and slowly you

send the answering message at the enemy's head. If you have great

luck a faint groan or a distant shout of pain may reward your efforts;

but you can never be quite sure whether you have got home on your

rival or not. Loophole shooting is very tricky, and the very best

shots fire by the hour in vain. I have seen that often....

Yesterday I directly disobeyed orders by opening the ball myself. I

had been posted in the early morning very close to one of the enemy's

banners--perhaps not more than forty feet away--and this gaudy flag,

defiantly flapping so near the end of my nose, must have incensed me;

for almost before I had realised what I was doing I was very slowly

and very carefully aiming at the bamboo staff so as to split it in two

and bring down the banner with a run. I fired three shots in ten

minutes and missed in an exasperating fashion. It is the devil's own

job to do really accurate work with an untested government rifle. But

my fourth shot was more successful; it snapped the staff neatly

enough, and the banner floated to the ground just outside the

barricade.

This Chinese outpost must have been but feebly manned, as, indeed, all

the outposts have been since the armistice, for it was fully ten

minutes before anything occurred. Then an arm came suddenly over and

pecked vainly at the banner. I snapped rapidly, missed, and the arm

flicked back. Another five minutes passed, and then a piece of curved

bamboo moved over the barricade and hunted about. It was no use,

however, the arm had to come, too. I waited until the brown hand

clasping the bamboo was low and then pumped a quick shot at it. A yell

of pain answered me; the bamboo was dropped, the arm disappeared. I

had drawn blood.

Nothing now occurred for a quarter of an hour, and I heard not a

sound. Then suddenly half a dozen arms clasping bamboos appeared at

different points, and as soon as I had fired six heads swooped out and

directed this bamboo fishing. In a trice they had harpooned the flag,

and before I could fire again it was back in their camp. I had been

beaten! Then, as a revenge, I was steadily pelted with lead for more

than half an hour and had to lie very low. They searched for me with

their missiles with devilish ingenuity. This firing became so

persistent that one of our patrols at last appeared and crept forward

to me from the line of main works behind. Only by ingenious lying did

I escape from being reported....

Probably incidents like this account for the outpost duels which are

hourly proceeding, in spite of all the Tsung-li Yamen despatches and

the unending mutual assurances. Many of our men shoot immediately they

see a Chinese rifle or a Chinese head in the hopes of adding another

scalp to their tale. In any case, this does no harm. It seems to me

that only the resolution of the outposts, acting independently, and

sometimes even in defiance to orders from headquarters, has kept the

enemy so long at bay. The rifle distrusts diplomacy.

This diplomatic correspondence with the Yamen is rapidly accumulating.

Many documents are now coming through from European Foreign Offices in

the form of cipher telegrams, that are copied out by the native

telegraphists in the usual way. No one is being told what is in these

documents; we can only guess. The Yamen covers each message with a

formal despatch in Chinese, generally begging the Ministers to commit

themselves to the care of the government. They now even propose that

everyone should be escorted to Tientsin--at once. And yet we have

learned from copies of the _Peking Gazette_ that two members of the

Yamen were executed exactly seven days ago for recommending a mild

policy and making an immediate end of the Boxer _regime_. It is thus

impossible to see how it will end. Our fate must ultimately be decided

by a number of factors, concerning which we know nothing.

This breathing space is giving time, however, which is not being

entirely wasted on our part. At several points we have managed to

enter into secret relations with some of the Chinese commands, and to

induce traitors to begin a secret traffic in ammunition and food

supplies....

It is curious how it is done. By tunnelling through walls and houses

in neglected corners, protected ways have been made into some of the

nests of half-ruined native houses. And by spending many bags of

dollars, friendship has first been bought and then supplies.

The Japanese have been the most successful. Instead of killing the

soldier-spy, who had been selling them false news, they pardoned him

and enlisted him in this new cause. He has been very useful, and

arranged matters with the enemy....

The other night I crept out through the secret way to the Japanese

supply house to see how it was done. There were only two little

Japanese in there squatting on the ground, with several revolvers

lying ready. A shaded candle just allowed you to distinguish the torn

roof, the wrecked wooden furniture. Nobody spoke a word, and we all

listened intently.

A full hour must have passed before a very faint noise was heard, and

then I caught a discreet scratching. It was the signal. One of the

little men got up and crawled forward to the door like a dog on his

hands and knees. Then I heard a revolver click--a short pause, and the

noise of a door being opened. Then there was a tap--tap--tap, like the

Morse code being quietly played, and the revolver clicked down again.

It was the right man. He, too, crawled in like a dog; got up

painfully, as if he were very stiff, and silently began unloading.

Then I understood why he was so stiff; he was loaded from top to

bottom with cartridges.

It took a quarter of an hour for everything to be taken out and

stacked on the floor. He had carried in close on six hundred rounds of

Mauser ammunition, and for every hundred he received the same weight

in silver. This man was a military cook, who crept round and robbed

his comrades as they lay asleep, not a hundred yards from here. Of

course, he will be discovered one day and torn to pieces, but I have

just learned that by marvellous ingenuity and with the aid of a few of

his fellows thousands of eggs have been brought in by him. It is a

curious business, and adds yet another strange element to this

strangest of lives.

XXIV

DIPLOMATIC CONFIDENCES

6th August, 1900.

* * * * *

Firing has been more persistent and more general during the last two

days, although the armistice ostensibly still continues in the same

way as before. A number of our men have been wounded, and two or three

even killed during the past week. It is an extraordinary state of

affairs, but better than a general attack all along the line. We have

no right to complain. The day before yesterday several Russians were

badly wounded; yesterday a Frenchman was killed outright and a couple

of other men wounded; to-day three more have been hit. In spite of the

discharges from the hospitals, the numbers _hors de combat_ remain the

same.

To-day, too, trumpets are again blaring fiercely, and more and more

troops can be seen moving if one looks down from the Tartar Wall. Up

on the wall itself, however, all is dead quiet. It has been like that

for weeks. No men have been lost there.

Neither is there any news of the thick relief columns which should be

advancing from Tientsin. In spite of the shoals of letters I have duly

recorded, assuring us of their immediate departure, the majority of us

have again become rather incredulous about our approaching relief. It

has become such a regular thing, this siege life, and all other kinds

of life are somehow so far away and so impossible after what we have

gone through, that we look upon the outer world as something

mythical.... Some men have their minds a little unhinged; two are

absolutely mad. One, a poor devil of a Norwegian missionary, who has

been living in misery for years in a vain effort to make converts,

became so dangerous long ago that he had to be locked up, and even

bound. But one night he managed to escape, climb our defences and

deliver himself up to the Chinese soldiery. They led him also to the

Manchu Generalissimo, Jung Lu, half suspecting that he was crazy. Jung

Lu questioned him closely as to our condition, and the Norwegian

divulged everything he knew. He said the Chinese fire had been too

high to do us very much harm; that they should drive low at us, and

remember the flat trajectory of modern weapons. After keeping him for

some hours and learning all he could, Jung Lu sent him back. The poor

devil, when he lurched in again, vacantly told the people in the

British Legation what he had said, and a number demanded that he be

shot for treason. If they once began doing that an end would never be

reached....

Some go mad, too, during the fighting. It is always those who have too

much imagination. Thus, during a lull in the attacks against the

French lines, a Russian volunteer, with rifle and bandolier across his

back and a bottle of spirits in his hand, charged furiously at the

Chinese barriers with insane cries. No effort could be made to save

him, because hundreds of Chinese riflemen were merely waiting for an

opportunity to pick off our men. So the doomed Russian reached the

first Chinese barricade unmolested, put a leg over, and then fell back

with a terrible cry as a dozen rifles were emptied into his body. By

a miracle he picked himself up even in his dying condition, and made

another frantic effort to climb the obstacle. But more rifles were

then discharged, and finally the wretched man fell back quite

lifeless. Then over his body a fierce duel took place. Chinese

commanders having placed a price on European heads, these riflemen

were determined not to lose their reward. Man after man attempted to

drag in that dead body; but each time our men were too quick for them,

and a Chinese brave rolled over. In the end they hooked the corpse in

with long poles and it was seen no more.

