counted twenty-one.  You cannot imagine a prettier sight.  We anchored, supposing that the authorities might come off to us.  As yet, however, they have shown no disposition to do so.  I presume, however, that the display is a compliment.  Figure to yourself the gala I have described at the mouth of a broad stream running at right angles to the river Yangtze, and up which the town lies, about two miles off—­ the river, plains, town and all, surrounded by an amphitheatre of lofty hills—­and you will have an idea of the scene in the midst of which we are anchored, and from which, the golden tints of sunset are now gradually fading away.

[Sidenote:  Under fire again.]

November 26th.—­Noon.—­We have just had another sample of this very unedifying Chinese warfare.  About an tour ago we came off the city of Nganching, the capital of the province of Aganhoci—­the last station (so we are assured) in the hands of the Rebels.  As we neared a pagoda, surrounded by a crenelated wall, we were fired upon two or three times.  We thought it necessary to resent this affront by peppering the place for about ten minutes.  We then moved slowly past the town, unassaulted till we reached the farther corner, when the idiots had the temerity to fire again.  This brought us a second time into action.  It is a sorry business this fighting with the people who are so little a match; but I do not suppose we did them much harm, and it was, I presume, necessary to teach them that they had better leave us alone.  Osborn, who was aloft, saw from that point a curious scene.  The Imperialists (probably taking advantage of our vicinity) were advancing on the town from the land side in skirmishing order, waving their flags and gambolling as usual.  The Pagoda Rebels ran out of it as soon as we began to fire, and found themselves tumbling into the arms of the Imperialists.  We passed this morning a narrow rocky passage, otherwise the navigation has been easy.

[Sidenote:  A pilot.]

Six P.M.—­Anchored off Tunglow, a walled town, nicely situated on the river.  The sun is sinking to his repose through a mist, red and round, like a great ball of fire.  The pilot is the most vivacious Chinaman I have seen,—­inquiring about everything, proposing to go to England, like a Japanese.  It was from the naval commander at Kiewhein that we got him.  Lay was present when the commodore sent for him.  He fell on his knees.  The chief informed him that he must go up the river with us, and pilot us.  ‘That is a public service,’ says the man, ’and if your Excellency desires it I must go; but I would humbly submit that I have a mother and sister who must be provided for in my absence.’  ‘Certainly,’ said the chief.  ‘Then,’ answered our man, ’I am ready;’ and without further a-do he got into the boat with Lay and came off to us.

November 27th.—­Eight A.M.—­We started well, but there is such a fog that we