On the evening of the 19th Von Ketteler sent an official letter to the Yamen, saying on the following morning, at ten o’clock, he should go to the Foreign Office, as he wished to discuss with the Tsung-li Yamen the trip to Tien-tsin, etc. A little before ten on the morning of the 20th he started to keep this appointment. He was in his official chair, his interpreter in one behind him, and both unarmed. Four of his Legation guard started out with him, but, after proceeding a short distance, Von Ketteler saw the congested condition of the streets and the great number of excited soldiers everywhere, and, rather than run the possibility of his men getting into a row, he sent them back to the Legation, and proceeded on his way to the Yamen in just such a style as a high Chinese mandarin would go through the streets, with only his two maffus riding on in front as outriders. These Chinese servants, being mounted, were the first people to bring the news back to the German Legation of his murder. Von Ketteler was passing a kind of guard-house where at all times a fairly large number of Imperial Chinese soldiers was kept. A number of them rushed out, surrounded his chair, and shot him many times in the back of the head. His interpreter was shot at as he was escaping with great difficulty, and a volley of shot was fired at him as he started to run. He escaped, however, to the big Methodist mission, where his wounds were dressed and he was cared for.

When the horrible news came to the German Legation, all the soldiers and officers there made a sortie as near as possible over the route taken by Von Ketteler; but it was not feasible for them to continue the search for his body, as they could very easily have been cut off from the Legation quarter by the Chinese troops, and have been placed in a desperate position.

When the story of Von Ketteler’s murder had been confirmed, a shiver of horror shook each and every foreigner then in Peking; and we realized, perhaps for the first time, the horror of our position. Baroness von Ketteler, half crazed, wandered wildly about the most exposed and dangerous part of the German Legation. It was only by Lady Macdonald’s telling her that probably her husband’s body was at the British Legation that she was able to get her there, it being necessary, of course, for her to be put somewhere safe from bullet-fire, where women could be with her and do what little they could.

Those soldiers who killed Von Ketteler were Imperial Chinese troops, and represent the Empress-Dowager, and for them to have the audacity to kill a Minister shows us how much real power for the good there is in Peking to-day.

In the early afternoon the Ministers in conference decided that everyone must go to the British compound—that is to say, all women and children, missionaries, etc. The idea of getting our passports was no more discussed. Von Ketteler’s murder had opened our eyes to our real position and the real attitude of the Imperial troops, so that the question of being escorted by them to the coast was never again seriously thought of for a moment, except to feel that Von Ketteler’s death was the price we paid in order to learn of the positive treachery of the Chinese officials, although one must not forget there were many clever men in Peking who from the first argued in the strongest way against our going to Tien-tsin with a Chinese escort, begging the Ministers to wait until our own relief force, under Seymour, should arrive, and then let our own soldiers escort us to Tien-tsin. There is no question, however, that as a body the Ministers were for accepting the offer of the Chinese officials, and that it was only the tragedy of the 20th that made them see the impossibility of such a course.

The women and children and non-fighting men having gone to the British Legation, the men and marines in each Legation will stay and defend their respective fortresses as long as possible, and then make the English compound the one for a final stand. Legation Street, beginning with the Italian Legation, is completely cleared of all Chinese, and extends over the bridge up to our Legation, where we made big barricades, as we have this part of the street to defend; then the British Legation continues down from the bridge by the Imperial Wall up to the canal to the Tartar Wall. Besides this place of defence (which is the best position, and will be the final refuge for everyone), the Legations are defending themselves and their flags as long as they can; for, by keeping our lines as large as possible, when the end comes we shall be able slowly to retreat more and more, which will give us time, and by each day gained relief must be getting nearer.

As we have positive proof from the Chinese that the Admirals have taken the Taku Forts, it must be that relief is very near, or they would never have jeopardized our lives in Peking by this overt act of war, unless at the same time they were in a position to save us in case the Chinese in Peking would retaliate by attempting to massacre us.

The American missionaries of several denominations, who have been defended in their big missions near the Ha Ta Men Gate by twenty of our marines, have been brought to our Legation to-day bag and baggage, not to mention babies. They consist of seventy-six adults and a large number of children, and while here Mrs. Squiers arranged a luncheon for everybody—men, women, and children; and, although she knows her food-supplies may possibly run short for her own large family, she opened her storeroom, containing staple groceries and many crates of condensed milk and cream, and urged these women to take, individually or collectively, literally as much as they could carry of the articles they most needed to tide them over until the troops arrive. These women had all had a taste of siege life, and already knew what it was to see their children show the lack of proper food; and they consequently availed themselves fully of Mrs. Squiers’s more than generous offer. It was a happy “mothers’ congress” that denuded those storeroom shelves, and then this missionary convoy was taken over to the British Legation, and Lady Macdonald gave them the chapel for their lodging.

There are so many women in our United States Legation that the British have assigned us the doctor’s bungalow. Dr. Poole is the compound surgeon, and we are living in comparative comfort compared to the people of other Legations. Politics seem to enter into the distribution of the Legation houses that are assigned to the heads of each Legation, and after a Minister is given one, he proceeds to arrange his people as comfortably as he can. Our house has not many rooms, but they are large, whereas the Russian Minister has been given the second secretary’s house, which is in bad repair, and is anything but commodious. Sir R. Hart, as Chief of Customs, has one of the inferior houses, which is unfortunate, as his Customs officials are very numerous; but then, from time immemorial, the British Minister has never loved the Customs people’s great power in having control of the huge revenues of China.

It is now almost two weeks since the troops started from Tien-tsin. Where are they? Seymour must be in command, and Sir Robert Hart suggests that, when he gets here, we call him Admiral See-no-more, or, if the Queen wishes to increase his rank for his rapid relief of Peking, she could with reason call him Lord Slow-come. The Russians themselves have christened Colonel Wogack Colonel Go-back.

Thank heavens that this compound is spacious—big trees and comparatively numerous houses. The Protestant missionaries are now all housed in the Legation chapel, where they have turned the vestry room into a model kitchen and the altar into a table d’hôte. A herd of sheep and a cow have been corralled and installed in the stables, so we shall have meat, in case we are besieged, for several weeks. But if we are not besieged so long, the most sanguine say that the Chinese, who are a nation of cowards, will get over their awe of the foreigner when they find how easily they have made him leave his Legations and collect in the strongest one. When the moment arrives when they entirely lose that awe, how easy it will be for Tung Fu-hsiang alone (even he controls about 10,000 troops around Peking) to make a rush on us, although perhaps the only strength of his force lies in its numbers! To get in, to fire and massacre all the hated foreigners at one catch, is not at all impossible.

