BEHIND THE SCENES IN PEKING






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             FIRST EDITION . . . . . . . . _November, 1910_
         _Reprinted_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _March, 1911_






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[Illustration:

  _Photo, Elliott & Fry_

  SIR ROBERT HART

  _Frontispiece_
]


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                      BEHIND THE SCENES IN PEKING

                      BEING EXPERIENCES DURING THE
                         SIEGE OF THE LEGATIONS

                             BY MARY HOOKER




                           WITH ILLUSTRATIONS






                                 LONDON
                   JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
                                  1911


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                                PREFACE


It does not fall to the lot of every woman—or man, either—to go through
a siege, especially one so remarkable, and, indeed, unique in many of
its features, as that of the Legations in Peking.

The feeling that my experiences were out of the common, and present new
aspects of famous events, during which I was, to a certain extent, at
the same time on the stage and behind the scenes, has induced me to
publish the following pages. They are taken from letters, owing to
circumstances never sent, and my diary, written spasmodically throughout
the siege. While trying to introduce something of the lighter side of
life, and speaking of various incidents, humorous and otherwise, I have
endeavoured to avoid all that can give offence or displeasure to those
mentioned. If in any case I have unwittingly failed in this endeavour, I
crave pardon.

My thanks are due to Mrs. Woodward for giving permission to reproduce
her unique siege photographs.

                                        MARY HOOKER.

_September, 1910._


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                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                 TO
                                                               FACE
                                                               PAGE

     SIR ROBERT HART                                         _frontispiece_

     WHITE PAGODA IN THE TEMPLE OF LINGUA SU                      2

     HERBERT SQUIERS                                             14

     RUSSIAN MARINE GUARD                                        16

     CAPTAIN M^cCALLA COMMANDING THE AMERICAN MARINES            16

     CH’IEN MEN GATE                                             24

     BARON VON KETTELER                                          26

     BARRICADE BETWEEN THE AMERICAN AND RUSSIAN LEGATIONS        30

     READING THE SENTENCE OF DEATH TO THE BOXERS CAUGHT IN       30
       THE RUSSIAN LEGATION

     THE TSUNG-LI YAMEN                                          44

     BARRICADE ACROSS THE CANAL TO THE FU                        50

     SANDBAG BARRICADE IN AMERICAN LEGATION                      50

     MRS. R. S. HOOKER                                           68

     CAPTAIN JOHN T. MYERS                                      100

     MRS. SQUIERS                                               110

     LOADING THE “INTERNATIONAL”                                116

     AMERICAN AND RUSSIAN MARINES AT WORK ON THE BARRICADE.     116
       BARON VON RAHDEN ON THE RIGHT

     SIR CLAUDE MACDONALD                                       120

     EDWIN H. CONGER                                            136

     A GATE INTO THE IMPERIAL CITY                              154

     GENERAL A. R. CHAFFEE                                      160

     GENERAL SIR ALFRED GASELEE                                 176

     THE RESULT OF THE SIEGE: IN THE AMERICAN MINISTER’S        192
       HOUSE

     THE RESULT OF THE SIEGE: FRENCH LEGATION RUINS             192

     MRS. HOOKER, MISS ARMSTRONG, LADY MACDONALD’S LITTLE       196
       GIRLS, FARGO SQUIERS, AND COLONEL ARTHUR CHURCHILL

     COAL HILL                                                  202


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[Illustration:

  _THE FORBIDDEN (PURPLE) CITY IMPERIAL CITY_
]


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                      BEHIND THE SCENES IN PEKING


                                                  _May 26, 1900._

When you were in Peking last year I don’t know whether you got out to
the hills or not. They are about fifteen miles from the imperial city,
and are the nearest point where foreigners can find relief from the
insufferable heat of the capital, which begins with an intensely hot
spring, continuing through a long, damp, sizzling summer.

Many of the diplomats have cottages and bungalows at Pei-ta-ho, on the
seashore, but its distance from Peking is a great drawback to it as a
summer residence, and they have been forced to accept the hills, as a
nearer and more practical place for their summer colony.

A large, commodious house has been built here for the British Minister,
as well as one for the officials of the Customs, both within their
respective compounds. The greater part of this colony, however, have
simply leased temples from Buddhist priests, and converted them into the
most attractive and livable summer homes, the American and Russian
Legations being the principal of these.

A huge, white pagoda, belonging to the temple of Linqua Su, in the
centre of this district, with its temples of Buddha and houses of its
priests surrounding it, is perched on the top of a hill at the base of
Mount Bruce, and for miles around is the most picturesque feature of the
landscape. In the highest point of this pagoda is hung a wonderful bell,
the only motive-power of which is the wind, and which was placed there
by the Chinese to frighten the evil spirits of the air. When the breeze
is strong, which is often the case, the bell seems to thresh itself into
a veritable fury, and again at midday, when the breeze is light, one can
just distinguish the faintest tinkle.

[Illustration:

  WHITE PAGODA IN THE TEMPLE OF LINGUA SU
]

High up in these hills, and built on the sides of Mount Bruce, stand
these temples with their subordinate and associated buildings, each
making up a separate community. Ours is somewhat above the temple of
Linqua Su, with its white pagoda, and is built on a most wonderful
natural shelf of the mountain-side. A terrace, edged by a low,
ivy-covered parapet, runs the length of our temple home, from which we
look right out on the world beneath us, down the valley towards Peking;
or, if we look above us, it is to see Mount Bruce rise perpendicularly
against the sky. Ancient and big are the stones that pave the outer and
inner courts of this temple, and as picturesque as they are difficult to
use are the stone steps, formed of heavy and irregular slabs, which lead
down to the valley or ascend up unto the mountain, from which steps
finally emerge innumerable tracks, leading in their turn to shrines,
homes of hermits, and temples built on this continuous ridge. Nor is
this barbaric and ancient setting for a modern life made less
extraordinary by the fact that one is served by quiet, intelligent,
besatined servants, who glide about and look as if they had stepped into
life straight from the half-fabulous days of Kubla Khan; and you feel
they have always been thus, and always will be, and you wonder how it is
that although the spirit of the twentieth century is certainly felt in
China, it is little seen.


                                                  _May 27._

To-day we started off on a long tramp, making first the ascent of Mount
Bruce, which was so difficult at times that we could scarcely accomplish
it, and had we not had the help of a young house-servant, known to us as
“Number Three Boy,” I doubt if we could have reached the summit. The
wind whistled round the high peaks of Mount Bruce to such an extent that
Mrs. Squiers and I had to hold on to each other to keep from being blown
off our feet.

From here we could see the Empress-Dowager’s summer palace and grounds,
spread out below us like a toy garden, with its wonderful landscape
effects and its series of artificial waterways. Then, perched high up on
a mountain, we could see a white temple belonging to the eunuchs of the
palace, and reserved solely for their use during the summer months; and
to the west the Feng-tai station of the Peking-Paoting-fu Railway,
winding through the valleys below us like a piece of grey thread. We
then walked through the enclosure of the temple occupied by the Russian
Legation, and in passing through a half shrine, half summer-house, most
unexpectedly came to a wall upon which was drawn a rough but cleverly
executed head of a lovely young girl. It was done in coloured pastels,
and had been drawn by some artist diplomat. The subject was the Countess
Marguerite Cassini, niece of the Russian Minister, who had been
stationed in Peking some years previous. It was a beautiful bit of work,
and was especially startling when seen surrounded by the hideous,
grinning faces of Buddhist gods.

Heading for our own temple of Linqua Su, we walked miles, keeping to the
top of a ridge, where the views were gorgeous and the air wonderful, and
quite suddenly came upon a shepherd and his flock. Fancy it, a Chinese
shepherd tending his Chinese sheep! His expression was gentler and
happier by far than that of men leading a like monotonous existence in
the mountains of Switzerland or elsewhere in the West. Could it be that
there the shepherd longs to return to the life in the villages, while
here the life of the poorest classes in the village communities is so
hopeless a struggle that individual members are glad to leave the
hopelessness of it and tend their flocks alone upon the mountains? This
fascinating China! you have been here, and you know it. I must not bore
you with my impressions, for if I attempted such a thing these letters
to you would assume the proportions of an encyclopædia.


                                                  _May 27_
(_continued_).

Mr. Squiers returned to the American Legation this morning. He only gets
out to the hills twice a week in time to dine and returns to Peking the
following morning. He tells us that the Boxers daily become more daring,
but the diplomats and people in general put these things down to the
usual spring riots which yearly seize Peking, and are due to hunger and
disease, prevalent among the poorer classes after a long, hard winter.
Nevertheless, it was deemed wise to inform the Tsung-li Yamen (the
Foreign Office) that we were in the hills at the temple of Linqua Su,
and would expect official protection from all rioters or malcontents who
might be in this region, and a guard of twelve Chinese soldiers was
promptly detailed to protect “nos personnes et nos biens.” But _such_
soldiers!—opera-bouffe mannikins in a Broadway theatre would frighten
one with their martial air compared to these ridiculous apologies for
soldiers, which were sent to us for our protection, their only weapons
being dull-pointed rusty spears!

Clara, the German governess, returned from Peking to-day, where she had
gone to do some shopping, and tells us that all the natives she passed
seemed to be armed, and that in all the temple enclosures companies of
Chinese were being drilled.

Our servants, mostly native Christians, assure us that these people are
all Boxers, most of them flaunting the red sash, the insignia of that
Society, and that they are preparing for a general uprising when the
time shall be ripe—an uprising that has for its watchword, “Death and
destruction to the foreigner and all his works, and loyal support to the
great Ching dynasty.”


                                                  _May 28._

The peace that settles on one after a long tramp in the mountains was
rudely broken up for us a short while after our return from our walk
yesterday, when we found ourselves thrown into the midst of a most
exciting situation, from which we knew the chances were about even
whether we should escape with our lives.

We could see from our mountain balcony that the railroad station at
Feng-tai, with its foreign settlement, was burning. The immense steel
bridge was gone, too, showing that dynamite and high explosives had been
used to destroy it. The locality was thick with smoke and the flames
sky-high. Our servants told us our highly picturesque guard of twelve
had run away as soon as they were sure the Boxers were burning Feng-tai,
for, they argued, the mob will surely sack this foreign-devil temple
when they finish with Feng-tai. Since they had begun, they certainly
would not desist until everything foreign this side of Peking was sacked
and burned, and this guard had no desire to pose as the guardians of
foreigners, but thought it much safer to join the so far victorious
rabble at Feng-tai. We also learned that over a hundred men engaged in
agricultural and other peaceful occupations in and around the temples,
of which ours was one, had left during the day to join the Boxers.