A yet more blood-curdling case is that of a British marine, who has

been hopelessly mad for weeks now. He shot and bayonetted a man in the

early part of the siege, and the details must have horrified him. They

say he first drove his bayonet in right up to the hilt through a

soldier's chest; and then, without withdrawing, emptied the whole of

the contents of his magazine into his victim, muttering all the time.

Now he lies repeating hour after hour, "How it splashes! how it

splashes!" and at night he shrieks and cries.... In that miserable

Chancery hospital, swept by rifle-fire and full of such cries and

groans, the nights have become dreaded, until it is a wonder the

wounded still live....

Still, with all this, the Yamen messengers continue to come and go

with clockwork regularity. Yesterday the Chinese Government excelled

itself, and made some who have still a sense of humour left laugh

cynically. In an original official despatch--that is, not a mere

covering despatch--it politely informed the Italian _Charge

d'Affaires_ that King Humbert had been assassinated by a lunatic, and

it begged to convey the news with its most profound condolences!

Perhaps, however, there was a wish to point a moral--a subtle moral

such as Chinese scholars love. Yes, on second thoughts that was rather

a clever despatch; in diplomacy the Chinese have nothing to learn....

XXV

THE PLOT AGAIN THICKENS

8th August, 1900.

* * * * *

Some strange deity is helping the Chinese Government. There is always

something appropriate to write about. Yesterday the Duke of Edinburgh

died. We were officially informed to that effect, after the King

Humbert manner, and the condolences were great. Yesterday, also,

during the evening, shelling suddenly commenced and the cannon-mouths

that have been leering at us from a distance in dull curiosity at

their inactivity have barked themselves hoarsely to life again. Thus,

while diplomacy still continues, shrapnel and segment are plunging

about. At times it really seems as if the Chinese Government had

succeeded in dividing us up into two distinct categories. It has tried

to save the diplomats from shells and bullets; since they remain with

the others they must share their fate.

We listened to this cannonade with tightly pressed lips last night for

an hour and more, and, lying low, watched the splinters fly; and then,

just as the clamour appeared to be growing, it ceased as suddenly as

it had commenced, and the uproarious trumpets, that we know so well,

once more called off the attacking forces with their stentorian

voices. It seems as if an internecine warfare had begun outside our

lines--that the loosely jointed Chinese Government is also struggling

with itself. Thus legs and arms thrash around for a while and cause

chaos; then the brain reasserts its sway, and the limbs become quieted

and reposeful for a time. Never will there be such a siege again. I am

beginning to understand something of all its vast complexity, to know

that everybody is at once guilty and innocent, and that a strange

deity decrees that it must be so....

For while we are beginning to be attacked fitfully, other strange

things have been observed from the Tartar Wall. There has been some

fighting and shooting in the burned and ruined Ch'ien Men great street

down below, and Chinese cavalry have been seen chasing and cutting

down red-coated men. A species of Communism may in the end rise from

the ashes of the ruined capital, or a new dynasty be proclaimed, or

nothing may happen at all, excepting that we shall die of starvation

in a few weeks....

The native Christians in the Su wang-fu are already getting ravenous

with hunger, and are robbing us of every scrap of food they can garner

up. Their provisioning has almost broken down, in spite of every

effort, and the missionary committees and sub-committees charged with

their feeding are beginning to discriminate, they say. These vaunted

committees cannot but be a failure except in those things which

immediately concern the welfare of the committees themselves. The

feeble authority of headquarters, now that puny diplomacy has been so

busy, has become more feeble than it was in the first days, and, like

the Chinese Government, we, too, shall soon fall to pieces by an

ungumming process. Native children are now dying rapidly, and two

weeks more will see a veritable famine. The trees are even now all

stripped of their leaves; cats and dogs are hunted down and rudely

beaten to death with stones, so that their carcases may be devoured.

Many of the men and women cling to life with a desperation which seems

wonderful, for some are getting hardly any food at all, and their ribs

are cracking through their skin. There is something wrong somewhere,

for while so many are half starving, the crowds of able-bodied

converts used in the fortification work are fairly well fed. Nobody

seems to wish to pay much attention to the question, although many

reports have been sent in. Perhaps, from one point of view, it is

without significance whether these useless people die or not. Hardly

any of the many non-combatant Europeans stir beyond the limits of the

British Legation, even with this lull. All sit there talking--talking

eternally and praying for relief, calculating our chances of holding

out for another two or three weeks, but never acting. A roll, indeed,

has been made at last, with every able-bodied man's name set down, and

a distribution table drawn up. But beyond that no action has been

taken, and the hundred and more men who might be added to our active

forces are allowed to do nothing.

This might be all right were there not certain ominous signs around

us, which show that a change must soon come. For the enemy has planted

new banners on all sides of us, bearing the names of new Chinese

generals unknown to us. Audaciously driven into the ground but twenty

or thirty feet from our outposts, these gaudy flags of black and

yellow, and many other colours, flaunt us and mock us with the

protection assured by the Tsung-li Yamen. Still, those despatches

continue to come in, but the first interpreter of the French

Legation, who sees some of them in the original, says that their tone

is becoming more surly and imperative.

It is ominous, too, that the Chinese commands, which have been so

reinforced and are now of great strength, are so close to our outer

line that they heave over heavy stones in order to maim and hurt our

outposts without firing. All the outer barricades and trenches are

being hurriedly roofed in to protect us from this new danger. One of

our men, struck on the head with a twenty-pound stone, has been

unconscious ever since, and a great many many others are badly hurt in

other ways. The Chinese can be very ingenious devils if they wish, and

the score against them is piling up more and more.

XXVI

MORE MESSENGERS

10th August, 1900.

* * * * *

At last some great news! Messengers from the relief columns have

actually arrived, and the columns themselves are only a few days'

march from Peking. What excitement there has been among the

non-combatant community; what handshaking; what embracing; what

fervent delight! This unique life is to end; we are to become

reasonably clean and quite ordinary mortals again, lost among the

world's population of fifteen hundred millions--undistinguished,

unknown--that is, if the relief gets in....

The messengers came to us apparently from nowhere, walking in after

the Chinese manner, which is quite nonchalantly, and with the sublime

calm of the East. One of the first slid in and out of the enemy's

barricades with immense effrontery at dawn, and then climbed the

Japanese defences, and produced a little ball of tissue paper from his

left ear. Fateful news contained so long in that left ear! It was a

cipher despatch from General Fukishima, chief of the staff of the

relieving Japanese columns. It said that the advance guard would reach

the outskirts of Peking on the 13th or 14th, if all went well.

Heavens, we all said, as we calculated aloud, that meant only three or

four days more....

This news was soon duplicated, for hardly had the first excitement

subsided when the news spread that a second messenger from the

British General of the relieving forces had managed to force his way

through. It was a confirmation, was his message; three or four days

more.... But the messenger, when he spoke, had other things to say. He

had been sent out by us a week before by being lowered by ropes from

the Tartar Wall. Forty miles from Peking he had met Black cavalry and

Russian cavalry miles in advance of the other soldiery. They had

charged at him and captured him, and led him before generals and

officers.... The roads leading to Peking were littered with wounded

and disbanded Chinese soldiery; there had been much fighting, but the

natives could not withstand the foreigner--that is what their

compatriot said. Everybody was terrified by the Black soldiery from

India; they had come in the same way forty years before....

So the relieving armies are truly rolling up on Peking. It seems

incredible and unreal, but it is undoubtedly true, and it must be

accepted as true....