Legation Street being held by us Americans, we were allowed to have our trunks brought over here and placed in the five-room house which was turned over to Mr. Conger for himself and official family. Dr. Poole, to whom this bungalow belonged, ate at a mess, so that, not having any need for his stove in the kitchen of his house, it was immaterial to him whether it was broken or not, but what a difference it made to us! Mr. Conger’s large family, increased by several guests from Chicago, had their meals cooked on this delightful stove at certain hours. Our family—that of the First Secretary of the Legation—is also very large, and accordingly we find it necessary to have meals at other hours; then, again, the Second Secretary, Mr. Bainbridge, arranges his chow at times during the day when it may be possible to cook something; and still again, Dr. Coltman, with his wife and six children, who have a room in the bungalow, have a definite time for their mess.

As we have come in so recently, our meals are mostly cold, in the spirit of catch as catch can. I find a great deal of coffee and tinned beef is devoured during the day with great gusto by our officers, soldiers, and civilians. Yesterday we brought all the tinned things over here from our Legation, but, as we are extremely uncertain as to the length of our siege, we realize it is just as well not to have too large appetites.

Mr. Squiers has been assigned two rooms of this house placed at the disposal of the United States Legation. They are situated at the back, opening directly on the filthy, dirty Chinese servants’ quarters. Mrs. Squiers, my maid, and I have the large room, which is practically the living-room for the family and mess of the First Secretary of the Legation. Our trunks, with two silver chests, and all the many dozens of tins of food that we brought from our Legation, are banked all round, up against the walls. The big double mattress on which we sleep is rolled up in the daytime, and we use it for seats as well as the trunks. We have no furniture, as Dr. Poole moved his bed to the hospital and found other places for the rest that he had, so the room is completely empty. Perhaps it is just as well, however, because we have great difficulty in finding a place big enough to spread our mattress out when night comes as our stores and trunks almost fill the room.

The three children have their respective cribs, which we were wise enough to bring over from our Legation. They are placed in the other room which looks out on the little avenue that runs through the compound. The air is much purer there than in our room, where we breathe the servants’ air and gas which rises from a broken sewer. The French and German governesses are placed in the ends of small halls.

When we were collecting a few comforts—mattresses, cribs for the children, etc.—in our Legation to bring over to this compound, we carelessly brought, too, a light-blue satin eiderdown quilt, which we took from one of the bedrooms, and now we are glad to have it, for it serves as a most admirable portable bed. When his services are not needed as orderly to Captain Strouts, Fargo Squiers gets some hours of good rest on it. He takes it to any particular spot where he thinks his services may be needed during the night, and, with a childlike ability to sleep anywhere, and an old veteran’s ability to wake up promptly, he finds this scrap of luxury from the old life doing excellent duty as a campaign adjunct. The sky-blue shade, however, is fast becoming a rich London smoke. Mr. Squiers, like other men who assist at the night-attacks, and must be ready to work anywhere at any time, sleeps in his clothes and his boots, usually in the American Legation, taking his rest in periods of forty Winks at such time as he is not needed.

As things are not systematically arranged yet—in fact, we hope the troops will be here before we need to get things in such a condition—we do a good deal of cooking on our chafing-dish. When we turn the room into a nursery for the children (for we cannot keep them always in their own room, nor can we allow them to be much in the compound, as half the time it is thick with exploding bullets), it is then a sight to behold. There are a good many children here. Their one game seems to be “Boxers,” and they copy in miniature what we grown-ups are playing in earnest. The younger ones are forced into being the attacking Chinese, and I am afraid when the big ones repulse them, they occasionally get very real bumps on their heads. They have small sandbags and barricades, and their Chinese warwhoop of Sha, sha! (Kill, kill!) is a creditable imitation of the real thing. It is all very clever, and they are all very full of life, and I help them to play, for it’s a good thing that they don’t realize what all this may mean, and we hope that relief will come before they lose their spirit and before they know.

One can see, on walking about, missionary children, of whom there are quantities, elbowing Ministers Plenipotentiary, and the latter going about without collars. The Belgian Minister, for instance, is a good example of the condition of to-day. He, with his First Secretary of Legation, M. Merghelynckem, Chevalier de Melotte, and his English valet, have been most gallantly defending their Legation for a long time without help of any kind. They killed many Boxers who attacked them, but they were so few that they found it impossible, after eight days, to hold out any longer, and were forced to leave. A party of Austrian soldiers went to their rescue and escorted them into the Legation lines, as the Belgian is quite distant from this centre. They had the pleasure of seeing their compound fired fifteen minutes after they left, and knew it was being looted as well. They then became “refugee colleagues,” and stopped first with the Austrians, then came here. They have for wardrobes the clothes they have on their backs, only M. Joostens has one extra blue cotton shirt and one piqué cravat.

Our Protestant missionaries are working steadily and continually wherever it is most essential, and besides doing everywhere the work of men, they have taken under their wing the care and feeding of that vast number of rescued Chinese converts who are now in Prince Su’s park. Most of the Roman Catholic brothers, in contrast, not only do not raise a finger to work, but in no way occupy themselves usefully.

Firing seems to continue at all times, but it is mostly over our heads. Yesterday Boxers tried to loot and fire the Dutch Legation, which is next to ours, and Captain Myers turned our machine-gun on the crowd for a minute and killed six Boxers, so the attempt to loot was not successful, but the burning of the compound continues. The Methodist Mission, so lately vacated, was looted and burned last night. So much happens in every twenty-four hours I can hardly keep account of it all, and as a background to the hourly horrors that develop is the continuous snipe, snipe, sniping, mostly by our own men, who are on roofs of buildings shooting at the constantly approaching incendiaries.

All food-supplies which can be procured in any way from anywhere by anyone have now to be turned in to the committee in charge of food, and everything is deposited with them on the erstwhile tennis-court of the British Legation, which is their headquarters. In fact, everything of a useful nature is stored there, whence it will later be distributed where most needed. The two foreign shops in Peking are Imbeck’s and Kieruff’s, and as they are too far up Legation Street to be defended in any way, they have been abandoned by their owners with their contents. The committee on food-supplies, although greatly desiring the stores on the shelves of these shops, would not attempt to get them, as anyone making the attempt would become a perfect target for Boxer snipers as soon as he left the protection of our last barricade on Legation Street.