Our position now, to say the least, was critical. Not a foreign man on
the place to protect us; a quantity of badly frightened Chinese servants
to reassure; three children, their governesses and ourselves, to make
plans for. We did what women always have to do—we waited; and our reward
came when we saw down in the valley a dusty figure ambling along on a
dusty Chinese pony, coming from the direction of Feng-tai and making
direct for our temple. It was Dr. Morrison, correspondent of the London
_Times_, and an intimate friend of the Squierses.

On hearing early in the day of the mob at Feng-tai, and the burning of
the place, he promptly started off in that direction to get as near as
possible to the scene of action, and ascertain for himself if the wild
rumours circulating in Peking were truths before cabling them to London.
Finding the worst corroborated by what he saw from a point near the mob,
yet unseen by it, he started on his return trip to Peking, hot haste for
the cable office, when he became oppressed with the startling
remembrance that we were at the temple, and probably alone and
unprotected. So, instead of returning to Peking, he promptly came to us.
He feared lest Mr. Squiers had not heard of the burning of Feng-tai, or,
if he had heard of it, that possibly the city gates might be closed
against the approaching mob, and he might be unable to leave the capital
that night. The fact that our temple was directly on the line of march
to Peking for the rioters made it look to Dr. Morrison as a most
probable possibility that they would stop _chez nous_ before proceeding
to the capital. In case of such horrible eventuality he hoped to defend
us for a while, and to send to glory as many Chinese as possible before
turning up his own toes!

He was studying a possible defence of our balcony-home when Mr. Squiers
arrived post-haste, bringing with him a Russian Cossack, whom he had
borrowed from the Russian Minister. Plans were now made to defend the
place from attack or incendiaries during the night. The Chinese servants
worked with a will—our successful defence meant safety for us and life
for them. Sentry work of the most careful sort continued all night, as
well as the packing up of our clothes and valuables.

At 6 a.m. we were _en route_ for Peking—an enormous caravan—most of us
in Chinese carts, some riding ponies, mules, or donkeys, the forty
servants placing themselves wherever they could—_anywhere_, in fact—so
that they should not be left behind. The three protectors, heavily
armed, rode by us, and three or four of the Chinese were armed also, and
the carts held such a position in the caravan that in a moment they
could be swung round as a defence in case of an attack.

The fifteen miles through which we travelled were utterly deserted
except for the long, lonely lines of coal-carrying dromedaries. It
seemed as if the country people _en masse_ had deserted their villages
and gone to some rallying-point for a demonstration; and how anxiously
and slowly each half-hour of the trip passed, for, while it brought us
nearer to our Legation, it also brought us nearer to the possibility
that our caravan would run into yesterday’s rioters with added numbers
of to-day’s malcontents.

At 10.30 we reached the American Legation compound, and most painfully
but thankfully we untwisted ourselves from the awful position we were
forced to take in the cart, and joyously grasped the hands of friends.
William Pethick, Li Hung Chang’s private secretary for twenty years, a
person of tremendous influence with the Chinese, was in the compound,
and was on the point of going to the War Office to demand a regiment to
go with him to our rescue out in the hills. He had feared for us
desperately during the night following the burning of Feng-tai.


                                                  _May 30._

The times have become so dangerous that no women are allowed to leave
the compound, but, of course, the diplomats and the military—such as are
here—must move about and try to find out what the situation really is.
The people who know the most about it are the most pessimistic as to
what may happen before the marines arrive from Tien-tsin.

We were glad to hear that the Belgian officials at the Feng-tai station
had heard of the intentions of the Chinese to burn them and the place,
and had escaped to Peking without loss of life.

All the Legations that have battleships at Taku wired some days ago to
them, and we are looking for a total of about three hundred marines of
all nationalities to reach Peking at any moment.

Legations, such as the Belgian and Austrian, which are some distance
from the Legation centre, are forced to do constant sentry work to guard
against thieves and incendiaries; the Ministers’ secretaries, and their
foreign servants take turn night and day. They are so surrounded by
small streets and alleys that a few rioters could rush their Legations
easily, and they are forced to keep the most alert watch. Melotte, the
big blonde Belgian secretary, came to tea to-day, and gave us a most
vivid description of the difficulties of their tiny garrison.

Sir Robert Hart, the beloved Inspector-General of the Customs, dropped
in also, and, while he seems fairly sanguine about the present
situation, I must say the tales of China and the Chinese that he
unfolded to us were quite terrible. Especially the massacre of the
Portuguese at Ning-po in 1870 by the Chinese in retaliation for their
having taken so much of the Yangtse River trade made a stirring story
when coming from his lips.

He was with that fascinating Englishman commonly known as “Chinese
Gordon” when he was the central figure in the history of China during
the early part of this century, and when Sir Robert was quite a young
man. I was so obviously spellbound by these real reminiscences that, to
my surprise and joy, he offered to send me, on his return to his
compound, a photograph of himself taken with Gordon, marked with the
latter’s autograph. I can’t say, however, that his visit reassured us in
our present dangerous situation.

Before leaving he looked at Mr. Squiers’s wonderful collection of
antique Chinese porcelains, which Mr. Pethick, a connoisseur in these
things, has collected for him. The Dana Collection was also procured by
him. Sir Robert is certainly a delightful person, and the cobalt-blue
tie twisted into a most unusual knot around his low collar gives his
personal appearance a tinge of rakishness and eccentricity.

This afternoon Dr. Morrison and some Customs students rode down toward
the station of Magi-poo to take a look at the congested market-places
and collections of angry rioters. Directly they were seen they were
furiously stoned, but as their Chinese ponies were fleet of foot, they
escaped with a few bruises.


                                                  _May 31._

All day to-day everyone is wondering, “Will the marines get here
to-night?” A wire came through Admiral Kempff, saying they were
entrained. Last night we dined at Sir R. Hart’s, and danced until
twelve. He has two bands, brass and string, of Chinese musicians whom he
has taught. The secretary of the German Legation took me out to
dinner—Von Below, a most soldierly-looking person.


[Illustration:

  HERBERT SQUIERS
]


                                                  _June 1._

Mr. Squiers, secretary of the Legation, and Mr. Cheshire,
interpreter-secretary, met the troops at the station last night at 8.30.
The marines of the United States, England, Russia, France, and Japan,
formed the contingent of 365 men which were sent up from Tien-tsin by
the fleet. They would have arrived earlier in the day, but the British
in Tien-tsin had tried to send 100 marines instead of the 75 for which
the Tsung-li Yamen had given them permission. The Chinese were obdurate,
so the delay was caused.

When this polyglot contingent landed at the station in Peking there was
great excitement as to which nationality should lead. Captain M^cCalla,
who had come up with our fifty marines, hurried his men at the
double-quick to get it, and our troops were the first to march up
Legation Street. There was an enormous mob at the station, but no
demonstration was made except to hurl and howl curses on the soldiers’
ancestors.

Mr. Squiers, who is one of the most hospitable people in the world,
received Captain M^cCalla and the marine officers in a delightful
manner, and did everything possible for them in an official and personal
way. He was an officer in the army before entering the diplomatic
service, which makes his help and advice invaluable in procuring
quarters for the marines, and other arrangements.


                                                  _June 3._

Yesterday Captain M^cCalla took the eleven o’clock train, with his
secretary, back to Tien-tsin, to join his ship, the _Newark_, after
having had a long talk discussing the situation with the Minister. We
suppose Admiral Kempff will be up in a day or two, as his visit has been
put off already several times.

The bad and suspicious part of this affair is that the Boxer outrages
are not being punished by the Government, which proves that they either
fear the perpetrators or sympathize with them. One hears from all sides
that the Chinese soldiers are Boxers at heart, and would not fire on
them if ordered to do so. The people who will suffer first from these
riotous fanatics, if they get much worse than they are now, will be the
Chinese Christians.

[Illustration:

  RUSSIAN MARINE GUARD
]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  CAPTAIN M^cCALLA, COMMANDING THE AMERICAN MARINES
]

The heat is becoming insufferable, and the children of the diplomatic
corps are showing the bad effects of this enforced confinement. The
British Minister’s wife, Lady Macdonald, has sent her little girls back
to their legation bungalow in the hills, in the care of her charming
sister, Miss Armstrong, with a guard of thirty marines. We cannot solve
the problem in our Legation this way, as our guard is so much smaller.


                                                  _June 5._

We expected Admiral Kempff yesterday from Tien-tsin, but the train did
not come through, and we do not know whether he was on it or not. The
invitations for a dinner in his honour have been cancelled.

Mrs. Brent, with whom I am to return to Japan, has sent me word to be
ready to-morrow to take the morning train to Tien-tsin. So far all the
trains from Peking down seem to get through, although the trains up are
irregular. Rumour comes that yesterday two more stations were burnt, one
on the Hankow line and one on the Tien-tsin line, but the actual tracks
are not destroyed.

Everyone feels that this is the time to leave Peking—everyone, at least,
who is not bound to remain to protect interests they have in charge—and
to-morrow surely the exodus will be large. Captain Myers, in command of
the United States marines, and Captain Strouts, of the British marines,
had a long consultation to-day about these incredibly outrageous Boxers,
in case they should dare impertinences on the Legations. Should we be
forced to leave our American compound, we will go to the Russian
Legation, which has a stronger defensive position than ours.


                                                  _June 7._

Yesterday I was ready to start with Mrs. Brent, when a letter came for
Mrs. Squiers from Sir Robert Hart, saying he thought the train would
eventually “get through” to Tien-tsin, but that his secret service
agents had informed him that there were rioters and Boxers at several
stations prepared to stone the passenger coaches, and he urged me not to
attempt the trip. He wrote: “Things must get better soon or very much
worse.”

Captain Myers and his men were up all night guarding the compound. This
United States Legation is such a wretched little irregular place to
defend—it could so easily be fired.