As if goaded by the terrors conjured up by these avenging armies,

which are now so close, the Tsung-li Yamen, in some last despatches,

has informed our Plenipotentiaries that it is decapitating wholesale

the soldiery that have been firing on us--that it wishes for personal

interviews with all our Ministers to arrange everything, so that there

may be no more misunderstandings later on. Vain hope! Numbers of

documents are coming in, and every Minister wishes to write something

in return--to show that with the return of normal conditions there

will be a return of importance. Somehow it seems to me that not one of

them can become important again in Peking. They have been too

ridiculous--politically, they are already all dead.

XXVII

THE ATTACKS RESUMED

12th August, 1900.

* * * * *

All thoughts of relief have been pushed into the middle distance--and

even beyond--by the urgent business we have now on hand. For the

attacks have been suddenly resumed, and have been continuous, well

sustained, and far worse than anything we have ever experienced

before, even in the first furious days of the siege. What stupendous

quantities of ammunition have been loosed off on us during the past

forty-eight hours--what tons of lead and nickel! Some of our

barricades have been so eaten away by this fire, that there is but

little left, and we are forced to lie prone on the ground hour after

hour, not daring to move and not daring to send reliefs at the

appointed intervals. So intense has the rifle-fire been around the Su

Wang-fu and the French Legation lines, that high above the deafening

roar of battle a distinct and ominous snake-like hissing can be

heard--a hiss, hiss, hiss, that never ceases. It is the high-velocity

nickel-nosed bullet tearing through the air at lightning speed, and

spitting with rage at its ill success in driving home on some

unfortunate wretch. They hiss, hiss, hiss, hour after hour, without

stopping; and as undertone to that brutal hiss there is the roll of

the rifles themselves, crackling at us by the thousand like dry

fagots. At first this storm of sound paralyses you a little; then a

lust for battle gains you, and you steadily drive bullets through the

Chinese loopholes in the hope of finding a Chinese face. Whenever they

bunch and press forward we wither them to pieces.... But men are

falling on our side more rapidly than we care to think--one rolled

over on top of me two hours ago drilled through and through--and if

anything should happen to the relieving columns and delay their

arrival for only two or three days, this tornado of fire will have

swept all our defenders into the hospitals. The Chinese guns are also

booming again, and shrapnel and segment are tearing down trees and

outhouses, bursting through walls, splintering roofs, and wrecking our

strongest defences more and more. Just now one of our few remaining

ponies was struck, and it was a pitiable sight, giving a bloody

illustration of the deadly force of shell-fragments. The piece that

struck this poor animal was not very big, but still it simply tore

into his flank, and seemed to burst him in two. With his entrails

hanging out and his agonised eyes mutely protesting, the pony

staggered and fell. Then we despatched him with our rifles.

Our casualty list has now passed the two hundred mark, they say. In a

few days more, fifty per cent. of the total force of active combatants

will have been either killed or wounded.

During the lulls which occur between the attacks, when the Chinese

soldiery are probably coolly refreshing themselves with tea and pipes

and hauling away those who have succumbed, we hear from the north of

the city the same dull booming of big guns, continuous, relentless,

and never-tiring. It is the sound of the Chinese artillery ranged

against the great fortified Roman Catholic Cathedral. When we have a

few moments we can well picture to ourselves this valiant Bishop

F----, with cross in hand, like some old-time warrior-priest, pointing

to the enemy, and urging his spear-armed flocks to stand firm along

the outer rim. We can also see, in the smoke and dust, the thin fringe

of sailors who must be forming the mainstay of the defence. Perhaps,

sprinkled along the compound walls, with harsh-speaking rifles in

their hands, they are a sort of human incense, exorcising by their

mere presence the devils in pagan hearts....

Scant time for thoughts; none for recording, as each hour shows more

clearly what we may expect. Scarcely has the fire been stilled in one

quarter than it breaks out with even greater violence in another, and

we are hurried in small reinforcements from point to point. And from

the positions on the Tartar Wall, which are now also dusted by a

continually growing fire that would sweep our men off in a cloud of

sandbags and brick-chips, the enemy's attacks can be best understood.

The growing number of rifles being brought to bear on us; the violence

and increasing audacity; the building of new barricades that press

closer and closer to our own, and are now so near that they almost

crush in our chests--are all clear from the reports sent down. The

relief columns on the Tientsin road are driving in unwieldy Chinese

forces on top of us, and this native soldiery is falling back on the

capital to be remarshalled after a fashion--placed on the city walls

or flung against us in a despairing attempt to kill us all, and remove

the Thing which is making the relieving columns advance so quickly.

Crazy with fear, and with ghosts of the chastisement of 1860 etched on

every column of dust raised by their retreating soldiery, the Chinese

Government is acting like one possessed.

To-day I saw it all beautifully, with the aid of the best glasses we

have got. First came bodies of infantry trotting hurriedly in their

sandals and glancing about them. In the dust and the distance they

seemed to have lost all formation--to be mere broken fragments. But

once a man stopped, looked up at us, a mere dot in the ruined streets

hundreds and hundreds of yards away, and then savagely discharged his

rifle at us. He knew we were on the Tartar Wall, and so sent his

impotent curses at us through a three-foot steel tube.... Behind such

men were long country carts laden with wounded and broken men, and

driven by savage-looking drivers, powdered with our cursed dust and

driving standing up with voice and whip alone. The teams of ponies

were all mud-stained and tired, and moved very slowly away; and their

great iron-hooped wheels clanked discordantly over the stone-paved

ways. Sometimes a body of cavalry, with gaudy banners in the van and

the men flogging on their steeds with short whips, have also ridden by

escaping from the rout. Infantry and horsemen, wounded in carts and

wounded on foot, flow back into the city through the deserted and

terror-stricken streets, and it is we who shall suffer. So much of

this has been understood by everybody, that an order has been

privately given that no one is to be allowed on the Tartar Wall,

excepting the regular reliefs. There is in any case no time for most

of us to creep up there and look on the city below; we are tied to the

barricades and trenches down in the flat among the ruins, chained to

our posts by a never-ending rifle-fire.

XXVIII

THE THIRTEENTH

13th August, 1900.

* * * * *

It is the 13th, that fateful number, and there are some who are

divided between hope and fear. Is it good to hope on a 13th, or is it

mere foolishness to thing about such things? Who knows?--for we have

become unnatural and abnormal--subject to atavistic tendencies in

thought and action.... Most people are keeping their thoughts to

themselves, but actions cannot be hidden. You would not believe some

of the things....

There has not been a sign or a word from the relief column for many

hours. The fleeing Chinese soldiery we witnessed in such numbers

yesterday entering the city have stopped rushing in, and now from the

Tartar Wall the streets below in the outer city seem quite silent and

deserted. Last night, too, it was seen that the line of the enemy's

rifles packed against us was so continuous, and the spacing so close,

that one continuous flame of fire ripped round from side to side and

deluged us with metal. So heavy was this firing, so crushing, that it

was paralysing. Any part broken into would have been irretrievably

lost. The bullets and shells struck our walls and defences in great

swarms sometimes several hundred projectiles swishing down at a time.

