I stepped forward at these words to see.  It was true.  The sack had been split open by the fall, and on the ground now scattered about lay big half-moons of silver-sycee, as it is called.  The sappers took a cautious look around, saw that all was quiet and only myself there; and then the six of them, seized with the same idea, went quietly forward and plundered the fallen Frenchman of his loot as he lay.  Each man stuffed as many of those lumps as he could carry into his shirt or tunic.  Then they helped the fallen drunkard to his feet, handed him the fraction of his treasure which remained, and pushed him roughly away.  The last I noticed of this curious scene was this marauder staggering into the night, and calling faintly at intervals, as he realised his loss, “Sacres voleurs!  Sacres voleurs anglais!” Then I made off too.  It was the first open looting I had seen.  I shall always remember absolutely how curiously it impressed me.  It seemed very strange.

II

THE SACK

18th August, 1900.

* * * * *

After these events and the curious entry of our relieving troops, nothing came as a surprise to me.  I can still remember as if it had only occurred ten seconds ago how, after witnessing those English sappers calmly strip that drunken French marauder of his gains, I came back into the broken Legation Street to find that a whole company of savage-looking Indian troops—­Baluchis they were—­had found their way in the dark into a compound filled with women-converts who had gone through the siege with us, and that these black soldiery were engaged, amidst cries and protests, in plucking from their victims’ very heads any small silver hair-pins and ornaments which the women possessed.  Trying to shield them as best she could was a lady missionary.  She wielded at intervals a thick stick, and tried to beat the marauders away.  But these rough Indian soldiers, immense fellows, with great heads of hair which escaped beneath their turbans, merely laughed, and carelessly warding off this rain of impotent blows, went calmly on with their trifling plundering.  Some also tried to caress the women and drag them away....  Then the lady missionary began to weep in a quiet and hopeless way, because she was really courageous and only entirely over-strung.  At this a curious spasm of rage suddenly seized me, and taking out my revolver, I pushed it into one fellow’s face, and told him in plain English, which he did not understand, that if he did not disgorge I would blow out his brains on the spot.  I remember I pushed my short barrel right into his face, and held it there grimly, with my finger on the trigger.  That at least he understood.  There was a moment of suspense, during which I had ample time to realise that I would be bayonetted and shot to pieces by the others if I carried out my threat.  It was ugly; I did not like it.  At the last moment, fortunately, my fellow relented, and throwing sullenly what he had taken to the ground, he shouldered his rifle and left the place.  The others followed with mutterings and grumbles, and the women being now safe, began barricading the entrance of their house against other marauders.  They were green-white with fear.  They feared these Indian troops....