For half a mile or so we met occasional detachments of European troops, an odd enough pot-pourri of armed men such as few people ever witness.  They made a curious picture, did this soldiery in the deserted streets, for every detachment was loaded with pickings from Chinese houses, and some German mounted infantry, in addition to the great bundles strapped to their saddles, were driving in front of them a mixed herd of cattle, sheep and extra ponies which they had collected on the way.  The men were in excellent humour, and jested and cursed as they hastened along, and in a thick cloud of dust raised by all these hoofs they finally disappeared round a corner.  It was only when they were gone that I realised how silent and deserted the streets had become.  Not a soul afoot, not a door ajar, not a dog—­nothing.  It might have been a city of the dead.  After all the roar of rifle and cannon which had dulled the hearing of one’s ears for so many days there was something awesome, unearthly and disconcerting in this terrified silence.  What had happened to all the inhabitants?

I had ridden forward slowly for a quarter of an hour or so, glancing keenly at the barred entrances which frowned on the great street, when suddenly I missed my men.  My pony had carried me along the raised highway—­the riding and driving road, which is separated from the sidewalks by huge open drains.  My men had been across these drains, keeping close to the houses so that they could soon discover some sign of life.  Then they had disappeared.  That is all I could remember.

I rode back, rather alarmed and shouting lustily.  My voice raised echoes in the deserted thoroughfare, which brought vague flickers of faces to unexpected chinks and cracks in the doors, telling me that this desert of a city was really inhabited by a race made panic-striken prisoners in their own houses by the sudden entry of avenging European troops.  There were really hosts of people watching and listening in fear, and ready to flee over back walls as soon as any danger became evident.  That explained to me a great deal.  I began to understand.  Then suddenly, as I looked, there were several rifle shots, a scuffle and some shouting, and as I galloped back in a sweat of apprehension I saw one of my men emerge from the huge porte-cochere of a native inn mounted on a black mule.  My men were coolly at work.  They were providing themselves with a necessary convenience for moving about freely over the immense distances.  In the courtyard of the inn two dead men lay, one with his head half blown off, the second with a gaping wound in his chest.  My remaining servants were harnessing mules to carts, and each, in addition, had a pony, ready saddled to receive him, tied to an iron ring in the wall.  I angrily questioned them about the shots, and pointed to the ghastly remains on the ground; but they, nothing abashed, as angrily answered me, saying that the men had resisted and had to be killed.  Then, as I