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.