There must have been ten or twelve thousand infantry firing at us and

fifteen guns. Where I lay, with a post of sixteen men, there were more

than five hundred riflemen facing us, at distances varying from forty

feet to four hundred yards. Every ruined house outside the fringe of

our defence has now been converted into a blockhouse by the persistent

enemy. Every barricade we have built has a dozen other barricades

opposing it in parallels, in chessboards, in every kind of formation;

and from these barricades the fire poured in since the 10th--that is,

for sixty long hours--has only ceased at rare intervals. Our

stretcher-parties have been very busy, but how many men we have lost

since the armistice was deliberately broken no one knows. Yesterday a

French captain, a gallant officer, who feared nothing, was shot dead

through the head, making the ninth officer killed or severely wounded

since the beginning. Yesterday, also, the new Mongol market defences

trembled on the brink hour after hour, and with them the fate of three

thousand heads. New Chinese troops armed with Mannlicher carbines, the

handiest weapons for barricade fighting, had been pushed up behind a

veil of light entrenchments to within twenty feet of the Mongol market

posts, and their fire was so tremendous that it drove right through

our bricks and sandbags. God willed that just as the final rush was

coming a Chinese barricade gave way; our men emptied their magazines

with the rapidity of despair into the swarms of Chinese riflemen

disclosed; dozens of them fell killed and wounded, and the rest were

driven back in disorder. Ten seconds more would have made them masters

of our positions. The closeness of this final agony was such that

squads of reserves, who had not fired a shot during the siege,

voluntarily went forward to the threatened points and lay there the

whole night. At last it has been driven home on all that our fate

hangs in the balance, and has hung in the balance for weeks. But it is

too late now. If a single link in our chain is broken there will be a

_sauve qui pent_ which no heroism can stop.

XXIX

THE NIGHT OF THE THIRTEENTH

14th August, 1900.

* * * * *

All yesterday the fire hardly diminished in violence, and more and

more of our men were hit.... The Chinese commanders, having learned of

the loss of a Chinese general and a great number of his men at the

Mongol market, have been having their revenge by giving us not a

minute's rest. Up to six o'clock yesterday evening I had been

continually on duty for forty-eight hours, with a few minutes' sleep

during the lulls. At six in the evening I stretched out. At half-past

eight the pandemonium had risen to such a pitch that sleep without

opiates was impossible. All round our lines roared and barked Mausers,

Mannlichers, jingals, and Tower muskets, every gun that could be

brought to bear on us firing as fast and as fiercely as possible in a

last wild effort. The sound was so immense, so terrifying, that many

could hardly breathe. Against the barricades, through half-blocked

loopholes, and on to the very ground, myriads of projectiles beat

their way, hissing and crashing, ricochetting and slashing, until it

seemed impossible any living thing could exist in such a storm.

It was the night of the 13th. Not a word had been heard of the relief

columns, not a message, not a courier had come in. But could anything

have dared to move to us? Even the Tsung-li Yamen, affrighted anew at

this storm of fire which it can no longer control, had not dared or

attempted to communicate with us. We were abandoned to our own

resources. At best we would have to work out our own salvation. Was it

to be the last night of this insane Boxerism, or merely the beginning

of a still more terrible series of attacks with massed assaults pushed

right home on us? In any case, there was but one course--not to cede

one inch until the last man had been hit. All the isolated

post-commanders--I had risen to be one--decided that on us hinged the

fate of all. The very idea of a supreme command watching intelligently

and overseeing every spot of ground was impossible. It had been a war

of post-commanders and their men from the beginning; it would remain

so to the bitter end. A siege teaches you that this is always so.

By ten o'clock every sleeping man had been pulled up and pushed

against the barricades. Privately all the doubtful men were told that

if they moved they would be shot as they fell back. Everywhere we had

been discovering that in the pitch dark many could hardly be held in

place. By eleven o'clock the fire had grown to its maximum pitch. It

was impossible that it could become heavier, for the enemy was manning

every coign of vantage along the entire line, and blazing so fiercely

and pushing in so close that many of the riflemen must have fallen

from their own fire. From the great Tartar Wall to the Palace

enclosure, and then round in a vast jagged circle, thousands of jets

of fire spurted at us; and as these jets pushed closer and closer, we

gave orders to reply steadily and slowly. Twice black bunches of men

crept quickly in front of me, but were melted to pieces. By twelve

o'clock the exhaustion of the attackers became suddenly marked. The

rifles, heated to a burning pitch, were no longer deemed safe even by

Chinese fatalists; and any men who had ventured out into the open had

been so severely handled by our fire that they had no stomach for a

massed charge. Trumpet calls now broke out along the line and echoed

pealingly far and near. The riflemen were being called off.

But hardly had the fire dropped for ten or fifteen minutes than it

broke out again with renewed vigour. Fresh troops lying in reserve had

evidently been called up, and by one o'clock the tornado was fiercer

than ever. Our men became intoxicated by this terrible clamour, and

many of them, infuriated by splinters of brick and stone that broke

off in clouds from the barricades and stung us from head to foot,

sometimes even inflicting cruel wounds, could no longer be held in

check. By two o'clock every rifle that could be brought in line was

replying to the enemy's fire. If this continued, in a couple of hours

our ammunition would be exhausted, and we would have only our bayonets

to rely on. I passed down my line, and furiously attempted to stop

this firing, but it was in vain. In two places the Chinese had pushed

so close, that hand-to-hand fighting had taken place. This gives a

lust that is uncontrollable.... Everything was being taken out of our

hands....

Suddenly above the clamour of rifle-fire a distant boom to the far

east broke on my ears, as I was shouting madly at my men. I held my

breath and tried to think, but before I could decide, boom! came an

answering big gun miles away. I dug my teeth into my lips to keep

myself calm, but icy shivers ran down my back. They came faster and

faster, those shivers.... You will never know that feeling. Then,

boom! before I had calmed myself came a third shock; and then ten

seconds afterwards, three booms, one, two, three, properly spaced. I

understood, although the sounds only shivered in the air. It was a

battery of six guns coming into action somewhere very far off. It must

be true! I rose to my feet and shook myself. Then, in answer to the

heavy guns, came such an immense rolling of machine-gun fire, that it

sounded faintly, but distinctly, above the storm around us. Great

forces must be engaged in the open....

I had been so ardently listening to these sounds that the enemy's fire

had imperceptibly faded away in front of me unnoticed, until it had

become almost completely stilled. Single rifles now alone cracked off;

all the other men must be listening too--listening and wondering what

this distant rumble meant. Far away the Chinese fire still continued

to rage as fiercely--but near us, by some strange chance, these

distant echoes had claimed attention.

Again the booming dully shook the air. Again the machine-guns beat

their replying rataplan. Now every rifle near by suddenly was stilled,

and a Chinese stretcher-party behind me murmured, "_Ta ping lai tao

liao_"--"the armies arrived." Somebody took this up, and then we began

shouting it across in Chinese to our enemy, shouting it louder and

louder in a sort of ecstasy, and heaving heavy stones to attract their

attention. We must have become quite crazy, for my throat suddenly

gave out, and I could only speak in an absurd whisper.... Oh, what a

night!...

Behind the barricades facing us we could now distinctly hear the

Chinese soldiery moving uneasily and muttering excitedly to one

another. They had understood that it must be the last night of

Boxerism, so we threw more stones and shouted more taunts. Then, as if

accepting the challenge, a rifle cracked off, a second one joined it,

a third, a fourth, and soon the long lines blazed flames and

ear-splitting sounds again. But it was the last night--this did not

matter--assuredly it was the last night, and from our posts we

despatched the first news to headquarters to report that heavy guns

had been heard to the east....

Presently, going back during a lull to see ammunition brought up, I

found that inside our lines the women and children had all risen, and

were craning their necks to catch the distant sounds which had been so

long in coming. All night long the buildings in the Su wang-fu, which

are packed with native Christians, had been filled with the sound of

praying. The elders appointed to watch over this vast flock had been

warned that perhaps they would all have to retreat to the base at the

last minute, and that all must remain ready during the night and none

sleep. As soon as it was possible, they were told that the relief was

coming--that the end was near.... What a sight it was to see them all

grouped together, for they had scrupulously obeyed orders! In one

great hall five hundred Roman Catholic women and children in sober

blue gowns were sitting patiently and silently, with their hands

folded--had been sitting so all the long night, waiting to hear any

news or orders that might be brought to them. Relief or retreat,

massacre or deliverance--all must be taken with the stoicism of the

East. A single lamp cast its dim rays over these people; and a hundred

feet farther on were other halls and buildings, all filled to

overflowing with these waiting miserables. A word would have sent them

surging back across the dry Imperial Canal--to seek safety for a few

hours in our base. Would it have been safety? An immense flood of

feeling overwhelmed me....