The atmosphere of the compound is distinctly exciting. The quintessence
of American interests are discussed right here in the open air, under a
few scattered big trees, by people walking about gesticulating or
standing on scorching hot flagstones, which pave part of this enclosure,
arguing with one another as to how soon the _coup d’état_ will take
place, but all agreeing on one point—that a cable should be sent
immediately to the State Department in Washington before telegraphic
communication is lost; that nothing but a tremendous armed force can
free the Americans in Peking from a surely approaching massacre; that
many of the higher Chinese officials would try to protect us to the end.
But the fact remains, if the Boxers and rioters continue to increase in
numbers each day as they have been doing for the past week, it will be
the mob we will have to deal with, and not the Tsung-li Yamen.

In nearly every instance the persons who voice these sentiments are men
who have lived in China for years, who know the country, the language,
and the people. They know that the strength of the Chinese lies in
clever cunning and mob violence, that they cannot be trusted under any
circumstances.

These men all agree that China was never before in such a condition. Mr.
Pethick, familiar with every phase of tortuous Chinese government, forty
years a resident in China, and an intimate friend of half the political
leaders, knowing their weaknesses and wickednesses by heart, urges the
Minister to state to Washington the situation as it is, but all to no
avail.

The white dazzling star of optimism is blinding him to facts, and with
the British Minister to stand with him in his position, he says that the
Boxer movement is only a few fanatics, and the mobs and incendiaries are
but slight demonstrations of the yearly spring riots!

Dr. Coltman, a clever American physician of Peking, and a correspondent
for the _Chicago Record_, is sending to his paper some strong cables
about affairs here, but the United States are so saturated with yellow
journalism that probably his wires will not be believed. When we
complain to the Yamen about the trains running no longer from Peking to
Tien-tsin, as many ladies and children wish to leave, they smile and say
“they regret the present state of affairs, but that in a few days all
will be in working order again.” Mr. Pethick thinks they are not
allowing the trains to leave Tien-tsin because they don’t want any more
foreign troops to come to Peking.


                                                  _June 10._

A telegram arrived to-day from Tien-tsin, saying the second contingent
that they have been so madly telegraphing for these past few days had
practically seized a train and left at 10.10, that most of the track is
supposed to be all right, but they expect to have difficulty with an
occasional broken bridge. Captain M^cCalla is again in command of our
marines, and the combined forces of this relief party number 1,600. We
expect the train to arrive to-night, and, owing to the gates being
closed at sundown, they will have to spend the night outside. To-morrow
at daybreak they will be met with twenty carts for their ammunition and
luggage.


                                                  _June 11._

This morning Mr. Squiers, and Mr. Cheshire, and Captain Myers, with ten
marines, waited at the station for the troops from daybreak until eleven
o’clock, but there was no sign of them. The escort then returned to the
Legation. The telegraph was broken last night. We have no more
communication with the outside world; our world is this dangerous
Peking.


                                                  _June 12._

Such intense excitement! This afternoon the Japanese Chancellor of
Legation went down to the railway-station in the official Legation cart
to see if there were any sign of the troops. Returning by the principal
gate, he was seized by Imperial troops, disembowelled, and cut to
pieces.

Mr. Squiers had sent about the same hour his _maffu_ (groom) down to the
station with a pony for Captain M^cCalla in case the troops had come.
This man was also returning, after having waited there some hours, when
they—the Imperial Chinese soldiers—saw that he was some foreigner’s
servant, and tried to seize him, but he lashed both horses—the one he
was on and the one he was leading—and just escaped. On reaching the
Legation, he was so terrified he told Mr. Squiers he would have to leave
his service immediately and try to save his life by running away to
Tien-tsin.

Twenty of our marines have been sent with an officer to guard the big
Methodist mission near the Ha Ta Men Gate, which is still holding out.

Rumours are the only subject of conversation now. To have them refuted
or confirmed, a Russian bribed a reliable Chinese to go fifty miles down
the track and to report where the troops are. He could find no sign of
them. How very extraordinary! Where are these 1,600 men that left
Tien-tsin two days ago? He also reported that the track was broken in
several places.

To-day the house belonging to the British Minister in the hills, very
near our temple, was looted and burnt by the Boxers. Most fortunately,
Miss Armstrong brought the children back yesterday.

A Russian secretary, Mr. Kroupensky, has figures at the end of his
fingers about the number of troops Russia can land in Tien-tsin from
Port Arthur in a few days’ time, etc., and if things get much worse, the
Russians say it is more than probable their people will march on to
Peking by themselves to our rescue. Can we suppose they are trying to
prepare us for a Russian _coup d’état_?

Dr. A. W. P. Martin, a famous savant in Chinese classics and other
ancient languages, Director of the Imperial University in Peking, has
temporarily become the refugee guest of Mr. Squiers, his own house being
too unsafe for him to remain in. Mr. Pethick is also a guest in this
hospitable house. The British Legation is already crammed with
missionaries and refugees, who in their own quarters feared for their
lives, and were obliged to leave their missions near Peking, and
concentrate at some place capable of defence.

A message that has to be sent to the Tsung-li Yamen always gains more
strength by being sent from each Legation the same day. To-day the
Japanese were requested to join the others with this usual procedure,
but they answered simply: “Impossible. The Chinese have murdered our
Third Secretary of Legation, and Japan can have no more communication
with China—except war.”


                                                  _June 13._

All last night the sky was bright from the many fires in the Tartar
city—work done by the Boxers and soldiers. The Roman Catholic Church,
the “Tungchou,” was burnt to the ground, and all through the night the
Christian Chinese who lived near it were massacred. Other less important
missions have also been destroyed. Yesterday the people in the Austrian
Legation rescued a Chinese Christian woman who was being burned to death
very near their Legation wall.


[Illustration:

  CH’IEN MEN GATE
]


Baron von Ketteler, the German Minister, considered some Boxer who
walked down Legation Street was impertinent to him, and chased him up
the street as far as the Russian Bank, where he finally captured him. He
was beating him over the head with his walking-stick even before the
fellow stopped, and the crowd that collected was enormous. Captain
Myers, Captain Strouts of the English, and Baron von Rahden, of the
Russian guard, seized this opportunity to make a kind of rush down and
up Legation Street, placing the Maxim-gun ready to use if necessary, and
in this way completely cleared it of Chinese from the Dutch Legation
down to the Italian. They had wanted to take this step for some time,
deeming it has now become necessary to take real measures for our
defence. They were glad of this excuse.


                                                  _June 16._

In the afternoon yesterday we were horrified at the number of big fires
that broke out in so many different parts of the Tartar city, and when
we saw that the Ch’ien Men Gate was blazing, and all the houses around
in the same condition, we felt we were in great danger. If this got a
hold, it would burn up the Legation district of Peking very quickly.
There are two parts of the city—the northern Manchu city, containing the
Imperial palaces and garrison, also the foreign Legations; and the
southern or Chinese city, containing the trading population, theatres,
and markets. Both parts are joined in the form of the letter =T=, the
leg or largest part being the Manchu city on the north, with walls 60
feet high, 40 feet wide at the top, loop-holed parapets 3 feet high at
the side, and square bastions 100 yards apart on the outside face. At
wide intervals along the inside face are pairs of inclined roads, 8 feet
wide, for mounting the wall. The total length of this rectangular wall
on the four sides of the Manchu city is about twelve miles. Joined to
this great wall on the south is the much lower and weaker wall of the
Chinese or southern city. All nationalities sent men, even these
traitorous Pekingese, to aid us in extinguishing the fire. The Imperial
fire-brigade arrived with great pomp, and could have furnished charming
costumes for some “extravaganza” in their get-up. They had no idea how
to put a fire out, but fortunately they had some hose, which, when used
in the telling places, proved most efficacious.


[Illustration]


Our men fought this terrible fire side by side with the Chinese, and
this goes to show how a common danger levels most things, even active
hostilities. The Cossacks worked exceptionally well. This fire had been
started by the rioters and thieves in the rich bazaar district of the
city, under cover of which they hoped to get much rich booty. The wind
being high, the flames gained great headway, and the tremendous Ch’ien
Men Gate was soon ablaze. By eight o’clock the fire was somewhat
controlled; but it burned all night, and when seen from the Great Wall
it looked like a huge torch.


                                                  _June 17._

Just one week ago to-day we got the telegram that the combined forces of
England, the United States, France, Japan, etc., now at Taku, numbering
1,600 men and over, had practically seized a train at Tien-tsin, and,
with workmen on board to mend the track where it had been derailed, had
left at 10 a.m. to go to the relief of the Legations in Peking. Night
and day, ever since that telegram came, we have been looking for them.
The day after we received the news that they had started the Chinese cut
the telegraph-wires, and so for one week we have been absolutely cut off
from all communication.

No messenger has been able to get through the city gates, as they are
carefully watched by the Chinese authorities, except—and I am proud of
this—except that one old man whom Mr. Squiers had been good to (he used
to be an old gardener of theirs) got through to Captain M^cCalla, who is
with Admiral Seymour, and is in command of 100 men—Americans. The
gardener had been able to deliver to him notes from Mr. Squiers, giving
him most important information about ways and means to get into Peking
in case they meet with opposition, and to bring back an answer, as well
as other notes from commanders of other nationalities, to their
respective Legations in Peking. From these letters we rather imagine
that this “Tower of Babel” relief party does not agree as well as it
might, but then, whoever expected a “Tower of Babel” to speak and work
in unison? Certainly never before the miracle!

So it is due to Mr. Squiers’s personal management that we or any other
nationality have heard anything from this party of 1,600 men, which
undoubtedly must be but the beginning of large numbers of troops for
what Lord Charles Beresford terms “the break-up of China.” Our Legation,
thanks entirely to Mr. Squiers’s efforts, is the only one which has been
in touch at all with the approaching column, and, by his minute
instructions, when they get here they will be able to advance into the
heart of our district—through the Water Gate—without having to take any
of the city citadel gates. They say that in all crises, political or
otherwise, some one man comes forward, takes the bull by the horns, so
to speak, and does a man’s work. Mr. Squiers, as far as all the
Americans here feel, is _the_ man in Peking.

The fighting, the weak and terrorized Government, the expected attack on
the Legations, the horrible massacre of the Chinese Christians, the
burning of all the missions, churches, and entire Christian communities,
and last, but not least, the continued attempts—made, we think,
principally by Boxers—to “burn the Legations out,” all go to make these
days very extraordinary ones.

