The spectacular moment was over, but work still remained to be done.  The rebels immediately attempted a turning movement, which if successful, threatened the artillery camp, and Gordon sent post haste to Li with a request for more troops to help him.  Li turned to the I.G. in despair.  “What can I do?” he said.  “All my men are scattered over the city looting by this time.  How shall I collect them?” Hart persuaded Li to send messengers and try.  Meantime, luckily, the rebels dispersed and the city fell.

They fled wildly in every direction, dropping flags, rifles, and the fans without which no Chinese soldier of the old regime ever went to war, as they ran.  From the grey belt of city wall the I.G. looked down on the whole tragic panorama.  Fires were burning north, east, south and west.  In one street he saw an old woman hobble out of a house supported by her two sons.  Just before they could reach shelter a narrow stone bridge over a pond had to be crossed.  The old woman limped pitifully to the middle, when a shrill ping rang out.  A sharpshooter’s bullet struck her; she toppled over into the water, while the men took to their heels and fled back into the smoke of the burning building.

Similar horrors took place in nearly every lane; men were struck down in the attitudes of escape, and the hateful lean dogs that infest Chinese cities crept stealthily out of holes and corners.

As Robert Hart turned away from these sights and descended the ramp of the wall, he noticed a dozen little boys following him, naked urchins with uncombed hair on shoulders.  Some of Li Hung Chang’s men, seeing them too, rushed up, rolling their sleeves high and flourishing swords.  Here, thought they, was an excellent opportunity to gain favour with their master by cutting off some rebel heads and exaggerating the exploit into a severe fight.  But the I.G. immediately stepped between, showed his revolver, and threatened to shoot the first man who stirred a step nearer to the boys.  “Are you not ashamed to fight with children?” said he, and they slunk off.

At the end of the day, when he returned to the boats, the whole ragged troop was there waiting, their number increased by a little fellow of six or seven years, the son of the Taiping Wang (Prince) of Chang-Chow-Fu, who had been left behind in the confusion and rescued by Gordon from his father’s burning palace.  He was adopted at once by the party, made much of, petted, and consoled for his fall from high estate by being placed in the seat of honour; and he caused great amusement to the assembled company by the matter-of-fact way in which he accepted his dignity and looked about with serious eyes, as if to say, “This is just what I am accustomed to.”

Yet he ill repaid the care that was lavished on him till he grew to manhood.  Clothes, food, some education, and finally a position on one of the Customs cruisers, were given to him.  He wasted no breath in thanks to his generous captors; but one day, when the wild fighting blood in his veins asserted itself, disappeared.  Nor from that day to this has anything been heard of the errant princeling.