So the night passed uneasily away, but no more distant sounds were

heard, and in the end we began to wonder whether our ears after this

strain of weeks had not played us false.

XXX

HOW I SAW THE RELIEF

14th August, 1900.

* * * * *

Day broke, after that tremendous night, in a somewhat shambling and

odd fashion. Exhausted by so much vigilance and such a strain, we

merely posted a scattered line of picquets and threw ourselves on the

ground. It was then nearly five o'clock, and with the growing light

everything seemed unreal and untrue. There was not a sound around us;

there was going to be no relief, and we had been only dreaming horrid

dreams--that was the verdict of our eyes and looks. There was but

scant time, however, for thinking, even if one could have thought with

any sense or logic. The skies were blushing rosier and rosier; a

solitary crow, that had lived through all that storm, came from

somewhere and began calling hoarsely to its lost mates. We were dead

with sleep; we would sleep, or else....

I awoke at eleven in the morning sick as a beaten dog. The sun beating

hotly down, and a fierce ray had found its way through the branches of

my protecting tree and had been burning the back of my neck. The

Eastern sun is a brute; when it strikes you long in a tender spot, it

can make you sicker than anything I know of. Arousing ourselves, we

got up all of us gruntingly; reposted the sentries; drank some black

tea; made a faint pretence at washing; and finding all dead quiet and

not a trace of the enemy, sauntered off for news. Not a word

anywhere, not a sound, not a message. Everybody was standing about in

uneasy groups, from the French and German lines to the northern

outposts of the British Legation. Where the devil were our relieving

columns?

From the Tartar Wall we scanned the horizon with our glasses. Not a

soul afoot--nothing. Was all the world still asleep, tired from the

night's debauch, or was it merely the end of everything? As time went

on, and the silence around us was uninterrupted, we became more and

more nervous. In place of the storm of fire which had been raging for

so many hours this unbroken calm was terrible; for far worse than all

the tortures in the world is the one of a solitary silent confinement.

At one o'clock I could stand it no longer. Getting leave to take out a

skirmishing party, I called for volunteer and got six men and two

Chinese scouts. At half-past one we slid over the Eastern Su wang-fu

barricades--near where the messengers are sent from--and scurried

forward into the contested territory beyond. Working cautiously in a

long line, we beat the ground thoroughly; approached the enemy's

flanking barricades; peered over in some trepidation, and found the

Chinese riflemen gone. Every soul had fled. Something had most

certainly happened somewhere. This quiet was becoming more and more

eloquent....

We abandoned our cover, and boldly taking to the brick-littered

street, climbed over fortifications which had shut us in for so long.

Not a sound or a living thing. On the ground, however, there were many

grim evidences of the struggle which had been so long proceeding.

Skulls picked clean by crows and dogs and the dead bodies of the

scavenger-dogs themselves dotted the ground; in other places were

pathetic wisps of pigtails half covered with rubbish, broken rifles,

rusted swords, heaps of brass cartridges--all proclaiming the

bitterness with which the warfare had been waged in this small corner

alone. Eagerly gazing about us, we slowly pushed on, drinking in all

these details with eager eyes. How sweet it is to be an escaped

prisoner even for a few short minutes!

In a quarter of an hour we had cleared the ground intervening between

our defences and the long-abandoned Customs Street--perhaps a couple

of hundred yards; and peering about us, we at last jumped over the

French barricade, where our first man had been shot dead two months

ago. Two months--it might have been two years! Still there was not a

sound. Nothing but acres of ruins. Forward.

Splitting into two sections, we began working down Customs Street

towards the Austrian Legation, tightly hugging the walls and expecting

a surprise every moment. Suddenly, as we were going along in this

cautious manner, a tall, gaunt Chinaman started up only twenty feet

from us, where he had been lying buried in the ruins. Our rifles went

up with a leap, and "Master," cried the man, running towards me with

outstretched arms, "master, save me; I am a carter of the foreign

Legations, and have only just escaped." He pulled up his blue tunic,

this strange apparition, and showed me underneath his scapula. He was

of Roman Catholic family; there was no time to investigate; he was all

right. Telling him to join us, we marched on. We progressed another

fifty yards, and then there was a scuffle. I looked round, and our

Catholic had disappeared. Were we trapped? Just as I was calling out,

he reappeared; this time he was bearing a rifle and a bandolier. This

was disconcerting. "I saw the man," he began calmly, "and with my

hands I killed him by pulling on the throat--thus." He made a horrid

pantomime with his hands. Behind a wall we found the red and black

tunic of a Chinese soldier, the sash and the boots, but of a corpse

there was no sign. I was glad I understood. "What do you mean by

deceiving me?" I sternly asked the carter. "These are yours, and it

was you who were fighting against us." The man fell on his knees, and

confessed then and there without subterfuge. He had been captured, he

said and imprisoned weeks ago by a Chinese commander, who had

threatened to break the bones of his legs unless he enlisted against

us. So he had joined and had been fighting for a month. Last night, as

soon as the big guns had been heard, he deserted, and had lain where

we found him for fifteen hours, waiting for our advances, and may his

legs be broken if he lied. I paused in doubt for a minute; then I made

up my mind--we let him follow! The odds were in any case against him.

As we moved stealthily forward we came on more and more

fortifications. A formidable blockhouse had been constructed by

dragging out big steel safes, looted from the various European offices

in this abandoned area, and building them into a thick half-moon of

stone and brick, making a shell-proof defence. On the ground brass

cartridge-cases and broken straps and weapons were littered more and

more thickly, but of any sign of life there was absolutely none.

Absolute stillness reigned around us. We might have been in a city

abandoned for dozens of years....

Past this blockhouse we crept more and more cautiously, beating the

ground thoroughly, and wasting many minutes to make sure that no

riflemen lurked in the ruins which covered the ground. Our new recruit

had shown us how easily we could be trapped. Loopholes squinted at us

from countless low-lying barricades roughly made by heaping bricks and

charred timbers together. They had feared our sorties evidently as

much as we had their rushes, had these Chinese soldiers. Their

fortified lines were hundreds of feet deep.

We were now down near the abandoned Austrian Legation, and, rapidly

trotting forward in Indian file under cover of the high encircling

wall, we at last reached the main entrance. This was debatable ground.

I looked round the corner with one cautious eye, and even as I did so,

a shadow rushed along the ground.... Instantly I snapped off my rifle

from my hip, the others followed suit, and a howl of canine rage

answered us. We had rolled over a wolfish dog searching for dead

bodies. Before we had time to realise much, the savage animal was up

again and rushing at us--to escape through the gate. As it passed, we

clubbed and bayonetted him with neatness, for we have now some art in

close-quarter work, and with a last howl the animal's life flickered

out. Dogs are highly dangerous, as we knew to our cost; they give the

alarm in a way which no living man, even in these civilised days, can

fail to understand. We waited in some anguish to see whether this

scuffle had been heard; we were a quarter of a mile away from our own

lines by the circuitous route we had been forced to take, and if we

were ambuscaded, no one would probably go back to tell the tale....

Still not a sound, not a word. A little encouraged, we crept more

valiantly into the Austrian Legation, and stood amazed at the

spectacle. Rank-growing weeds covered the ground two or three feet

high; all the houses and residences had been gutted by fire,

everything combustible burned, leaving a terrible litter. But the

brickwork and stonework stood almost intact, and the tall Corinthian

pillars with which it had been the architect's fancy to adorn this

mission of His Most Catholic Majesty, stood up white and chaste in all

this scene of devastation and ruin; they might have dated from

centuries ago. Broken weapons, thousands more of brass cartridges, and

sometimes even a soldier's bloodstained tunic could be seen among the

weeds. This must have been the site of another camp of Chinese

soldiery. Abandoned straw matting showed where rough huts had once

been built line upon line. But all these hosts had flown.