Imagine our surprise when, late in the afternoon, a Chinese cart, driven by Fargo Squiers, a boy of fifteen years old, came thundering into the British compound with the upper part of the cart riddled with bullet-holes. He was heading for the two rooms in Dr. Poole’s house which had been allotted to his family, and his freight consisted of dozens of tins of the above-mentioned supplies from Imbeck’s death-surrounded shop, which he had procured at the greatest risk to his own life. The committee were about to order him to unload his desirable cargo with them, to be used for the good of the public, but upon hearing that the boy had ridden into the very jaws of death to procure these supplies, and had dared what no man in the compound had dared to do, they told him he could have the disposition of them, for by his rash valour he had well earned the lot.

It seems he procured a Chinese cart and forced two coolies to go with him. On their way to Imbeck’s one was killed by a bullet in his head, and though the other survived to help him load the cart, after arriving in the courtyard of the place, he had difficult work, as coolie number two tried to run away, and twice the boy had to point the muzzle of his rifle at him, indicating what he would do if he made any further attempts. They were fairly free from shots while actually loading the cart. On the return trip every yard of the way they were peppered by bullets, and the second coolie was wounded, but not killed. This boy saw what he thought he ought to do, and he did it; but what a terrible price might have been paid for these stores! Apropos of stores, these last certainly are welcome. Our mess is large, and so many tins were given to the missionaries and other needy people before we came to the British compound that we would have felt the lack of staple groceries tremendously had not this large windfall arrived.

The committee on food-supplies have two articles in tremendous quantities—all kinds of tobacco (long black cigars and Egyptian cigarettes) and dozens of cases of wines, mostly red and white, which will be a great help to the Continentals here. These supplies were procured by the committee from deserted shops near enough to the Legation centre to make their procuring not too dangerous. I think the general public was more pleased at the arrival of these stores than were the missionaries in charge, for with misgivings the question arose surely in their minds, Were these things sent to us from Heaven or from the other place?

Friday, June 23.

The excitement to-day is terrible, and much more intense than anything we have yet had. Fires are starting in all our “lines.” The horror and dislike of leaving our respective Legations to concentrate in the British is nothing compared to the fact that if we leave our Legation the Boxers and Chinese soldiers will immediately burn them and loot them, and this may give them such a lust for loot and pillage that it may become an incentive strong enough to overcome their national fear of attacking, and make it most terribly difficult for us to hold out until the troops come. Until the troops come! What a wail that is! and it is heard at all times, and all people take their turn in asking somebody else, “When will they come?”

This afternoon we were in Mrs. Coltman’s room, and her sweet baby was asleep in a funny, old-fashioned, high-backed crib. Although the sound of exploding bullets was to be heard outside the house, we were much startled to feel one—you can’t see them, they come so fast—enter the room, hit the headpiece of the baby’s crib, detaching it from the main part, and bury itself in the opposite wall. An inch lower and it would have cut through the baby’s brain. His mother picked him up, and all of us flew into a room on the other side of the house, where we felt we would be free from shot, at any rate coming from that direction.

We were accompanied by the wife of the Chief, Mrs. Conger, conspicuous for her concise manner, and an open follower of Mrs. Eddy. She earnestly assured us that it was ourselves, and not the times, which were troublous and out of tune, and insisted that while there was an appearance of warlike hostilities, it was really in our own brains. Going further, she assured us that there was no bullet entering the room; it was again but our receptive minds which falsely lead us to believe such to be the case. With these calming (!) admonitions she retired, and I can honestly say that we were more surprised by her extraordinary statement than we were by the very material bullet which had driven us from the room.

All women are busy sewing up sandbags to strengthen our defence, while bullets are raining into the compound like hailstones. A man comes rushing to where we are working, and tells whoever is in charge of filling the sandbags that a hundred, or as many as possible, must be taken to such and such a barricade, or it cannot hold out. We get snatches of the real state of affairs very often in this way.

June 23.

Yesterday, the 22nd, the Austrian marines vacated their Legation, although Von Rostand, the Austrian Chargé d’Affaires, and other people greatly criticized them for having left too soon. These marines then went to the French Legation, and M. and Mme. von Rostand became Lady Macdonald’s guests at the British Legation. The Belgians stayed with the Austrians until they left, when they came to this compound, and the Belgian Minister also became a guest at the Legation. The Dutch compound and the Austrian compound are still burning.

Yesterday at ten o’clock in the morning a sort of terror, almost unaccountable, seemed to sweep over the entire length and breadth of our lines; the French soldiers got in a terrible funk, left their Legation to Boxers, fire, or anything else that might appear, and ran all the way without stopping to the British Legation, where they said everything was “lost.” The Germans also got the fright, but after coming up Legation Street half-way, they turned back, and not only took a stand in their own Legation again, but they sent men into the deserted French Legation and kept it manned, so that if the Boxers came they would be resisted, and not be allowed quietly to take possession.

The Russian compound is the only passage-way by which the American marines can escape and retire to the British Legation, and it was understood that in case of an attack from the Chinese serious enough to necessitate everyone leaving their Legations, the Russians would not close their big gate opening on Legation Street until our American soldiers had entered, when they would hold out there (in the Russian compound) as long as possible, and then retreat all together to the British Legation. Our Russian friends, however, forgot this little arrangement, and when our men were also seized with this panic and left the Wall, and retreated through our Legation across Legation Street to the Russian gate, they found it not only locked and barred against them, but no one near enough even to hear them knocking. They excused themselves afterward by saying they had left a tiny gate open farther down the street, but as none of our people knew there was such an entrance, we thought this a rather poor excuse.

However, in an hour’s time, after this terror had passed over the entire line, our marines had returned to the United States Legation, and had manned the Wall again. The French returned later to their Legation which the Germans had kindly guarded for them in the interim, rather disheartened to think that the scare they had started should prove to have been only in their own overwrought minds. As the French and German Legations occupy two important positions, and are constantly being attacked by Boxers and soldiers, the French Legation could have been taken very easily by the Chinese had the Germans not occupied both Legations. They are directly opposite each other in Legation Street.

Our men already have the reputation of being the crack shots of any of the guards in Peking. It has been noticed that when our men aim they bring down their game—whether the game is a Chinese soldier’s head or a Boxer.