Last night there was a scene enacted in our Republican compound that
would be a fitting climax to any Bowery play where Jake, the villain, is
finally run down. A regulation Boxer—red sash and all—was caught by a
Russian sentry in the act of trying to set fire to the outhouses of this
Legation. He was assisted into the compound by the Cossack who
discovered him, with no especial tenderness of manner, the Chinaman
still clutching the picturesque and glowing torch with which the
conflagration was to have been started. In three minutes coolies,
soldiers, gorgeously dressed Legation servants, the European men in the
compound, and we women, who were in the midst of our dinner, rushed out
to see what it was (as we did fifty times a day, so far as that goes),
to find this poor, writhing creature, who knew that he had nothing to
expect but death in the next half-hour, as he had been caught
red-handed. He was questioned, but to no purpose, and was then turned
over to the Russians, as they had been responsible for his discovery;
and, although we all knew that that nation dislikes prisoners, we were
hardly prepared for the bullet that, in less than ten minutes, whistled
clear as a bell on the night air, and told us there was one Boxer the
less in Peking.


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  BARRICADE BETWEEN THE AMERICAN AND RUSSIAN LEGATIONS
]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  READING THE SENTENCE OF DEATH TO THE BOXERS CAUGHT IN THE RUSSIAN
    LEGATION
]


Captain Myers has turned out to be a most competent officer, and the
British Captain Strouts and the Russian Captain von Rahden have worked
together splendidly for the object of saving our three Legations from
attack and fire. These Legations form a kind of triangle, our corner of
which is the weakest owing to its bad shape. The British compound is
excellent for defence, having strong, high walls, with stables or houses
at the corners, one side having the canal running parallel to it, and
the other having the Imperial carriage park.

When the time comes that the United States and Russian Legations can no
longer hold out, the British Legation will be the stage for a terrible
last act. So far, of course, things are not as bad as that, and fire is
what we dread more than the disaffected Chinese soldiers or Boxers.
Nevertheless, things got so critical the day before yesterday that food
for a week for our entire Legation was sent over to the British
compound, and each of us had sent over a dress suit-case with a change
of linen, brushes, etc., so that in the event of our having to leave our
Legation on the moment, we would not be absolutely comfortless and
unprepared for a siege of several days until Seymour and M^cCalla could
relieve us.

Yesterday things got so bad that our bugler played the “call to arms”
four different times, which is the signal here for all women and
children and all non-fighting men to appear at the big gate of the
Legation, and within five minutes from that time Captain Myers will
decide what must be done—whether the marines will escort us over to the
Russian or the British Legation. After each of these alarms, however, it
was decided not to send us quite yet. At the last alarm they kept us
waiting, all huddled together like sheep, for an hour. And such an hour
as it was—the constant reports of Mauser rifles, the absolute lack of
knowing what was happening!

But at one moment I was obliged to forget the terror of it all and look
at the humorous side. Mrs. Squiers was holding her youngest boy, a baby
of four, in her arms, busy in quieting him. Her other boys, Bard and
Herbert, were there, too, rather subdued, and last, but not least, our
little cortège was completed by the arrival of the French and German
governesses, each of them arguing violently in her respective
mother-tongue. Mademoiselle is a large woman of ample proportions in
wrong places, and she had her bosom filled with recommendation papers,
which she fingered nervously—they were all she was saving in the way of
valuables. Clara, the German governess, had forgotten what her valuables
were, and looked quite distraught with fear. She had a French clock in
each hand, and was telling me in broken English, German, and Chinese how
afraid and terrified she was. I said to her, “Gehen Sie mit mir,” and
she clutched my arm most painfully for the next half-hour.

As I have said, fifty men came to Peking from the _Newark_ on May 31,
and twenty of them with an officer were sent to defend the big Methodist
mission near the Ha Ta Men Gate, which, because of its area and large
stone church, is capable of a very good defence, and where all of the
American Protestant missionaries that are lucky enough to be in Peking
have gone. Much to Captain Myers’ disgust—it is so hopeless to divide
this small military force—the Minister insisted on sending this guard to
them, instead of having them brought into our defended lines.
Consequently, there is no officer to share the responsibility with him,
or to give his men a sufficient number of hours off duty during the
twenty-four. He himself gets about four hours sleep per diem, and that
has to be taken in cat-naps and in a folding-chair. He is liable to have
even that short period interrupted a dozen times by an over-anxious
sergeant, who wakes him up to come and see this or hear that. He
naturally feels the responsibility tremendously, and is on the _qui
vive_ at every shot. His men are in about the same condition. This
strain has been without relief for eight days and nights.

Of the thirty marines here, ten, Dr. Lippitt tells me, should be on the
sick-list, and imagine how they feel with a compound full of women to
defend against perhaps thousands of half-crazed fanatics who at any
moment may break into the Legation. Their work is splendid, and at all
times they are prepared for the worst, but the constant strain is
unimaginable.

Captain M^cCalla wrote in his letter, which Mr. Squiers’s old messenger
brought back to us, that he was in despair, as others in the relief
party were not hustling enough. Our cry by night and day is, “When will
the troops arrive?” Will they get here before or after some horrible
massacre?

The men in the compound carry their rifles with them at all times, even
when dining. Mr. Squiers a few days ago presented modern rifles with
ammunition to all missionaries coming to the Legation. Taken
collectively, these missionaries are a splendid lot of men, and are one
and all most grateful to him for these arms, given them in this moment
of awful danger to their converts, their families, and themselves. One
night all left the table four times to run to the outposts, where shots
and fighting were heard. In most cases, fortunately, they are not
serious alarms—a few venturesome Boxers or Imperial soldiers running
amuck in Peking after loot, who have decided to devil the foreigners.
About three days ago we expected the troops any minute; now we are not
so sanguine.

A detachment of men from the English Legation, our Legation, and the
Russian Legation, started off under an English officer to rescue some of
the thousands of Chinese Christians who are being burned and tortured by
their enemies like rats in their holes. The tales that reached us
through our servants, many of whom are Christian converts, and whose
mothers, fathers, and wives are undergoing this continuous St.
Bartholomew, made our men feel that we should try to do something for
their rescue, even if we were not successful. Fortunately this party of
men did not meet any large number of disciplined Chinese soldiers,
finding them only in small groups. They killed a great many, and one
could easily imagine how happy our men were to be able to kill these
wretches in the very act of burning, looting, killing, or torturing.
Sergeant Walker told me he had sent eight devils to glory; many of his
shots he had seen take effect, and others he hoped had done as good
work.

The “Nan-t’ang,” a Roman Catholic church, founded in 1600 by the early
Jesuit missionaries, was burnt by these Boxers, and as most of their
converts and families live around the church, one can well imagine the
slaughter that took place before it was finally fired. This is only one
instance of the many missions and churches where the same kind of thing
has happened. The Roman Catholics alone claim to have ten thousand
converts in Peking.

The Pei-t’ang is a large fortress cathedral, and capable of splendid
defence. It is the oldest and richest Roman Catholic stronghold. In its
dual rôle of church and military position, which in the old days used to
go hand in hand, this community reminds one of the wonderful and still
extant example of feudal power, the Mont St. Michel in Brittany, where
cathedral and fortress dominate the higher part, and its villages
cluster around the base. So here this Roman Catholic stronghold boasts
the same arrangements, only with added hospitals and orphan quarters. It
is a wonderful church to exist now, when the world is so old, and is
supposed to be so peaceful. The French Minister has sent a guard with
two officers to help Archbishop Favier, Superior of the Pei-t’ang.

In some instances hundreds of Christians thought it better to be roasted
in their houses and burnt to death than to try and escape. Then, of
course, the soldiers, Boxers, and thieves would loot the entire
entourage of these burning communities, and, having once begun, they
would not stop to inquire if the family were Buddhist or Christian. They
were busy in this pleasant work when our posse of soldiers arrived on
the scene of action, and the Chinese companies that had been detailed
for this work were so disorganized by their lust of loot and cruelties
that they were practically unable to attack us, and generally ran away,
except in some rare instances, when they would rally and fight.

Mr. Pethick and Mr. Cheshire would raise their voices in Chinese and
tell the terrified people to come with them and they would be saved.
Sometimes it was necessary to go into the houses to assure the people of
this help. On entering the houses they saw many horrible sights—women
and children whose lives it was too late to save. There was one small
square compound that the Boxers had burned, while in the inside there
was an entire family of Chinese Christians. The four walls were on fire,
and these people were tied hand and foot. Our men were unable to save
them in any way, and hastened to other places where they would not be
too late. Babies were seen being torn in two. The result of this
morning’s work was the rescue of about one thousand Chinese Christians,
who otherwise would certainly have been burned or killed within a few
hours.

The officer in charge had them brought up Legation Street, which has
lately been barricaded, and, except foreigners, no one is allowed to
walk or pass. Two big barricades have been made at each end, one beyond
the Dutch Legation, the other below the Italian Legation. And such a lot
of poor, wretched people I hope never to see again. Half starved,
covered with soot and ashes from the fires, women carrying on their
breasts horribly sick and diseased babies, and in one case a woman held
a dead baby. One man of about fifty years old carried on his shoulders
his old mother, who must have been every day of ninety years. She looked
so withered and wrinkled, one had to think of the burning of Troy and
Æneas. A great many of these people were terribly wounded—great
spear-thrusts that made jagged wounds, scalp-cuts and gashes on the
throat where the victim had been left for dead.

Dr. Lippitt, who came up with the marines, and the English and Russian
surgeons set to work, and tried to patch these poor people together
again, and they toiled, the three of them, steadily for many hours. I
have never imagined that such stoicism as these wretched creatures
exhibited could exist. They never uttered a cry or moved even when the
surgeons were operating on them.

Then the question arose as to what should be done with them. They could
not stay in the road; the Legations could not have them. Dr. Morrison
and Dr. H. James hit upon one of the happiest of ideas—namely, the
seizing of a lovely park belonging to a Prince Su, which runs parallel
to the British Legation, and is on the other side of the canal. It is so
big there would be plenty of room for as many of these poor people as we
shall be able to rescue, and being so near us, it will be quite possible
for us to defend it. Dr. Morrison saw that the idea was carried out, and
Dr. H. James went personally to Prince Su, and interpreted to him that
it would not only be kind, but wise, for him to present his palace and
park to his distressed fellow-citizens, who were being massacred by the
Imperial soldiers in different parts of Peking, and in this way to
furnish them with a refuge from the brutes who had killed thousands of
them, and who were desirous of killing the rest. Dr. James implied that
unless he voluntarily gave up his “fu” (meaning park), we would take it.