We now held a council of war. What should we do--push on or go back?

It seemed highly dangerous, but suddenly making up my mind, I cut

short all deliberations and ordered an advance. To feel for the enemy,

to get in touch with the enemy at all costs, and to scratch him if

possible, is evidently the scout's duty, even when the scout is but a

siege amateur, with broken trousers, a mud-stained shirt and a

battered rifle. But we must make ourselves secure. We bolted the big

gates behind us; we sweatily piled up sufficient bricks to make its

opening a matter of minutes for an enemy's hand, and then we once

again trotted forward. This time we were irrevocably inside the

Legation, and separated, perhaps, for good and all from our own

people....

We rapidly covered the ground until we reached the extreme eastern

corner of the vast enclosing Legation wall. Very recently there had

been some one just here for a fire was still smouldering on the

ground, and in some earthenware bowls there was some cold rice. We

must see what was beyond....

The big recruit lent me his broad shoulder, and with some struggling I

caught the edge of an outhouse roof and hitched myself astride of the

main wall. Still nothing to be seen except ruined and battered houses;

again not a soul, not a dog, not a vestige of life. The others came

up, too, and we rapidly improvised a ladder to get down the other side

and back again if necessary.

We were busily at work completing these preparations when suddenly the

big recruit grabbed me unceremoniously by the shoulder and uttered a

single word in a hoarse tone of excitement. "Look," he said; "look!" I

looked, and far down the street below us towards where lay the Palace

and the Imperial city, I saw a figure rapidly moving. A pair of

binoculars were pulled out and brought to bear. It was a Chinese

soldier!

We flattened ourselves on the top of the wall like so many crawling

snails, pushed out our rifles in front of us, and at four hundred

yards we most foolishly opened on the man. By instinct and experience,

we had all learned much in two months; yet in a moment of excitement

everything was being rapidly unlearned....

It takes some shooting to get home on a flickering figure, dodging

along a street with irregular lines, at that range, and I confess we

drew no blood. But still loophole shooting must spoil open-air work,

otherwise at that range.... The man had paused irresolutely as the

stream of bullets had hissed past him, and had then run violently into

a doorway. Presently, as we intently watched, his head emerged, then

his whole body; and, finally dodging quickly in and out, he gained a

cross-road and disappeared. What did this mean?

It did not take long to learn, for just as we had finished swearing at

our ill luck, other figures began to appear in the same direction, and

as they ran we could see that they were throwing down their things. It

seemed plain now; these must be deserters slipping out of the Imperial

city and the Palace enclosures and fleeing rapidly to escape some

fate. Something must have certainly happened somewhere, although there

was still nothing to be heard, except perhaps a distant movement in

the air, which might mean the rattle of musketry. Sometimes we could

hear that faint suggestion of sound, sometimes we could not; it was

impossible to say what it was.

Running gives Dutch courage, so we dropped from our wall, and we, too,

began running--towards the deserters. Most foolish scouts were we

becoming. The first band of fugitives saw us and bolted to the north,

one man loosing off his rifle at us as he ran, and his bullet making

an ugly swish in the air just above our heads. It was that Chinese

hip-shot which is practised with jingal and matchlock in the native

hunting, and which these Northern Chinese can with difficulty unlearn.

As that swish reached us we pressed forward even more eagerly, and

soon had debouched once more on the long Customs Street--this time

many hundreds of yards higher up than we had ever been before.

Flattening ourselves on the ground, and barricading our heads with

bricks, we waited in silence for more of the enemy to appear. We were

now admirably and safely posted.

It was some time before any more of them were to be seen, but at last,

in twos and threes, other soldiers appeared, running hurriedly, and

looking quickly about them, as if they expected to be shot down. This

time they were men of many corps, whose uniforms we could almost make

out at this short distance, and as they ran many of them threw off

their tunics and loosened their leggings. This meant open and flagrant

desertion. Just as I was about to give the order to fire a volley, a

dense mass of men, in close formation, came out of a great building

leaning up against the pink Palace walls and started marching rapidly

towards us. Then as soon as they reached a cross-road five hundred

yards away, they bent quickly due north and disappeared in a cloud of

dust. What did this fleeing to the north of the city and this ominous

quiet mean? What in the name of all that is extraordinary was

happening to cause these strange doings?

There was little time for reflection, however, for like some theatre

of the gods new scenes began to unroll. Soon other bodies of troops

appeared and disappeared, always heading away there towards the north,

always marching rapidly with hurried looks cast around them. Now safe

in the knowledge that a general retreat was taking place from this

quarter, we started volleying savagely. Bunched together in twos and

threes, the enemy offered an easy mark, and with a callousness born of

long privations we dropped at least fifteen or twenty men in very few

minutes. Lying flat on the ground our angles soon grew fixed on to our

rifle-sights, and at one house-corner four hundred yards away, six

times I made the same shot and dropped a deserter. But this heavy

firing must have attracted attention, for lead began to pelt at us

from hidden places, and soon this little action became very warm. It

was a curious experience....

It was now three in the afternoon, and, excepting for this unexplained

movement of Chinese troops, we had not discovered any sign of our

relief. Our volleying was becoming nonsensical, for having picked up

numbers of Chinese Mauser cartridges, we amused ourselves firing away

almost all the ammunition we carried. This could not continue

indefinitely. So once more I drew my men together, and once again we

scurried away, changing our direction to due east towards the great

Ha-ta Gate. We were becoming callous, now that we knew there was small

possibility of our being cut off, and half a mile from home meant

nothing to us.

We had almost reached the Ha-ta great street, and were beginning to

feel that by some strange chance we had half the city to ourselves,

when a furious galloping gave us a timely signal, and made us shrink

into a native house, the doorway of which had been beaten in by

marauders. We were just in time, for no sooner had we disappeared than

a body of Manchu cavalry came rapidly past, flogging their ponies, and

shouting excitedly to one another as they passed. At their head were a

number of high officials, and our new recruit whispered in a hoarse

voice that an old man was no other than Jung Lu, the Manchu

Generalissimo, who had command of everything. But whether this was

actually so or not, there could be no doubt about the soldiery. They

were _ch'in ping_, or body-guard troops, in sky-blue tunics, and this

retirement was the most significant of all. There was now not a shadow

of doubt.

We waited patiently in some trepidation, until the sound of these

galloping hoofs had died away completely and then peering out and

finding the coast clear, we ran for it as hard as we could leg. Faster

and faster we spun along; we were not as safe as we thought, Three

minutes brought us back again on Customs Street, and, panting sorely

from this unaccustomed exertion, we looked around. Here there was now

not a single sound, not the sight of a single man.

For many minutes nothing again occurred, but at length more Chinese

troops began to appear, all running rapidly in long flights, and a

troop of cavalry came out of a side street not more than two hundred

yards away from where we lay, and headed away at a furious gallop.

Everybody was obviously making for the north of the city; what was

going on in the other quarters to cause this exodus? The cavalry, as

they moved in close formation, were so tempting, that without

hesitation once more our rifles rang out in a well-knit volley. That

caused a terrible commotion, for cavalry are an easy mark. Ponies

broke away and galloped frantically into side streets; there was a

waving and a mix-up which blurred everything, and yet before we had

time to realise it, bullets were hissing all round us and kicking up

little spurts of dust a few inches from our bodies; a resolute

commander was in front of us. This firing became so violent that we

were driven to take shelter, and as we ran and were seen the bullets

hissed quicker and quicker. Then as suddenly as it had commenced this

pelting ceased; we saw our cavalrymen flicker away in the distance,

and once more everything was absolutely quiet. It was obvious that

something so urgent was taking place, that no one had any time to lose

in pranks.