Yesterday it seemed too hard that, after the nervous excitement and fright to everyone in the morning, Providence did not withhold the terrible fire that broke out almost in our very midst in the park directly next the Wall. Each hour seemed more terrible than the one before. A huge column of smoke went up into the air, and in its centre forked tongues of flame burst out. It seemed impossible that this enormous fire—one so large or so near I have never before seen in my life—would not in an hour or so completely burn us up. The Boxers or soldiers who had so successfully started it must have been overjoyed to see their work, knowing it would take almost superhuman power to put it out, although I am sure they could not have thought it possible that we could extinguish it.

There was little enough hope written on people’s faces in our compound to make us feel, for a time at least, that perhaps the Chinese might be successful, and by burning one wall that played so important a part in our defence, they could enter and massacre us without having to attempt an attack by scaling. Had there been a wind blowing this enormous column of fire in our direction, we could not have fought it at all, and the entire long wall which divides the British Legation from the Empress-Dowager’s carriage park would have fallen.

Our men scaled ladders and worked like New York firemen in the way they strove together and in the good sense they exhibited. I suppose man is able to keep his head clear when he knows that this may be his last chance in this world to save his skin from Chinese savages, and that his arm develops in consequence a good deal of strength. Men who were on top of the wall, throwing down buckets of water on the fire, and handling with as much care as possible the small rubber pipe that we are using as a hose, came down every fifteen minutes, to be relieved by others, for they were half scorched, some badly burned from cinders and falling débris, and all of them had lost their breath in that terrible heat.

It must be remembered that while these men were on this wall they were beautiful targets for Chinese sharp-shooters, and we found afterwards there were many in the Chinese troops. There were three wells in the compound, and from the two biggest there was a line of men and women passing buckets, ewers, and any other kind of vessel that was available, filled with water, to the men who were actually fighting the fire on the wall. One realizes the heroism it takes to continue working at a fire though half scorched, but what shall one say of these men who worked under the ordinary danger of a scorching fire, and who knew they were the target for the continuous rifle-fire and sniping that was kept up throughout? The sky was grey, and the men on the Wall made agonizingly big and black silhouettes for the Chinese to aim at.

If I live to be a thousand, I could never see a queerer collection of people working together to extinguish a fire, and with the object to save themselves from a massacre—coolies, missionaries, soldiers, and Ministers Plenipotentiary working and straining every muscle for the same object. Surely Peking never before saw such unanimity of her foreign residents. I was in that line of men and women passing buckets, and so was the wife of the French Minister, and many other well-known women.

Fargo Squiers, Dr. Martin, and Dr. Poole, surgeon for the British Legation, were three soot-covered people who came to our rooms after the fire was entirely out,—which meant they had worked desperately for many hours without stopping. To say they were thirsty would not be truthful—they were parched. Dr. Poole whispered that the only cup he knew big enough to quench his thirst was a big loving-cup that was in a small closet in a corner of the room (this house having been his before the siege), and that if I would fill it with Apollinaris he would put in the whisky. I filled my order, and he poured out about four fingers of Scotch into the bottom of that big loving-cup, and as he drank it slowly, holding it by both hands, I thought I had never seen such thankful eyes as were his during that long and pleasant well-earned drink.

Again to-day thousands of sandbags have been made by the women. Shooting continues all the time, and to-day a cannon was fired from the Ch’ien Men Gate, which we hope may mean that our troops are coming and the Chinese resisting them. Prince Ching is supposed to have under his command in China fifty thousand troops, and he must be friendly to us, or we feel he would have ordered half of his troops to Peking before this to finish us. It is stated that some of them have shot at the Boxers, but this is hardly credible. Prince Ching is a Prince of the first Order, and head of the Tsung-li Yamen. Dr. Morrison is the most attractive at our impromptu mess; he works wherever a strong man is needed, and he is as dirty, happy, and healthy a hero as one could find anywhere.

June 24.

Two weeks ago to-day the troops started from Tien-tsin. Yesterday by 11.30 a.m. the Hanlin Library, directly behind Sir Claude’s house in the compound, was fired by the Chinese, and the way we fought the flames I described yesterday, only perhaps the men felt a little stronger. They have succeeded once in putting out an enormous fire, so why should they not be able to do so to-day? This time, however, the wind was against us, so that from the morning until seven o’clock at night we were fighting it desperately.

How absurd it is to have any “consideration” for people like the Chinese! After the big and dangerous fire of the day before yesterday, the committee on fortifications and defences suggested that the world-famous Chinese College (the Hanlin Library) should be burnt by us in such a way that the Chinese could not use it as a position to fire on us from. There was danger, too, that they would fire it themselves, taking it for granted that the fire would surely spread to such an extent—aided by themselves with kerosene—as to burn this entire end of the Legation. The Defence Committee was afraid of this, and at a conference of the Ministers it was discussed, and more or less unanimously disapproved of. “Such vandalism!” they said. “This trouble will soon be over, and then what a disgrace to have to acknowledge to the world that we deliberately burnt one of the finest, if not the finest, libraries in the East!” We only had to wait twenty-four hours to see that our consideration for the famous library was thoroughly thrown away, for, notwithstanding the troubles “will be over in a few days,” the Chinese seem so anxious to destroy us before these troubles have passed that they themselves burned this gorgeous old library, containing as it did all their oldest and most revered literature, in the hope that they could burn out a large enough part of our Wall to facilitate their getting in.

The great danger was over by seven o’clock, but careful sentries watched all night in case a strong wind should start, and small isolated buildings were burning all night, so that, looking down from our house to that end of the compound, it made one think of the blazing flames one sees at night in the oil districts of Pennsylvania. With these terrible fires the Chinese are clever enough to keep up a volley of rifle-fire, so our labour is a frightful danger to every man working. The suspense was hard to bear, because it was over five hours before the most optimistic dared say, “We are comparatively out of danger;” and nobody knew just what would happen if this end of the compound was to go, for this British compound is looked upon by all as the strongest and last resort in Peking, and that is why, of course, all of the women and children and stores of every description have already been sent here.

Twenty-five Chinese Sisters, who were rescued from the Nan-t’ang, come to our tiny little courtyard at the back of our house—on which charming view, by the way, our windows look—and cook in a big caldron their portion of rice that is allowed them by the General Committee. These people and all of the families of Mrs. Coltman’s “boys,” and Mrs. Squiers’s “boys,” fill up our tiny backyard with their cooking, etc., until, from the propinquity of these people, one is almost convinced that one is living and sleeping in the heart of the Chinese settlement of San Francisco.