Prince Su was most suave, and said nothing would give him greater
pleasure. There was probably some truth in what he said. He was only too
glad to get as far away as possible from these Legation people,
notwithstanding he would have to give up his palace. The danger for his
life might be very great if he were suspected, even for a moment, of
sympathizing with the foreigners, as might easily have been maintained
by his enemies had he continued to live in this palace, which we told
him he might do, as it was only his big park we wanted for the
Christians. He vacated the same day, leaving all of his treasure and
half of his harem. Thanks are due to Dr. Morrison.

How queerly things happen! These poor wretches, who had been tortured
and hounded to death only two hours before by Imperial troops, were now
housed in the palace of a mighty Prince, and almost within the shadow of
the Empress-Dowager’s palace. For three days this splendid work of
rescuing has continued, but finally Captain Myers decided that, with all
the night-watching and hard, long hours of sentry work, our men could no
longer endure it. So it was discontinued, and I believe the other
Legations have stopped for the same reason. The English, Russians, and
our men usually went on these rescue parties together, and I never heard
of friction, though they were sometimes under an officer of one
nationality and the next day under another. The ten to twenty marines
who were on these parties counted at a very low estimate that they must
have killed 350 thieves, Boxers, and Imperial Chinese soldiers.


                                                  ENGLISH COMPOUND,
_June 21_.

Things are rapidly changing for the worse. On the afternoon of the 19th
a communication came from the Yamen addressed to all the Ministers,
saying that, as all, or most, of the European Powers had fired on the
Taku Forts, war was practically declared, and, such being the case, they
would be pleased for all the Legations to take their passports, and
allow the Chinese Imperial troops to escort them safely to the coast,
whence they could leave the country. This was a thunderbolt coming to
the Ministers, and yet so plausible and possible did the proposition
appear to Sir Claude Macdonald and Mr. Conger that they were almost
ready to acquiesce if the Chinese promised proper transportation.

The German Minister, Von Ketteler, was very undecided—so much so that he
determined to go by himself the next morning to the Tsung-li Yamen and
have a quiet talk with the members, and in this way arrive at a
conclusion as to whether there would be foul play in case we accepted
their escort. As he had some knowledge of the Chinese language, he was
able to probe a little deeper into a conversation than were his
colleagues, who were naturally forced to speak entirely through an
interpreter.

The majority of the Ministers—De Giers, Cologan, Knobel, Pichon, Salvago
Raggi, etc.—were wavering, first to accept the proposition and then not
to; but by five o’clock in the afternoon it was so generally believed
that the Ministers as a body would accept the Tsung-li Yamen’s ultimatum
that all foreigners should leave the next morning at ten, that the
executive members of the different Legation staffs had been out buying
or procuring in any way possible large numbers of Chinese carts for the
Legation personnel, and we women were packing the tiny amount of
hand-luggage we were to be allowed to take with us, wondering whether to
fill the small bag with a warm coat, to protect us on this indefinite
journey to the coast, or to take six fresh blouses. Our hearts were
wrung as to what to do, and while we were arranging and worrying about
these trivial details the great diplomatic question was at a white-heat.

The Ministers were moving about from one Legation to another, arguing,
talking—always talking. The strong men felt we must not leave Peking
until our own foreign soldiers arrived to escort us, but the weak men
felt in despair as to which course to vote for. They did not like the
idea of leaving either, but, oh dear, what a breach of diplomacy to
receive their passports and then to decline to go! The strong, who knew,
were so few, and the weak, who feared to disobey the Tsung-li Yamen,
were so many, that it looked very much as if we were all to start out to
our deaths the following morning.

During the afternoon two or three men made a visit to the Legations,
hoping to be able to rally the Ministers into promising to cast an
undiplomatic vote when the final conference should take place; and at
one time Dr. Morrison took the floor, he being the spokesman for the
vast crowd of intelligent individuals—engineers, bankers, trades-people,
and missionaries—who one and all were in favour of waiting until Seymour
and M^cCalla arrived. He looked the Ministers square in the eyes, and
said:

“If you men vote to leave Peking to-morrow, the death of every man,
woman, and child in this huge unprotected convoy will be on your heads,
and your names will go through history and be known for ever as the
wickedest, weakest, and most pusillanimous cowards who ever lived.”

[Illustration:

  THE TSUNG-LI YAMEN
]

On the evening of the 19th Von Ketteler sent an official letter to the
Yamen, saying on the following morning, at ten o’clock, he should go to
the Foreign Office, as he wished to discuss with the Tsung-li Yamen the
trip to Tien-tsin, etc. A little before ten on the morning of the 20th
he started to keep this appointment. He was in his official chair, his
interpreter in one behind him, and both unarmed. Four of his Legation
guard started out with him, but, after proceeding a short distance, Von
Ketteler saw the congested condition of the streets and the great number
of excited soldiers everywhere, and, rather than run the possibility of
his men getting into a row, he sent them back to the Legation, and
proceeded on his way to the Yamen in just such a style as a high Chinese
mandarin would go through the streets, with only his two _maffus_ riding
on in front as outriders. These Chinese servants, being mounted, were
the first people to bring the news back to the German Legation of his
murder. Von Ketteler was passing a kind of guard-house where at all
times a fairly large number of Imperial Chinese soldiers was kept. A
number of them rushed out, surrounded his chair, and shot him many times
in the back of the head. His interpreter was shot at as he was escaping
with great difficulty, and a volley of shot was fired at him as he
started to run. He escaped, however, to the big Methodist mission, where
his wounds were dressed and he was cared for.

When the horrible news came to the German Legation, all the soldiers and
officers there made a sortie as near as possible over the route taken by
Von Ketteler; but it was not feasible for them to continue the search
for his body, as they could very easily have been cut off from the
Legation quarter by the Chinese troops, and have been placed in a
desperate position.

When the story of Von Ketteler’s murder had been confirmed, a shiver of
horror shook each and every foreigner then in Peking; and we realized,
perhaps for the first time, the horror of our position. Baroness von
Ketteler, half crazed, wandered wildly about the most exposed and
dangerous part of the German Legation. It was only by Lady Macdonald’s
telling her that probably her husband’s body was at the British Legation
that she was able to get her there, it being necessary, of course, for
her to be put somewhere safe from bullet-fire, where women could be with
her and do what little they could.

Those soldiers who killed Von Ketteler were Imperial Chinese troops, and
represent the Empress-Dowager, and for them to have the audacity to kill
a Minister shows us how much real power for the good there is in Peking
to-day.

In the early afternoon the Ministers in conference decided that everyone
must go to the British compound—that is to say, all women and children,
missionaries, etc. The idea of getting our passports was no more
discussed. Von Ketteler’s murder had opened our eyes to our real
position and the real attitude of the Imperial troops, so that the
question of being escorted by them to the coast was never again
seriously thought of for a moment, except to feel that Von Ketteler’s
death was the price we paid in order to learn of the positive treachery
of the Chinese officials, although one must not forget there were many
clever men in Peking who from the first argued in the strongest way
against our going to Tien-tsin with a Chinese escort, begging the
Ministers to wait until our own relief force, under Seymour, should
arrive, and then let our own soldiers escort us to Tien-tsin. There is
no question, however, that as a _body_ the Ministers were for accepting
the offer of the Chinese officials, and that it was only the tragedy of
the 20th that made them see the impossibility of such a course.

The women and children and non-fighting men having gone to the British
Legation, the men and marines in each Legation will stay and defend
their respective fortresses as long as possible, and then make the
English compound the one for a final stand. Legation Street, beginning
with the Italian Legation, is completely cleared of all Chinese, and
extends over the bridge up to our Legation, where we made big
barricades, as we have this part of the street to defend; then the
British Legation continues down from the bridge by the Imperial Wall up
to the canal to the Tartar Wall. Besides this place of defence (which is
the best position, and will be the final refuge for everyone), the
Legations are defending themselves and their flags as long as they can;
for, by keeping our lines as large as possible, when the end comes we
shall be able slowly to retreat more and more, which will give us time,
and by each day gained relief must be getting nearer.

As we have positive proof from the Chinese that the Admirals have taken
the Taku Forts, it must be that relief is very near, or they would never
have jeopardized our lives in Peking by this overt act of war, unless at
the same time they were in a position to save us in case the Chinese in
Peking would retaliate by attempting to massacre us.

The American missionaries of several denominations, who have been
defended in their big missions near the Ha Ta Men Gate by twenty of our
marines, have been brought to our Legation to-day bag and baggage, not
to mention babies. They consist of seventy-six adults and a large number
of children, and while here Mrs. Squiers arranged a luncheon for
everybody—men, women, and children; and, although she knows her
food-supplies may possibly run short for her own large family, she
opened her storeroom, containing staple groceries and many crates of
condensed milk and cream, and urged these women to take, individually or
collectively, literally as much as they could carry of the articles they
most needed to tide them over until the troops arrive. These women had
all had a taste of siege life, and already knew what it was to see their
children show the lack of proper food; and they consequently availed
themselves fully of Mrs. Squiers’s more than generous offer. It was a
happy “mothers’ congress” that denuded those storeroom shelves, and then
this missionary convoy was taken over to the British Legation, and Lady
Macdonald gave them the chapel for their lodging.

There are so many women in our United States Legation that the British
have assigned us the doctor’s bungalow. Dr. Poole is the compound
surgeon, and we are living in comparative comfort compared to the people
of other Legations. Politics seem to enter into the distribution of the
Legation houses that are assigned to the heads of each Legation, and
after a Minister is given one, he proceeds to arrange his people as
comfortably as he can. Our house has not many rooms, but they are large,
whereas the Russian Minister has been given the second secretary’s
house, which is in bad repair, and is anything but commodious. Sir R.
Hart, as Chief of Customs, has one of the inferior houses, which is
unfortunate, as his Customs officials are very numerous; but then, from
time immemorial, the British Minister has never loved the Customs
people’s great power in having control of the huge revenues of China.