Many minutes elapsed before we noticed any fresh signs of life, and we

remained spread across the street on our stomachs, earnestly searching

in vain for some explanation. At last, when I was becoming tired of

it, figures began to move on the long street again--little indecisive

blue dots that jerked forward, halted, appeared and disappeared in a

most curious way. They were also coming towards us--jerking about like

people possessed. Climbing a wall, I brought my glasses to bear; they

were ordinary townspeople, there was not a shadow of doubt about that,

men, women, and children, running violently, waving and calling to one

another, and apparently much distressed.

I remained on this wall-top idly gazing until my vision began to

become blurred, and I could no longer see. Then something made me

close my eyes for a second to regain command over them again; and when

I opened them and looked again through that powerful Leiss, my jaw

dropped. This time, with a vengeance, it was something new. Dense

bodies of men in white tunics and dark trousers were debouching into

the street, thousands of yards away, and were then marching due

east--that is, towards the Palace. They came on and on, until it

seemed they would never cease. What were these newcomers? Were they

white troops at last--were they Bannermen of the white Banners?...

They might be anything--anything in the world--but they might be....

Yes, without a doubt they might be ordinary Russian infantry of the

line. Russian infantry of the line! It was imperative to learn.

I clambered off the wall and decided at once on a grim test. All of us

pushed up our flaps to the extreme range and gave four sharp

volleys--the eight rifles crashing off jarringly together. As we were

preparing to give them the last cartridge on the clips, the white

specks we could just see with the naked eye stopped and flickered

away. Then as we waited there was a moment's silence; a little vapour

spurted up far away, and bang! a shell whizzed, and burst two hundred

yards to our rear. That was an immense surprise! But now we had no

doubts; these were European troops; the relief must have come; it was

all over, we must communicate the news....

Before our ideas had grouped themselves coherently, we found ourselves

bolting home--bolting like madmen. We charged clear down the middle of

the streets, with a disregard for everything; we headed straight as

arrows for the French lines, right through the heart of the most

formidable Chinese works, where but twelve hours before furious

attacks had been developed. We tore through hundreds of feet of

trenches, barricades, saps, half-opened tunnels, where everything was

scored and beaten by the riotous passage of nickel and lead. We

vaguely saw, as we rushed, lines of mat huts, broken walls, charred

timbers, countless brass cartridge cases, gaping holes--all the

wreckage left by these weeks of insane warfare. But of living things

there was not a trace.

Beating our way rapidly forward, we at length passed through those

death-strewn French Legation lines, and reached our own last

barricades, where the defence had been driven. Supposing that our men

were still behind them, we violently shouted that we were friends.

Nobody answered us.

Curiously alarmed, we clambered forward more and more quickly, and at

last near the fortified little Hotel de Pekin a confused sound of

voices arose from a stoutly fortified quadrangle. Then as we drew

nearer the voices grew, until they framed themselves into

half-suppressed cheers--a multitude of men uneasily greeting and

calling to one another. At least, we had not been abandoned I put my

leg up to swarm over a wall, and suddenly a thick smell greeted my

nostrils, a smell I knew, because I had smelt it before, and yet a

smell which belonged to another world.... With tremendous

heart-beating, I looked over. It was the smell of India! Into this

quadrangle beyond hundreds of native troops were filing and piling

arms. They were Rajputs, all talking together, and greeting some of

our sailors and men, and demanding immediately _pane, pane, pane_ all

the time in a monotonous chorus. I could not understand that word. The

relief had come; this must be some sections of an advance guard which

had been flung forward, and had burst in unopposed....

We hurried forward in a sort of daze and looked for officers, to ask

them how they had come, and whether it was all right. We found a knot

of them standing-together, wiping the sweat from their streaming

faces, and calling for water. They wanted to go to the British

Legation; not to this place--what was it; where was the British

Legation? In the heat and smell and excitement those continuous

questions made one confused and angry. This advance guard which had

rushed in could not understand our all-split area; yet it had been the

saving of us. I told them where the British Legation was. I told them

to follow me; I was going to run.

I ran on, once more choking a little, and with a curious desire to

weep or shout or make uncouth noises. I was now terribly excited. I

remember I kicked my way through barricades with such energy that once

for my foolishness I came crashing down, my rifle loosing off of its

own account and the bullet passing through my hat. I did not care;

the relief had come. It was an immense occasion and I had not been

there to see it.

Along the dry canal-bed, as I ran out of the Legation Street, I noted

without amazement that tall Sikhs were picking their way in little

groups, looking dog-tired. But they were very excited, too, and waved

their hands to me as I ran, and called and cried with curious

intonations. Pioneers, smaller men, in different turbans, were already

smashing down our barricades, and clearing a road, and from the west,

the Palace side, a tremendous rifle and machine-gun fire was dusting

endlessly. I rushed into the British Legation through the canal

open-cut, and here they were, piles and piles of Indian troops,

standing and lying about and waving and talking. A British general and

his staff were seated at a little table that had been dragged out, and

were now drinking as if they, too, had been burned dry with thirst.

Around all our people were crowding a confused mass of marines,

sailors, volunteers, Ministers--everyone. Many of the women were

crying and patting the sweating soldiery that never ceased streaming

in. People you had not seen for weeks, who might have, indeed, been

dead a hundred times without your being any the wiser, appeared now

for the first time from the rooms in which they had been hidden and

acted hysterically. They were pleased to rush about and fetch water

and begin to tell their experiences. All that day, I was told, these

hidden ones had taken a sudden interest in the hospital; had roused

themselves from their lethargy and fright, because the end was coming.

Now....

As we stood about, twisting our fingers and cheering, and trying to

find something sensible to say or to do, there was a rush of people

towards the lines connecting with the American Legation and the Tartar

Wall This caused another tremendous outburst of cheering and

counter-cheering, and led by C----, the American Minister, columns of

American infantry in khaki suits and slouch hats came pressing in. In

they came--more and more men, until the open squares were choking with

them. These men were more dog-tired than the Indian troops, and their

uniforms were stained and clotted with the dust and sweat flung on

them by the rapid advance. Soon there was such confusion and

excitement that all order was lost, until the Americans began filing

out again, and the native troops were pushed to the northern line of

defences. In the turmoil and delight everything had been temporarily

forgotten, but the growing roar of rifles had at length called

attention to the fact that there might be more fierce fighting. Every

minute added to the din, and soon the ceaseless patter of sound showed

machine-guns were firing like fury. Somebody called out to me that

there was a fine sight to be seen from the Tartar Wall, for those who

did not mind a few more bullets; and, enticed by the storm of sound

that rose ever higher and higher, I ran hastily through our lines

towards the city bastions. Every street and lane from the Ch'ien Men

Gate was now choked with troops of the relieving column, all British

and American, as far as I could see, and already the pioneers attached

to each battalion were levelling our rude defences to the ground in

order to facilitate the passage of the guns and transport waggons....

Strange cries smote one's ears--all the cursing of armed men, whose

discipline has been loosened by days of strain and the impossibility

of manoeuvring. One word struck me and clung to me again; everybody

among the Indian troops was crying it: "_Chullo, chullo, chullo_,"

they were calling.

The general advance, which had been from the outer city, as soon as

the news had been brought through that a way to the Legations had been

opened, had thrown the various units into an immense confusion.