The marines at our Legation, who naturally will not come here until they are forced to, are in a very bad way about food. From May 29, when they arrived in Peking, they were fed by a Chinaman who contracted to feed them all at so much per man, and he fed them splendidly, but since we have been besieged he naturally has no market to call upon. Mr. Squiers has fed them for some days out of his own storeroom, but each meal makes a terrific hole in his supplies. There are fifty men and two officers, and naturally they do not get satisfied on one tin of sardines and a loaf of bread. We have cooked rice in great quantities, putting many tins of corned beef into it, cooking it in the same big caldron that the Sisters use. Preparing the food over here makes it very difficult getting it to them, as there is constant sniping going on, and it is extremely dangerous to walk from one Legation to another.

June 25.

So far the moral of the Legation, or, I should say, of this compound, is decidedly good. The weather is very warm, but the heavy rains that generally come at this time of summer are not here yet. Only a few babies are sick with dysentery, and there are some cases of scarlet fever and malignant malaria. The hospital, a house of four rooms, only holds a comparatively small number of patients. Let us pray it will not have time to fill up. Dr. Velde, a surgeon of the German army, who has been detailed for three years to the Legation in Peking, is a man who for very clever and consecutive work has already been decorated by his Emperor. His forte is surgery, and it looks as if he would save the medical day here in Peking. Dr. Poole, I think, will consult and work with him. One of our marines has already been killed, and two are at the hospital wounded. These people, who are the first to lose their lives and get hurt, make one feel that truly this is war.

I was at the hospital with Mrs. Squiers this morning. Several men were brought in, and they all had to wait their turn to be operated on, and the two nurses were so busy assisting with the work in connection with the operation of the moment that nothing was done for a wounded Cossack who was laid on the floor. He was covered with blood, and it trickled down his chest and formed into a pool all around him, his face an olive-green—the colour one sees in unskilfully painted pictures of death—so livid, I never believed even dying people could look that way. He lay there for some time, everyone in authority too busy except to tell me to do what I could for him, and keep the flies from bothering him until he should die, probably in twenty minutes. He was shot through the lungs.

People continue to be cheerful, but it is strange considering that we have death around us morning, noon, and night. The gossip, if one can so call the reports and rumours that are circulating throughout the compound nearly every few hours, is that a Russian declares he knows their troops are coming, because during the night a sentry saw a green rocket go up into the sky. It is supposed that the Chinese have no green rockets; therefore, as the Russians constantly use green rockets, it must be a signal from the Russian troops to let us know they are practically at the door. And so on and so forth.

To-day Dr. Morrison went over to the Fu, where the Chinese Christians are, to assist Colonel Shiba in some difficult and dangerous barricading work, and incidentally to take a part in a sortie. He was in command of a squad of Japanese and Italian soldiers, the latter most ineffective, and the former magnificent. They cleared the Chinese out of some alleys which Colonel Shiba decided must be added to their lines for the protection of the Chinese converts. The brunt of the fighting fell on the Japanese, and one was killed and three wounded. Such a clever idea it was of Dr. Morrison’s and Dr. H. James’s to put these poor wretches in Prince Su’s park, which, owing to its close proximity to the Japanese Legation, seems now to fall upon the Japanese to defend.

Dr. H. James met with such a terrible end yesterday! From the gate of the British Legation facing the canal, he looked down towards the Imperial Wall, and seeing there several Chinese officers carrying a regimental flag with which he was familiar, he started out, as if on the impulse of the moment, to parley with them. He was watched with breathless interest. Although from the time he left our wall until he reached them he held his hands up to show he was unarmed, they grasped him in the fiercest way, dragging him over the bridge beyond our range of vision. The horror of his too probable fate is hanging like a pall over the compound. We cannot understand how a man, knowing the Chinese as well as he does, could have been so mistaken in their character as to trust himself to them with such confidence.

During the two fires in the Mongolian Market Place and in the Hanlin University a great many Chinese were shot by us, and when possible we straightway threw their bodies into the flames. Unfortunately, some Boxers were captured during the almost hand-to-hand fighting that has taken place, and confined in this compound. They were all shot at dawn this morning.

Captain Myers has been in command for two days and two nights on the Tartar Wall, with no sleep. This afternoon the marine quarters in the United States Legation caught fire and for a time it looked as if the whole American compound would go, but with hard fighting it was put out.

Mr. Cheshire, of the United States Legation, is willing to take the most difficult and dangerous work wherever an interpreter is needed, and for some nights now he has been on the Tartar Wall directing and encouraging the picked Chinamen forming the gang of labourers who nightly help our marines to strengthen the barricades. Many Chinamen who advance towards our lines too rashly, are killed every night, and after hours of this work the number of corpses that accumulate is astounding. For the sake of the health of the community, Mr. Cheshire has to spend much of his time superintending his gangs in throwing dead bodies over the Wall, and to-day he facetiously remarked he thought he should be dubbed Major-General of the Corpses, as he comes in touch with so many. Such gruesome tales as these do we hear and talk of daily!

June 26.

Yesterday afternoon, at four, five gorgeously costumed Imperial Standard bearers appeared on the bridge in Legation Street with a flag of truce, saying the Emperor would send later a despatch to the bridge for us to read, and that there was in consequence an armistice. It was brought later, and it read: “The Emperor desires the Ministers to be protected. Therefore, firing must cease, and a despatch will be handed to them later on the bridge.” It was apparently not brought; but on seeing some mounted Chinese officers belonging to Jung Lu’s regiment passing over the Imperial bridge, we hailed them with a white flag, and with some soldiers to back up the meaning of the flag we spoke to them long enough to find that they were going the rounds of this part of the town, telling their people not to shoot this night on us, as there was an armistice. We told them to send the Emperor’s letter or despatch (which has not yet arrived on the bridge) to the British Legation. They promised that it should be brought to us, but it has not yet arrived at noon to-day.

Last night I was talking to M. Pichon, the French Minister, when the French Interpreter of Legation came up to us in great excitement, saying the Russian officers had heard, without any possible doubt, les sonneries du canon of the Russian troops. It is in this way we hear so many tales that one is lost when one tries to think. The captains of all nationalities have had a council of war, and they agree that with great care and hard work we can hold our own for eight or ten days longer, but after that we are lost.

Mrs. Coltman, the mother of six lovely children, was speaking of the impossibilities of clean linen or having any washing done. “But after all,” she said, “what does it matter? If the troops come within ten days, my children can wear what they are wearing; if Peking is not relieved within that time, we will all be dead.” She was not melodramatic, but spoke very quietly. A hundred other remarks of this sort that one hears daily go to show how the people really feel about our condition. Women with husbands and children suffer horribly. They dread lest their children may die of disease or by torture, as certainly would be the case if the Chinese get in—as they are notoriously cruel and without mercy even to babies—and fear for their husbands, who may be killed during any attack.