[Illustration:

  BARRICADE ACROSS THE CANAL TO THE FU
]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  SANDBAG BARRICADE IN AMERICAN LEGATION
]


It is now almost two weeks since the troops started from Tien-tsin.
Where are they? Seymour must be in command, and Sir Robert Hart suggests
that, _when_ he gets here, we call him Admiral See-no-more, or, if the
Queen wishes to increase his rank for his rapid relief of Peking, she
could with reason call him Lord Slow-come. The Russians themselves have
christened Colonel Wogack Colonel Go-back.

Thank heavens that this compound is spacious—big trees and comparatively
numerous houses. The Protestant missionaries are now all housed in the
Legation chapel, where they have turned the vestry room into a model
kitchen and the altar into a _table d’hôte_. A herd of sheep and a cow
have been corralled and installed in the stables, so we shall have meat,
in case we are besieged, for several weeks. But if we are not besieged
so long, the most sanguine say that the Chinese, who are a nation of
cowards, will get over their awe of the foreigner when they find how
easily they have made him leave his Legations and collect in the
strongest one. When the moment arrives when they entirely lose that awe,
how easy it will be for Tung Fu-hsiang alone (even he controls about
10,000 troops around Peking) to make a rush on us, although perhaps the
only strength of his force lies in its numbers! To get in, to fire and
massacre all the hated foreigners at one catch, is not at all
impossible.

Legation Street being held by us Americans, we were allowed to have our
trunks brought over here and placed in the five-room house which was
turned over to Mr. Conger for himself and official family. Dr. Poole, to
whom this bungalow belonged, ate at a mess, so that, not having any need
for his stove in the kitchen of his house, it was immaterial to him
whether it was broken or not, but what a difference it made to us! Mr.
Conger’s large family, increased by several guests from Chicago, had
their meals cooked on this delightful stove at certain hours. Our
family—that of the First Secretary of the Legation—is also very large,
and accordingly we find it necessary to have meals at other hours; then,
again, the Second Secretary, Mr. Bainbridge, arranges his _chow_ at
times during the day when it may be possible to cook something; and
still again, Dr. Coltman, with his wife and six children, who have a
room in the bungalow, have a definite time for their mess.

As we have come in so recently, our meals are mostly cold, in the spirit
of catch as catch can. I find a great deal of coffee and tinned beef is
devoured during the day with great gusto by our officers, soldiers, and
civilians. Yesterday we brought all the tinned things over here from our
Legation, but, as we are extremely uncertain as to the length of our
siege, we realize it is just as well not to have too large appetites.

Mr. Squiers has been assigned two rooms of this house placed at the
disposal of the United States Legation. They are situated at the back,
opening directly on the filthy, dirty Chinese servants’ quarters. Mrs.
Squiers, my maid, and I have the large room, which is practically the
living-room for the family and mess of the First Secretary of the
Legation. Our trunks, with two silver chests, and all the many dozens of
tins of food that we brought from our Legation, are banked all round, up
against the walls. The big double mattress on which we sleep is rolled
up in the daytime, and we use it for seats as well as the trunks. We
have no furniture, as Dr. Poole moved his bed to the hospital and found
other places for the rest that he had, so the room is completely empty.
Perhaps it is just as well, however, because we have great difficulty in
finding a place big enough to spread our mattress out when night comes
as our stores and trunks almost fill the room.

The three children have their respective cribs, which we were wise
enough to bring over from our Legation. They are placed in the other
room which looks out on the little avenue that runs through the
compound. The air is much purer there than in our room, where we breathe
the servants’ air and gas which rises from a broken sewer. The French
and German governesses are placed in the ends of small halls.

When we were collecting a few comforts—mattresses, cribs for the
children, etc.—in our Legation to bring over to this compound, we
carelessly brought, too, a light-blue satin eiderdown quilt, which we
took from one of the bedrooms, and now we are glad to have it, for it
serves as a most admirable portable bed. When his services are not
needed as orderly to Captain Strouts, Fargo Squiers gets some hours of
good rest on it. He takes it to any particular spot where he thinks his
services may be needed during the night, and, with a childlike ability
to sleep anywhere, and an old veteran’s ability to wake up promptly, he
finds this scrap of luxury from the old life doing excellent duty as a
campaign adjunct. The sky-blue shade, however, is fast becoming a rich
London smoke. Mr. Squiers, like other men who assist at the
night-attacks, and must be ready to work anywhere at any time, sleeps in
his clothes and his boots, usually in the American Legation, taking his
rest in periods of forty Winks at such time as he is not needed.

As things are not systematically arranged yet—in fact, we hope the
troops will be here before we need to get things in such a condition—we
do a good deal of cooking on our chafing-dish. When we turn the room
into a nursery for the children (for we cannot keep them always in their
own room, nor can we allow them to be much in the compound, as half the
time it is thick with exploding bullets), it is then a sight to behold.
There are a good many children here. Their one game seems to be
“Boxers,” and they copy in miniature what we grown-ups are playing in
earnest. The younger ones are forced into being the attacking Chinese,
and I am afraid when the big ones repulse them, they occasionally get
very real bumps on their heads. They have small sandbags and barricades,
and their Chinese warwhoop of _Sha, sha!_ (Kill, kill!) is a creditable
imitation of the real thing. It is all very clever, and they are all
very full of life, and I help them to play, for it’s a good thing that
they don’t realize what all this may mean, and we hope that relief will
come before they lose their spirit and before they know.

One can see, on walking about, missionary children, of whom there are
quantities, elbowing Ministers Plenipotentiary, and the latter going
about without collars. The Belgian Minister, for instance, is a good
example of the condition of to-day. He, with his First Secretary of
Legation, M. Merghelynckem, Chevalier de Melotte, and his English valet,
have been most gallantly defending their Legation for a long time
without help of any kind. They killed many Boxers who attacked them, but
they were so few that they found it impossible, after eight days, to
hold out any longer, and were forced to leave. A party of Austrian
soldiers went to their rescue and escorted them into the Legation lines,
as the Belgian is quite distant from this centre. They had the pleasure
of seeing their compound fired fifteen minutes after they left, and knew
it was being looted as well. They then became “refugee colleagues,” and
stopped first with the Austrians, then came here. They have for
wardrobes the clothes they have on their backs, only M. Joostens has one
extra blue cotton shirt and one piqué cravat.

Our Protestant missionaries are working steadily and continually
wherever it is most essential, and besides doing everywhere the work of
men, they have taken under their wing the care and feeding of that vast
number of rescued Chinese converts who are now in Prince Su’s park. Most
of the Roman Catholic brothers, in contrast, not only do not raise a
finger to work, but in no way occupy themselves usefully.

Firing seems to continue at all times, but it is mostly over our heads.
Yesterday Boxers tried to loot and fire the Dutch Legation, which is
next to ours, and Captain Myers turned our machine-gun on the crowd for
a minute and killed six Boxers, so the attempt to loot was not
successful, but the burning of the compound continues. The Methodist
Mission, so lately vacated, was looted and burned last night. So much
happens in every twenty-four hours I can hardly keep account of it all,
and as a background to the hourly horrors that develop is the continuous
snipe, snipe, sniping, mostly by our own men, who are on roofs of
buildings shooting at the constantly approaching incendiaries.

All food-supplies which can be procured in any way from anywhere by
anyone have now to be turned in to the committee in charge of food, and
everything is deposited with them on the erstwhile tennis-court of the
British Legation, which is their headquarters. In fact, everything of a
useful nature is stored there, whence it will later be distributed where
most needed. The two foreign shops in Peking are Imbeck’s and Kieruff’s,
and as they are too far up Legation Street to be defended in any way,
they have been abandoned by their owners with their contents. The
committee on food-supplies, although greatly desiring the stores on the
shelves of these shops, would not attempt to get them, as anyone making
the attempt would become a perfect target for Boxer snipers as soon as
he left the protection of our last barricade on Legation Street.

Imagine our surprise when, late in the afternoon, a Chinese cart, driven
by Fargo Squiers, a boy of fifteen years old, came thundering into the
British compound with the upper part of the cart riddled with
bullet-holes. He was heading for the two rooms in Dr. Poole’s house
which had been allotted to his family, and his freight consisted of
dozens of tins of the above-mentioned supplies from Imbeck’s
death-surrounded shop, which he had procured at the greatest risk to his
own life. The committee were about to order him to unload his desirable
cargo with them, to be used for the good of the public, but upon hearing
that the boy had ridden into the very jaws of death to procure these
supplies, and had dared what no man in the compound had dared to do,
they told him he could have the disposition of them, for by his rash
valour he had well earned the lot.

It seems he procured a Chinese cart and forced two coolies to go with
him. On their way to Imbeck’s one was killed by a bullet in his head,
and though the other survived to help him load the cart, after arriving
in the courtyard of the place, he had difficult work, as coolie number
two tried to run away, and twice the boy had to point the muzzle of his
rifle at him, indicating what he would do if he made any further
attempts. They were fairly free from shots while actually loading the
cart. On the return trip every yard of the way they were peppered by
bullets, and the second coolie was wounded, but not killed. This boy saw
what he thought he ought to do, and he did it; but what a terrible price
might have been paid for these stores! Apropos of stores, these last
certainly are welcome. Our mess is large, and so many tins were given to
the missionaries and other needy people before we came to the British
compound that we would have felt the lack of staple groceries
tremendously had not this large windfall arrived.

The committee on food-supplies have two articles in tremendous
quantities—all kinds of tobacco (long black cigars and Egyptian
cigarettes) and dozens of cases of wines, mostly red and white, which
will be a great help to the Continentals here. These supplies were
procured by the committee from deserted shops near enough to the
Legation centre to make their procuring not too dangerous. I think the
general public was more pleased at the arrival of these stores than were
the missionaries in charge, for with misgivings the question arose
surely in their minds, Were these things sent to us from Heaven or from
the other place?


                                                  _Friday, June 23._

The excitement to-day is terrible, and much more intense than anything
we have yet had. Fires are starting in all our “lines.” The horror and
dislike of leaving our respective Legations to concentrate in the
British is nothing compared to the fact that if we leave our Legation
the Boxers and Chinese soldiers will immediately burn them and loot
them, and this may give them such a lust for loot and pillage that it
may become an incentive strong enough to overcome their national fear of
attacking, and make it most terribly difficult for us to hold out until
the troops come. Until the troops come! What a wail that is! and it is
heard at all times, and all people take their turn in asking somebody
else, “When will they come?”