Infantry, cavalry, artillery, and the fighting trains, were all mixed

in a terrible tangle. Some had come forward so rapidly, in their

eagerness not to be left out of it all, that they had passed in under

the walls as soon as the gates had been burst open, and had now got

jammed into our narrow streets and were unable to move. Just under the

ramp of the Tartar Wall I came on some Indian cavalry--about thirty or

forty troopers covered with mud and dirt, and led by a single British

officer. As soon as the latter caught sight of me, he shouted an angry

question as to what all this firing meant, and how in h---- he could

get out of this into the open.... He rained his questions at me like

the others had done, never waiting for an answer. The firing, in all

truth, had increased enormously, and now rang out with a most

tremendous roar. It always came from over there to the northwest,

round about the Palace entrances. Evidently Chinese troops were

holding all the Palace gates in great force, and for some reason

wished to keep the relief columns at bay at all costs until nightfall.

I yelled something of this to my disconsolate cavalry officer, and

suggested that he should follow me up the wall and see for himself. I

knew nothing. "Cavalry can't climb a wall," he furiously replied as I

rushed up above, and as I climbed higher that voice followed me in

gusts which became fainter and fainter, "Cavalry can't climb a wall!

cavalry can't climb a wall!" Then the road blotted him and his voice

completely out and a swelling scene was before me.

For up there I soon understood. A mass of Indian infantry, with some

machine-guns, had established themselves for hundreds of yards along

this commanding height, among the old Chinese barricades, and were now

firing as fast as they could down into the distant Palace enclosures.

Overhead bullets were passing in continuous streams, and crouching low

in an angle of the buttresses lay a number of wounded men. Of the

enemy, however, there was no sign to be seen; that he was firing back

more and more quickly and desperately was certain. All these

bullets....

As I stood and looked, suddenly the horrid bark of the modern

high-velocity field-gun began down below in our lines, and the word

passed along that a British battery had succeeded in getting through

the jam, and was opening on the enemy from just outside the Legations.

The barking went on very rapidly for a few minutes, and then ceased as

suddenly as it had begun. The cause was not long to seek; an infantry

advance had followed, for without any warning swarms of Chinese

riflemen began running out from the nests of ruined Chinese houses a

few hundred yards to the rear of our old lines. They came out in rapid

rushes just as flights of startled sparrows dart over the ground, and,

although very distant, from the commanding height of the Tartar Wall

they offered a splendid mark. The rifles rattled at them as hard as

possible, but the practice was as poor as ever. Of the first batch a

dozen fell and began crawling and staggering away; but the next lot,

although they ran and halted at first like dazed men under the sleet

of nickel, rapidly became more cunning. All fell as if by some sudden

signal on the ground, and crawling and jumping forward, they soon

managed to push through without losing a single man, and immediately

after this there was a droll incident such as only occurs at such

times as these.

These bunches of men had ceased falling back in their sudden rout, and

the firing of our men was being concentrated on some distant walls

flanking the Palace enclosures, when a solitary Chinese rifleman, who

had evidently been forgotten in the turmoil, trotted peacefully out.

Then, seeing he was almost in the hands of his enemies, he ran like a

hunted deer straight across a vast open, which lies directly in front

of the Dynastic Gate--never seeking cover, but running like a madman

in the open. It was wonderful.

A roar went up from our whole line when he was seen, but the infantry

did not attempt to bring him down. A single machine-gun started

rapping at him.... The man ran faster and faster as the swish of

bullets hurtled around him, until his legs were twinkling so rapidly

that he seemed to be fairly flying. The machine-gun went on rapping

and clanging ever quicker as it followed him up, and it seemed at

length impossible that he should get through. With a natural impulse,

everybody's attention became concentrated on this fugitive: would he

reach cover in safety? The answer came almost before one had thought

the question, for with sudden disgust the machine-gun stopped dead;

the man ran a few seconds longer, and then with a last bound he had

disappeared--a tiny dot of blue and red flicking vaguely away behind

some wall. Instinctively, then, some one began laughing; the next man

took it up, and soon a roar of hoarse-throated laughter came from the

hundreds of Indian soldiery who had witnessed the scene. It was like

a scene in a theatre from that height, and I remember that this

laughter of free men resounded in my ears for a long time--the

laughter of free men who have never been enslaved in bricks. It came

from straight off the chest, without any nervous nasal twanging or

sudden stopping....

Soon after this the firing dropped and dwindled away to nothing, as if

by common consent. Everybody was dog-tired, and as night fell both

sides felt that nothing could be gained or materially changed until

another day had dawned. I wandered round for the last time. Our lines,

so carefully and painfully built up during those long never-ending

weeks, had crumbled to pieces in half as many hours. The barricades

and trenches obstructing the streets had been thrown all in a lump and

sent to join the huge litter which surrounded them. There was hardly a

sentry or a picquet to be seen, only a hundred of little camp-fires

twinkling and twinkling everywhere. Such battalions and units as had

pushed in had bivouacked exactly where they had halted. Far away under

the Tartar Wall, on the long, sandy stretches, there were little wood

fires blazing at regular intervals, with countless dots moving around.

From a hundred other places there came that confused murmur which,

speaks of masses of men and animals. There were faint cries, hoarse

calls, and orders, with always a vague undercurrent trembling in the

air. For the time being, they were only British and American

troops--not a soldier of a single other nationality had been seen. As

the hours went, other people, whose troops had not come in, began

making excuses, and pretending that their generals were very wise in

acting as they had done. There were all sorts of theories. Some said

that they were securing all the gates of the city, and capturing the

Court, and seeing to very important things. It was the political

situation of three months ago being suddenly reborn, reincarnated, by

all these people, before we had even breathed the air of freedom. It

was for this that we had been rescued by the main body of the troops:

merely because had we been all killed and all recent Peking history

made an utter blank, there would have been a terrible gulf which no

protocols could bridge. It would have meant an end, an absolute end,

such as governments and their distinguished servants do not really

love. We were mere puppets, whose rescue would set everything merrily

dancing again--marionettes made the sport of mad events. We had merely

saved diplomacy from an impossible situation....

As I stood there in the night, thinking of these things, and trying to

escape from people with theories, a faint cheering arose, a hurrahing

which somehow had but little vigour. I knew what it meant; the ground

was being noisily cleared right up to the Palace walls, to make sure

that none of the enemy were lurking in the ruins, and that the play

could begin merrily on the morrow. After that cheering came a few dull

explosions, the blowing-up of a few unnecessary walls, and then all

was dead quiet again, excepting for the faint stirring of the soldiery

encamped around us, which never ceased. There was not a volley, not a

shot. It was all over, this siege, everything was finished.

With a growing blackness and distress in my heart, which I could not

explain, and sought in vain to disguise, I wandered about. I wanted

some more movement--some fresh distraction to tear my attention away

from gloomy thoughts.

Near the battered Hotel de Pekin officers who had strayed from their

commands and who were hungry had already gathered, and were paying in

gold for anything they could buy. Luckily, there were a few cases of

champagne left and a few tins of potted things, which could now be

tranquilly sold. I found some French uniforms. Some officers had at

last come in from the French commander, saying that at daylight the

French columns would march in. At present they were too exhausted to

move.

All these men, seated at the tables, were noisily discussing the

relief. I learned how it had been effected and the moves of the few

preceding days. They said that the Russians had attempted to steal a

march on the Japanese on the night of the 13th, in order to force the

Eastern gates, and reach the Imperial city and the Empress Dowager

before any one else. That had upset the whole plan of attack, and

there had then simply been a mad rush, everyone going as hard as

possible, and trusting to Providence to pull them through.

Most of the officers at the tables soon became highly elated. That is

the way when your stomach has been fed on hard rations and you have

had fourteen days of the sun. They then all began shouting and singing

and not talking so much. But still they were all devilishly keen to

know about the siege, and who had fought best, and who had been

killed.

I left them in what remains of a little barricaded and fortified hotel

disputing away in rather a foolish fashion, because they were more or

less inebriate and the sun had burned them badly. And speeding to my

_cache_, I drew out my two blankets and my waterproof. While I had

been forgetting other things, I had learned two new things--how to

sleep and how to shoot--and now since there was no more need to

practise the one, I would do the other.