At one o’clock this morning a terrific firing began, apparently coming from all sides at once, which proved to be the case later, when the officers in charge of the defence compared notes. At this Legation the air hummed with bullets, but the noise was so frightful one could not tell if all the Legations were being attacked or just the British. They tried to frighten us, and they certainly succeeded with women, children, and some men, but, thank heavens, the officers in charge of defending us and the sentries—most of them, at least—know that our high walls and strong barricades are our safety, and that, unless good and well-aimed artillery is brought to shell them down, with our soldiers and soldier-sailors to man them, it will be hard for the Chinese to get over the Wall and end our lives.

It all seems like a story from the Middle Ages to be able to place such confidence in the strength and manning of our walls. Certainly the foreign-drilled Chinese soldiers must be down at Tien-tsin, and we are owing our present immunity from properly aimed artillery-fire to the fact that the Chinese gunners here are utterly incompetent.

After this fiendish attack had been in progress long enough for everyone to get up and dress, Mrs. Conger came back to our room, and her manner was more than tragic when she saw me lying on my mattress on the floor, not even beginning to dress for what I suppose half of the women in the compound believed to be the beginning of the final fight. She said: “Do you wish to be found undressed when the end comes?” It flashed through my mind that it made very little difference whether I was massacred in a pink silk dressing-gown, that I had hanging over the back of a chair, or whether I was in a golf skirt and shirt waist that I was in the habit of wearing during the day hours of this charming picnic. So I told her that for some nights I had dressed myself and sat on the edge of the mattress wishing I was lying down again, only to be told, when daylight came, that the attack was over, when it was invariably too late for anything like sleep (which way of living is distinctly trying), and after a week of it, when one has so much to do in the day hours, I had come to the conclusion that, as it was absolutely of no benefit to anyone my being dressed during these attacks, I was going to stay in bed unless something terrible happened, when I should don my dressing-gown and, with a pink bow of ribbon at my throat, await my massacre. This way of looking, or I should rather say of speaking, did not appeal to the Minister’s wife, but I must say that at such terrible moments during the siege it is a great comfort to be frivolous. By making believe that one is not afraid one really lessen one’s own fear. “Assume a virtue if you have it not,” says our beloved Shakespeare. After Mrs. Conger’s visit on this same terrible, ear-deafening night came Clara, Mrs. Squiers’s German nursery governess, and she needed all sorts of assurances to convince her that a massacre was not in progress at that very moment.

These attacks are very terrifying, and to talk to a person two feet away one has to shriek. People one sees are either apparently most optimistic or desperately pessimistic, nothing between. It is a horrid thing to see big, strong men unable to hide their innate cowardliness, and shirking all duty of the slightest personal danger.

Friday, June 29.

One or two days have passed without my opening my diary, but they are very much like the days that I have already written about. The weather is very warm, but all able-bodied men are working desperately hard over trenches, bomb-proofs and barricades, or putting out more fires that have started at different places. Several attacks are constantly being made in opposite parts of our lines, with perhaps one big general attack in the afternoon and one during the night, which causes great excitement and sometimes great fear in everybody’s heart. Then comes more excitement when the rumour arrives that a big fire is breaking out in the French and American Legations, or we hear that someone, who has just come from one of these Legations, says that he has heard the officer say they probably cannot hold out much longer, with fire to fight as well as the Chinese, and in ten minutes the report is all over the compound that these Legations have been abandoned, and half of the soldiers defending them killed. Such a quantity of rumours that are circulating every day, only to be denied and proved untrue an hour later! It is incredible!

In the case of the Legations who are still holding their own, it is very hard on the women whose husbands are still staying with the soldiers until they finally evacuate. These poor women naturally wonder, “What is my husband doing? Is he dead, and when they evacuate will he be amongst the lucky number to retire to the British compound alive?”

Hard work is kept up on the important barricades, and men do hours and hours of manual labour. The women make thousands of sandbags daily, and help at the hospital, and make short rations go as far and look as attractive as possible under the circumstances. The only strong men in the compound who have no special work to do are Ministers Plenipotentiary. There is no head-work to be done now, and some of them don’t take kindly to physical work.

The British Legation Library is a complete one, and occasionally some inquisitive soul will go to it and try to find, compared with other sieges and massacres, what place this one will have in history. The nearest similar harrowing siege seems to be that of Lucknow, where a heterogeneous multitude, closed up in the Residency, were holding out against fearful odds in expectation of relief by Havelock’s Highlanders, resolved to die of starvation rather than surrender, for in surrendering the fate of Cawnpore awaited them; and in thinking of these things we recollect that the Tartar rulers of China are of the same tribal family as the Great Mogul, who was the head of the Indian Sepoy Mutiny. But the King of Delhi was trying to regain his throne, whereas the Empress Dowager has no such excuse in making war on practically all the nations of the civilized world.

The Tartars and Manchus are an alien race, although the rulers of China for many centuries, and have always been inimical to everything which tends to increase the power of foreigners; whereas the Chinese are cleverer, from being so constantly in contact with Europeans on the sea-coast, or anywhere where they can find gain or advantage in trading with them, and have become, compared, at least, to the ruling Manchus in Peking, progressive and modern. The Emperor and his party for progress were completely snowed under in 1898 by the Empress-Dowager and her old Manchu Conservatives, who, lacking the desire to accept anything modern—even diplomatic relations of the most simple kind—decided, in a childlike and unreasoning rage, that everything foreign must be swept down into the sea, and it really looks now as if the first steps of her policy may be realized.

Lady Macdonald has forty Europeans in all to feed three times a day including servants, and at table they sit down thirty-three. She is very sensible, and has only one dish. Nobody thinks of dressing for dinner, except the Marquis Salvago, and I think it shows things are truly far gone when English people dine, but do not dress.

Our little mess is very attractive, and as our stores are much more numerous and of a greater variety than those of almost any mess here, we manage to have, up to the present at least, a most satisfactory one. We have tinned beef as our pièce de résistance, and rice is our mainstay—of a necessity, as it is that of which we have most. Tomato catsup tastes very good in this hot weather. Oatmeal is another staple that we have, and as luxuries we have a good stock of jams, tinned fruits, tinned vegetables, sardines, tinned mackerel, Liebig’s extract, a big box of Stilton cheese, coffee, tinned butter, and white flour. Mr. Squiers has a large supply of champagne, and every night we have one or two quarts with our siege dinner. The men work so hard, and the women’s nerves are so much on edge, that a small amount of stimulants is surely a blessed help.