This afternoon we were in Mrs. Coltman’s room, and her sweet baby was
asleep in a funny, old-fashioned, high-backed crib. Although the sound
of exploding bullets was to be heard outside the house, we were much
startled to feel one—you can’t see them, they come so fast—enter the
room, hit the headpiece of the baby’s crib, detaching it from the main
part, and bury itself in the opposite wall. An inch lower and it would
have cut through the baby’s brain. His mother picked him up, and all of
us flew into a room on the other side of the house, where we felt we
would be free from shot, at any rate coming from that direction.

We were accompanied by the wife of the Chief, Mrs. Conger, conspicuous
for her concise manner, and an open follower of Mrs. Eddy. She earnestly
assured us that it was ourselves, and not the times, which were
troublous and out of tune, and insisted that while there was an
appearance of warlike hostilities, it was really in our own brains.
Going further, she assured us that there was no bullet entering the
room; it was again but our receptive minds which falsely lead us to
believe such to be the case. With these calming (!) admonitions she
retired, and I can honestly say that we were more surprised by her
extraordinary statement than we were by the very material bullet which
had driven us from the room.

All women are busy sewing up sandbags to strengthen our defence, while
bullets are raining into the compound like hailstones. A man comes
rushing to where we are working, and tells whoever is in charge of
filling the sandbags that a hundred, or as many as possible, must be
taken to such and such a barricade, or it _cannot hold out_. We get
snatches of the real state of affairs very often in this way.


                                                  _June 23._

Yesterday, the 22nd, the Austrian marines vacated their Legation,
although Von Rostand, the Austrian Chargé d’Affaires, and other people
greatly criticized them for having left too soon. These marines then
went to the French Legation, and M. and Mme. von Rostand became Lady
Macdonald’s guests at the British Legation. The Belgians stayed with the
Austrians until they left, when they came to this compound, and the
Belgian Minister also became a guest at the Legation. The Dutch compound
and the Austrian compound are still burning.

Yesterday at ten o’clock in the morning a sort of terror, almost
unaccountable, seemed to sweep over the entire length and breadth of our
lines; the French soldiers got in a terrible funk, left their Legation
to Boxers, fire, or anything else that might appear, and ran all the way
without stopping to the British Legation, where they said everything was
“lost.” The Germans also got the fright, but after coming up Legation
Street half-way, they turned back, and not only took a stand in their
own Legation again, but they sent men into the deserted French Legation
and kept it manned, so that if the Boxers came they would be resisted,
and not be allowed quietly to take possession.

The Russian compound is the only passage-way by which the American
marines can escape and retire to the British Legation, and it was
understood that in case of an attack from the Chinese serious enough to
necessitate everyone leaving their Legations, the Russians would not
close their big gate opening on Legation Street until our American
soldiers had entered, when they would hold out there (in the Russian
compound) as long as possible, and then retreat all together to the
British Legation. Our Russian friends, however, forgot this little
arrangement, and when our men were also seized with this panic and left
the Wall, and retreated through our Legation across Legation Street to
the Russian gate, they found it not only locked and barred against them,
but no one near enough even to hear them knocking. They excused
themselves afterward by saying they had left a tiny gate open farther
down the street, but as none of our people knew there was such an
entrance, we thought this a rather poor excuse.

However, in an hour’s time, after this terror had passed over the entire
line, our marines had returned to the United States Legation, and had
manned the Wall again. The French returned later to their Legation which
the Germans had kindly guarded for them in the interim, rather
disheartened to think that the scare they had started should prove to
have been only in their own overwrought minds. As the French and German
Legations occupy two important positions, and are constantly being
attacked by Boxers and soldiers, the French Legation could have been
taken very easily by the Chinese had the Germans not occupied both
Legations. They are directly opposite each other in Legation Street.

Our men already have the reputation of being the crack shots of any of
the guards in Peking. It has been noticed that when our men aim they
bring down their game—whether the game is a Chinese soldier’s head or a
Boxer.

Yesterday it seemed too hard that, after the nervous excitement and
fright to everyone in the morning, Providence did not withhold the
terrible fire that broke out almost in our very midst in the park
directly next the Wall. Each hour seemed more terrible than the one
before. A huge column of smoke went up into the air, and in its centre
forked tongues of flame burst out. It seemed impossible that this
enormous fire—one so large or so near I have never before seen in my
life—would not in an hour or so completely burn us up. The Boxers or
soldiers who had so successfully started it must have been overjoyed to
see their work, knowing it would take almost superhuman power to put it
out, although I am sure they could not have thought it possible that we
could extinguish it.

There was little enough hope written on people’s faces in our compound
to make us feel, for a time at least, that perhaps the Chinese might be
successful, and by burning one wall that played so important a part in
our defence, they could enter and massacre us without having to attempt
an attack by scaling. Had there been a wind blowing this enormous column
of fire in our direction, we could not have fought it at all, and the
entire long wall which divides the British Legation from the
Empress-Dowager’s carriage park would have fallen.

Our men scaled ladders and worked like New York firemen in the way they
strove together and in the good sense they exhibited. I suppose man is
able to keep his head clear when he knows that this may be his last
chance in this world to save his skin from Chinese savages, and that his
arm develops in consequence a good deal of strength. Men who were on top
of the wall, throwing down buckets of water on the fire, and handling
with as much care as possible the small rubber pipe that we are using as
a hose, came down every fifteen minutes, to be relieved by others, for
they were half scorched, some badly burned from cinders and falling
débris, and all of them had lost their breath in that terrible heat.

It must be remembered that while these men were on this wall they were
beautiful targets for Chinese sharp-shooters, and we found afterwards
there were many in the Chinese troops. There were three wells in the
compound, and from the two biggest there was a line of men and women
passing buckets, ewers, and any other kind of vessel that was available,
filled with water, to the men who were actually fighting the fire on the
wall. One realizes the heroism it takes to continue working at a fire
though half scorched, but what shall one say of these men who worked
under the ordinary danger of a scorching fire, and who knew they were
the target for the continuous rifle-fire and sniping that was kept up
throughout? The sky was grey, and the men on the Wall made agonizingly
big and black silhouettes for the Chinese to aim at.

If I live to be a thousand, I could never see a queerer collection of
people working together to extinguish a fire, and with the object to
save themselves from a massacre—coolies, missionaries, soldiers, and
Ministers Plenipotentiary working and straining every muscle for the
same object. Surely Peking never before saw such unanimity of her
foreign residents. I was in that line of men and women passing buckets,
and so was the wife of the French Minister, and many other well-known
women.


[Illustration:

  MRS. R. S. HOOKER
]


Fargo Squiers, Dr. Martin, and Dr. Poole, surgeon for the British
Legation, were three soot-covered people who came to our rooms after the
fire was entirely out,—which meant they had worked desperately for many
hours without stopping. To say they were thirsty would not be
truthful—they were parched. Dr. Poole whispered that the only cup he
knew big enough to quench his thirst was a big loving-cup that was in a
small closet in a corner of the room (this house having been his before
the siege), and that if I would fill it with Apollinaris he would put in
the whisky. I filled my order, and he poured out about four fingers of
Scotch into the bottom of that big loving-cup, and as he drank it
slowly, holding it by both hands, I thought I had never seen such
thankful eyes as were his during that long and pleasant well-earned
drink.

Again to-day thousands of sandbags have been made by the women. Shooting
continues all the time, and to-day a cannon was fired from the Ch’ien
Men Gate, which we hope may mean that our troops are coming and the
Chinese resisting them. Prince Ching is supposed to have under his
command in China fifty thousand troops, and he must be friendly to us,
or we feel he would have ordered half of his troops to Peking before
this to finish us. It is stated that some of them have shot at the
Boxers, but this is hardly credible. Prince Ching is a Prince of the
first Order, and head of the Tsung-li Yamen. Dr. Morrison is the most
attractive at our impromptu mess; he works wherever a strong man is
needed, and he is as dirty, happy, and healthy a hero as one could find
anywhere.


                                                  _June 24._

Two weeks ago to-day the troops started from Tien-tsin. Yesterday by
11.30 a.m. the Hanlin Library, directly behind Sir Claude’s house in the
compound, was fired by the Chinese, and the way we fought the flames I
described yesterday, only perhaps the men felt a little stronger. They
have succeeded once in putting out an enormous fire, so why should they
not be able to do so to-day? This time, however, the wind was against
us, so that from the morning until seven o’clock at night we were
fighting it desperately.

How absurd it is to have any “consideration” for people like the
Chinese! After the big and dangerous fire of the day before yesterday,
the committee on fortifications and defences suggested that the
world-famous Chinese College (the Hanlin Library) should be burnt by us
in such a way that the Chinese could not use it as a position to fire on
us from. There was danger, too, that they would fire it themselves,
taking it for granted that the fire would surely spread to such an
extent—aided by themselves with kerosene—as to burn this entire end of
the Legation. The Defence Committee was afraid of this, and at a
conference of the Ministers it was discussed, and more or less
unanimously disapproved of. “Such vandalism!” they said. “This trouble
will soon be over, and then what a disgrace to have to acknowledge to
the world that we deliberately burnt one of the finest, if not the
finest, libraries in the East!” We only had to wait twenty-four hours to
see that our consideration for the famous library was thoroughly thrown
away, for, notwithstanding the troubles “will be over in a few days,”
the Chinese seem so anxious to destroy us before these troubles have
passed that they themselves burned this gorgeous old library, containing
as it did all their oldest and most revered literature, _in the hope_
that they could burn out a large enough part of our Wall to facilitate
their getting in.

The great danger was over by seven o’clock, but careful sentries watched
all night in case a strong wind should start, and small isolated
buildings were burning all night, so that, looking down from our house
to that end of the compound, it made one think of the blazing flames one
sees at night in the oil districts of Pennsylvania. With these terrible
fires the Chinese are clever enough to keep up a volley of rifle-fire,
so our labour is a frightful danger to every man working. The suspense
was hard to bear, because it was over five hours before the most
optimistic dared say, “We are comparatively out of danger;” and nobody
knew just what would happen if this end of the compound was to go, for
this British compound is looked upon by all as the strongest and last
resort in Peking, and that is why, of course, all of the women and
children and stores of every description have already been sent here.

