more brightly than ever, we could see hundreds of figures dancing about busily.  We had just halted to prepare for a final charge when something moved in front of us.  “Halt,” we all cried, marking our different nationalities by our different intonations of the word.  A sobbing Chinese voice called back to us:  “Wo pu shih; wo pu shih,” which merely means, “I am not,” leaving us to infer that he was referring to the Boxers; and then without waiting for an answer the night wanderer, whoever he might be, scampered away hurriedly.  The immediate result was that we opened a terrible fusillade in the direction he had fled, our men firing at least a hundred shots.  Many mocking voices then called back to us from the shadows.  There was laughter, too.  It was obviously hopeless trying to do anything in this dark; so when a bugler trotted up from our lines with stern orders from the French commandant for his men to retire, we all stumbled back more than willingly We had gone out of our depth.

Meanwhile the flames spread farther and farther, until half the Tartar city seemed on fire.  All Peking awoke, and from every part confused noises and a vast barking of dogs was borne down on us.  What course should we take, if the attack was suddenly carried all round our area?

The French Minister was by this time officially informed that native Catholics were being butchered wholesale; that there were plenty of men who were willing to go and rescue them, but that no one seemed to have any orders, and that everyone was swearing at the general incompetence.  Absolute confusion reigned within our lines; the picquets broke away from their posts; the different nationalities fraternised under the excitement of the hour and lost themselves; and it would have been child’s play to have rushed the whole Legation area.  We felt that clearly enough.

It was not until well past midnight, and after several heated discussions, that a relief party was finally organised; but when they got to the cathedral there was hardly anything to see, for the butchery was nearly over and the ruin completed.  Several hundred native Roman Catholics had disappeared, only a few Boxers were seen and shot and a few converts rescued.

How well I remember the scene when this second expedition returned, excited and garrulous as only Frenchmen can be.  The French Minister led them in.  He explained to us that the Boxers had already absolutely demolished everything—­that it was no use risking one’s self so far from one’s own lines any more—­that it was a terrible business, but que faire....  The French Minister did not hurry away, but stood there talking endlessly.  It was at once dramatic and absurd.  Sir R——­ H——­, in company with many others, stood listening, however, with an awestruck expression on his face.  He carried a somewhat formidable armament—­at least two large Colt revolvers strapped on to his thin body, and possibly a third stowed away in his hip pocket.  From midnight to the small hours there was a constant stream of our most distinguished personages coming and looking down this street and wondering what would happen next.  It was not a very valiant spectacle.