Our mess being comparatively small, these delicacies are lasting nicely, as we use them with discretion, for we remember in the old days before the siege a dollar was a dollar, and would buy a tin, but in these days a tin has no market value—they cannot be bought. When one’s tins are gone one can eat horse-meat and rice. We brought a small lead-lined ice-box with us from our Legation, which seemed foolish at the time, but which is a great comfort to us now. We keep our wine and drinking-water in it, and also well-water, which is very cool, so that our drink is somewhat cooled, and is not the same temperature as the air. No other mess can attempt to have things cool, and this is one of the features of our room—that we are as comfortable as we can be under these extraordinary circumstances. During this sizzling weather cool water is a great comfort. It is so hot that a tin of meat, if left open all night, spoils by morning.

There is an English newspaper-man, who, when he can spare a few moments from the siege-work, gets his camera and takes a few photographs of things as they are. He is fond of chaffing, and to-day the Committee on Fortifications are of opinion that the house used by the French Minister, M. Pichon, is being undermined by the Chinese from outside, though indistinct noises, etc., are as yet the only proof of it. The Minister was more than usually perturbed about this new personal danger, and was not pleased, or at all amused, at the remarks addressed him. “I am making photographs for the Paris Figaro of this siege. Very soon your quarters will be blown up by dynamite. My camera is ready to take the photographs, and as you will be the principal person in it, how would you prefer me to take you—as your Excellency is going up wholesale, or as you are coming down retail?”

At this time people are not well-balanced, it seems to me. Some take the daily horrors as a matter of course, are more callous than they should be, and the others are so miserably pessimistic and mournful that one shuns them, fearing to catch this infection. There is a young man here who has been known to indulge in temporary aberrations, usually at night, following long, hard days of work in the broiling sun. On one occasion he was on his sentry beat, and on being relieved by his chief, the sight of whom was too much for him after having walked some hours on his dangerous sentry route (which seemed doubly dangerous in the pitch-black night) he, doubtless brooding over his probable approaching death, pointed the muzzle of his gun straight at his relief. “C’est à cause de vous, misérable, que je suis venu à Pékin et encore c’est à cause de vous que ces belles années de ma jeunesse seront salement terminées ici!” By not moving an inch the man thus threatened undoubtedly saved his life, and most intelligently agreed with his attacker, “Probably so; let’s talk it over.” In a few minutes the crisis had passed, but the following day the man who had been in such danger requested the General Committee to change his night sentry duty to a different part of the compound, so that his young secretary should not again be tempted to hold him responsible.

Sunday, July 1.

I have been quite under the weather, to use a civilized expression, and I assure you that things have got (not are getting) to such a state that to live and act and talk as one would do at home is quite out of place. How soon people get accustomed to an idea! Now that we have prepared our minds for a possible massacre we seem to be getting back, to some degree at least, our old spirits. Now that I am well, how much nearer seem the soldiers who are coming to relieve us!

What a place this compound would be for an epidemic! There are barely enough mattresses for the wounded and dying at the hospital, so that, should we have one, and take a house for those taken sick, I am sure that there would be no ordinary comforts of any kind for them; they could only be isolated. Let us pray that we will have no such horror to add to the already long list.

The hospital is already full, men lying on straw bags in halls—crowded in every conceivable corner. They are brought in dying and wounded every day. Dysentery has its grip on almost everybody here. The treatment is almost to stop eating and to drink rice-water in large quantities. Our four-times-divided cook—the other three messes in the United States bungalow have a lien on him too—is off for some hours daily on work which all personal servants have to give to the General Committee. When the kitchen is comparatively free, Mrs. Squiers, my maid, and I make gallons of rice-water, thick, nutritious but tasteless, which we bottle in quart-bottles and place to cool in our zinc-lined, cold-water-filled box. It is placed in a corner of our two-roomed quarters, and the constant stream of men coming and going to that box would lead an uninitiated observer to believe that at least a Hoffman House bar was hidden there and doing a steady business.

The rainy season and the bad time of the year par excellence has begun, and the temperature is like a Turkish bath without the clean smell. Apropos of smell, a whole story-book could be written about the Peking smell. The dry heat was nothing compared with this damp temperature, that seems to soak out of Mother Earth the most incredibly disgusting odours. There are so many dead dogs, horses, and Chinese lying in heaps all around the defended lines, but too far for us to bury or burn them. The contamination of the air is something almost overpowering. All men who smoke have a cigar in their mouths from morning until night as a protection from this unseen horror, and even the women, principally Italians and Russians, find relief in the constant smoking of cigarettes.

On the 29th Dr. Lippitt, who came up from Taku with our marines, was sitting in front of the Minister’s house smoking a cigarette, when a bullet struck a limb of a tree nearby, and, glancing down, struck him in the thigh, fracturing the bone. He is most dangerously ill, and we shall not know for several days whether he will have to have his leg amputated or not. He is an attractive man and a thorough Virginian. We used to play tennis with him and Captain Myers before the times got so terribly out of joint.

To-day the Germans were driven off the Tartar Wall close to their Legation, which caused a great deal of excitement. They were driven off by Chinese soldiers, some of whom were Tung Fu-hsiang’s men, and others were Prince Ching’s especial troops, which seems queer, as we have supposed all along that Prince Ching was friendly.

The Germans could see from the Wall that the Ha Ta Men Gate is being strengthened, and people who know say that the troops who are closing the gates in such a warlike way are doing it as much against the violent and uncontrolled soldiers of Tu Fu-hsiang, who are notorious for the manner in which they loot and murder, as against the allied Powers. They say that all Chinese families in Peking who have anything to lose have left the capital, as they realize that if the foreign troops come there will be great looting, and if the Chinese troops are successful there will be looting and worse. Mr. Pethick tells me that during the Japan-China War, when it was considered highly probable that the Japanese would march on to the capital, thousands of Mandarins and people of wealth left Peking with their families and with as much treasure as they could carry. It is natural to suppose that the same fright exists to-day.

This morning our men, the Germans following, retired in a panic from their barricades on the Wall to the United States Legation, momentarily expecting to see Chinese hordes occupy the German position and theirs. After an hour’s wait they retook the Wall. This example, however, was not followed by the Germans. During this hour the excitement was intense in the British compound. The report that the Wall had been evacuated caused a panic, for this abandonment of the Wall would enable the Chinese to mount their guns on this portion of it, directly commanding the British Legation, and to fire down on us, and no one can say how long we could hold out against such an attack. In such an event we will put women and children into deep bomb-proofs that have been made for that purpose, which are covered with logs, sandbags, and dirt, and are shell-proof. These trenches we have made as near as possible like those used in the siege of Ladysmith.

As the Germans have been unable to regain their positions on the Wall, the difficulty for Uncle Sam’s men has been increased fifty per cent., as they must now be prepared at all times, either during the day or night, for an attack by Chinese from both directions. This sentence, “to give up the Wall,” could be, translated into siege language, “the beginning of the end,” and this news was most terrifying to us. I think that there are few who in their heart of hearts have given up hope of the troops coming soon. Nevertheless, the facts remain that if we cannot hold the place it would not take very long for us to be annihilated, and if the troops come a day after we are finished, a miss is as good as a mile, and we don’t care then when they come. If we had not had the greatest luck in the world we could never have held out like this to the present date, and what the Powers can be thinking about not to send a column to our immediate relief, knowing, as they must, that we could never hold out against artillery, is beyond the reasoning power of the people in this Legation. Are the allied Powers fighting each other, or are they fighting their way up here?

Yesterday an unsuccessful sortie was made by Colonel Shiba from the Fu to capture a gun, and six men were killed. These offensive measures seem to gain us nothing, and we always lose men.

Apropos of Colonel Shiba, he is a splendid, small person. He has taken his position here by the strength of his intelligence and good right arm, solely because the Ministers and the guard captains were not especially inclined at the first morning conference to listen to him—in fact, I don’t know that he tried to talk, but it is all changed now. He has done so splendidly in his active and continuous fighting in the Fu, and has proved himself such a general, that his opinion and help are asked by all the commanders. His men are all so patient and untiring in their long, long hours behind the barricades, and are so game, in great contrast to the Italians who are with him defending the Fu. One can only hope for Italy’s sake that her soldiers in Peking are the worst she has.

Now that we have got down to the primitive motif of all nationalities fighting for their lives, the racial friendships and animosities are very obvious. The British and American are almost one people here; although the expressions, “D—— Yankees!” and “D—— lime-juicers!” are interchanged, they are used in a spirit of affection. The dislike of the Russians for the British is so cordial that it is only equalled by the feeling the British entertain toward them. The frankness of this avowed enmity is delightful. Our compound joins the Russians, and they love us and we love them in as strong a fashion as they hate their English neighbours on their other side. Baron Von Rahden orders his men to work and fight as much as possible side by side with our marines, as in this way he hopes to increase the efficiency of his untrained guard. These men can’t speak the others’ language, but are the best of friends. The Russians are all called “Rouskies” by our guard.

The Germans are somewhat by themselves, and fraternize with no one. Their Legation is at one end of the defended lines, and opposite the French. They are full of sullen rage at the unavenged death of their Minister, and when they are fighting or defending barricades in conjunction with other nationalities, and perhaps under command of an American or British officer, they have become notorious for their utter disregard of ordinary military precaution and unnecessary daredevil recklessness. The French are also far from the base of the defended area, and come in for attacks. They are assisted by the Austrian guard, some Belgians, some Customs students and unattached Continentals who are able to use a gun. The Customs students constitute a splendid force of young men, but as they are of all nationalities, they are apt, in taking their active fighting positions, to gravitate to the guards of their respective countries, although in many instances they simply join the weakest spot. The Japanese are defending the Fu with the greatest valour, and, needless to say, are tremendously pro-English and anti-Russian.

We now feel that our tactics must be entirely defensive. Although to-day is Sunday, most of the women in the compound, missionary women included, are working hard at sewing sandbags, the non-fighting men filling them. Beautiful material of all kinds is being used for these bags. Liberty satin curtains from London and linen monogrammed sheets from Paris are cut up ruthlessly to be used. One hundred thousand bags, as near as they can be counted, have been made already. It was principally in the Fu, defended by gallant Colonel Shiba, that the materials procured were so gorgeous. Bags were made from the bolts and rolls of brocades and satins that constituted part of the treasure left by Prince Su in his palace when he so kindly turned it over to his persecuted fellow-citizens. This is the one bright, wonderful bit of colouring in the compound: it is the barricades of thousands of big sandbags made entirely of these gorgeous-coloured satin brocades—sky-blues, blood-red, Imperial yellows—thousands and thousands piled one upon the other. It has been built from the ground up to the second story of the Chancery building—a rather high house for Peking. It was made at this building, as the firing has been very heavy here—a most extraordinary, butterfly-coloured barricade; and if it were anywhere in the world except in this siege in Peking, there would be seen lines of artists, with sketch-book and easel, trying to put this unusual effect on canvas.

Tuesday, July 3.

For several days past the Chinese on the Tartar Wall have been bolder and bolder, and yesterday they built their last barricade so near ours that they could, and did, throw big rocks over into our lines, which, by a lucky chance, hurt no one. The moral effect of this dangerous propinquity was terrible on our men. They felt that there was only one almost ineffective barricade between them and hordes of Tu Fu-hsiang’s soldiers—the notoriously cruel Mohammedan chief and his bandits. Mr. Squiers was the first to appreciate this great danger, and certainly the first to think of the cure, and, what was more to the point, he put it through. The pros and cons were discussed with Sir Claude in conference, and it was decided that a charge down the Wall must be made, and soon, or else we must leave it entirely, and that none of the Americans were willing to do, as we had been there from the beginning, and although the Germans gave up their position on the Wall, we were not content to do the same.

Captain Myers was more than ready to lead the charge, and he was given twenty British marines, fifteen Russians, and thirty of our own men. At dawn this morning, about three o’clock, he charged the Wall. No one in the compound had gone to bed; the excitement was very great. We sent sixty of our fighting men on this sortie, and if they failed we should have lost what we could ill afford to lose. We felt that the odds were about even, and that waiting at the hour of dawn was frightful. The charge was successful, and two Chinese regimental flags were captured. Sixty-five dead Chinese soldiers were afterwards found between the two barricades, but the actual number killed and wounded is unknown. Our men came back at five o’clock carrying their dead and wounded. This has been the only effectual offensive measure accomplished during the siege. Captain Myers led it most gallantly—an inspiration to his men—and was wounded by a spear-thrust in the leg.