Twenty-five Chinese Sisters, who were rescued from the Nan-t’ang, come
to our tiny little courtyard at the back of our house—on which charming
view, by the way, our windows look—and cook in a big caldron their
portion of rice that is allowed them by the General Committee. These
people and all of the families of Mrs. Coltman’s “boys,” and Mrs.
Squiers’s “boys,” fill up our tiny backyard with their cooking, etc.,
until, from the propinquity of these people, one is almost convinced
that one is living and sleeping in the heart of the Chinese settlement
of San Francisco.

The marines at our Legation, who naturally will not come here until they
are forced to, are in a very bad way about food. From May 29, when they
arrived in Peking, they were fed by a Chinaman who contracted to feed
them all at so much per man, and he fed them splendidly, but since we
have been besieged he naturally has no market to call upon. Mr. Squiers
has fed them for some days out of his own storeroom, but each meal makes
a terrific hole in his supplies. There are fifty men and two officers,
and naturally they do not get satisfied on one tin of sardines and a
loaf of bread. We have cooked rice in great quantities, putting many
tins of corned beef into it, cooking it in the same big caldron that the
Sisters use. Preparing the food over here makes it very difficult
getting it to them, as there is constant sniping going on, and it is
extremely dangerous to walk from one Legation to another.


                                                  _June 25._

So far the moral of the Legation, or, I should say, of this compound, is
decidedly good. The weather is very warm, but the heavy rains that
generally come at this time of summer are not here yet. Only a few
babies are sick with dysentery, and there are some cases of scarlet
fever and malignant malaria. The hospital, a house of four rooms, only
holds a comparatively small number of patients. Let us pray it will not
have time to fill up. Dr. Velde, a surgeon of the German army, who has
been detailed for three years to the Legation in Peking, is a man who
for very clever and consecutive work has already been decorated by his
Emperor. His forte is surgery, and it looks as if he would save the
medical day here in Peking. Dr. Poole, I think, will consult and work
with him. One of our marines has already been killed, and two are at the
hospital wounded. These people, who are the first to lose their lives
and get hurt, make one feel that truly this is war.

I was at the hospital with Mrs. Squiers this morning. Several men were
brought in, and they all had to wait their turn to be operated on, and
the two nurses were so busy assisting with the work in connection with
the operation of the moment that nothing was done for a wounded Cossack
who was laid on the floor. He was covered with blood, and it trickled
down his chest and formed into a pool all around him, his face an
olive-green—the colour one sees in unskilfully painted pictures of
death—so livid, I never believed even dying people could look that way.
He lay there for some time, everyone in authority too busy except to
tell me to do what I could for him, and keep the flies from bothering
him until he should die, probably in twenty minutes. He was shot through
the lungs.

People continue to be cheerful, but it is strange considering that we
have death around us morning, noon, and night. The gossip, if one can so
call the reports and rumours that are circulating throughout the
compound nearly every few hours, is that a Russian declares he knows
their troops are coming, because during the night a sentry saw a green
rocket go up into the sky. It is supposed that the Chinese have no green
rockets; therefore, as the Russians constantly use green rockets, it
_must_ be a signal from the Russian troops to let us know they are
practically at the door. And so on and so forth.

To-day Dr. Morrison went over to the Fu, where the Chinese Christians
are, to assist Colonel Shiba in some difficult and dangerous barricading
work, and incidentally to take a part in a sortie. He was in command of
a squad of Japanese and Italian soldiers, the latter most ineffective,
and the former magnificent. They cleared the Chinese out of some alleys
which Colonel Shiba decided must be added to their lines for the
protection of the Chinese converts. The brunt of the fighting fell on
the Japanese, and one was killed and three wounded. Such a clever idea
it was of Dr. Morrison’s and Dr. H. James’s to put these poor wretches
in Prince Su’s park, which, owing to its close proximity to the Japanese
Legation, seems now to fall upon the Japanese to defend.

Dr. H. James met with such a terrible end yesterday! From the gate of
the British Legation facing the canal, he looked down towards the
Imperial Wall, and seeing there several Chinese officers carrying a
regimental flag with which he was familiar, he started out, as if on the
impulse of the moment, to parley with them. He was watched with
breathless interest. Although from the time he left our wall until he
reached them he held his hands up to show he was unarmed, they grasped
him in the fiercest way, dragging him over the bridge beyond our range
of vision. The horror of his too probable fate is hanging like a pall
over the compound. We cannot understand how a man, knowing the Chinese
as well as he does, could have been so mistaken in their character as to
trust himself to them with such confidence.

During the two fires in the Mongolian Market Place and in the Hanlin
University a great many Chinese were shot by us, and when possible we
straightway threw their bodies into the flames. Unfortunately, some
Boxers were captured during the almost hand-to-hand fighting that has
taken place, and confined in this compound. They were all shot at dawn
this morning.

Captain Myers has been in command for two days and two nights on the
Tartar Wall, with no sleep. This afternoon the marine quarters in the
United States Legation caught fire and for a time it looked as if the
whole American compound would go, but with hard fighting it was put out.

Mr. Cheshire, of the United States Legation, is willing to take the most
difficult and dangerous work wherever an interpreter is needed, and for
some nights now he has been on the Tartar Wall directing and encouraging
the picked Chinamen forming the gang of labourers who nightly help our
marines to strengthen the barricades. Many Chinamen who advance towards
our lines too rashly, are killed every night, and after hours of this
work the number of corpses that accumulate is astounding. For the sake
of the health of the community, Mr. Cheshire has to spend much of his
time superintending his gangs in throwing dead bodies over the Wall, and
to-day he facetiously remarked he thought he should be dubbed
Major-General of the Corpses, as he comes in touch with so many. Such
gruesome tales as these do we hear and talk of daily!


                                                  _June 26._

Yesterday afternoon, at four, five gorgeously costumed Imperial Standard
bearers appeared on the bridge in Legation Street with a flag of truce,
saying the Emperor would send later a despatch to the bridge for us to
read, and that there was in consequence an armistice. It was brought
later, and it read: “The Emperor desires the Ministers to be protected.
Therefore, firing must cease, and a despatch will be handed to them
later on the bridge.” It was apparently not brought; but on seeing some
mounted Chinese officers belonging to Jung Lu’s regiment passing over
the Imperial bridge, we hailed them with a white flag, and with some
soldiers to back up the meaning of the flag we spoke to them long enough
to find that they were going the rounds of this part of the town,
telling their people not to shoot this night on us, as there was an
armistice. We told them to send the Emperor’s letter or despatch (which
has not yet arrived on the bridge) to the British Legation. They
promised that it should be brought to us, but it has not yet arrived at
noon to-day.

Last night I was talking to M. Pichon, the French Minister, when the
French Interpreter of Legation came up to us in great excitement, saying
the Russian officers had heard, without any possible doubt, _les
sonneries du canon_ of the Russian troops. It is in this way we hear so
many tales that one is lost when one tries to think. The captains of all
nationalities have had a council of war, and they agree that with great
care and hard work we can hold our own for eight or ten days longer, but
after that we are lost.

Mrs. Coltman, the mother of six lovely children, was speaking of the
impossibilities of clean linen or having any washing done. “But after
all,” she said, “what does it matter? If the troops come within ten
days, my children can wear what they are wearing; if Peking is not
relieved within that time, we will all be dead.” She was not
melodramatic, but spoke very quietly. A hundred other remarks of this
sort that one hears daily go to show how the people really feel about
our condition. Women with husbands and children suffer horribly. They
dread lest their children may die of disease or by torture, as certainly
would be the case if the Chinese get in—as they are notoriously cruel
and without mercy even to babies—and fear for their husbands, who may be
killed during any attack.

At one o’clock this morning a terrific firing began, apparently coming
from all sides at once, which proved to be the case later, when the
officers in charge of the defence compared notes. At this Legation the
air hummed with bullets, but the noise was so frightful one could not
tell if all the Legations were being attacked or just the British. They
tried to frighten us, and they certainly succeeded with women, children,
and some men, but, thank heavens, the officers in charge of defending us
and the sentries—most of them, at least—know that our high walls and
strong barricades are our safety, and that, unless good and well-aimed
artillery is brought to shell them down, with our soldiers and
soldier-sailors to man them, it will be hard for the Chinese to get over
the Wall and end our lives.

It all seems like a story from the Middle Ages to be able to place such
confidence in the strength and manning of our walls. Certainly the
foreign-drilled Chinese soldiers must be down at Tien-tsin, and we are
owing our present immunity from properly aimed artillery-fire to the
fact that the Chinese gunners here are utterly incompetent.

After this fiendish attack had been in progress long enough for everyone
to get up and dress, Mrs. Conger came back to our room, and her manner
was more than tragic when she saw me lying on my mattress on the floor,
not even beginning to dress for what I suppose half of the women in the
compound believed to be the beginning of the final fight. She said: “Do
you wish to be found undressed when the end comes?” It flashed through
my mind that it made very little difference whether I was massacred in a
pink silk dressing-gown, that I had hanging over the back of a chair, or
whether I was in a golf skirt and shirt waist that I was in the habit of
wearing during the day hours of this charming picnic. So I told her that
for some nights I had dressed myself and sat on the edge of the mattress
wishing I was lying down again, only to be told, when daylight came,
that the attack was over, when it was invariably too late for anything
like sleep (which way of living is distinctly trying), and after a week
of it, when one has so much to do in the day hours, I had come to the
conclusion that, as it was absolutely of no benefit to anyone my being
dressed during these attacks, I was going to stay in bed unless
something terrible happened, when I should don my dressing-gown and,
with a pink bow of ribbon at my throat, await my massacre. This way of
looking, or I should rather say of speaking, did not appeal to the
Minister’s wife, but I must say that at such terrible moments during the
siege it is a great comfort to be frivolous. By making believe that one
is not afraid one really lessen one’s own fear. “Assume a virtue if you
have it not,” says our beloved Shakespeare. After Mrs. Conger’s visit on
this same terrible, ear-deafening night came Clara, Mrs. Squiers’s
German nursery governess, and she needed all sorts of assurances to
convince her that a massacre was not in progress at that very moment.

These attacks are very terrifying, and to talk to a person two feet away
one has to shriek. People one sees are either apparently most optimistic
or desperately pessimistic, nothing between. It is a horrid thing to see
big, strong men unable to hide their innate cowardliness, and shirking
all duty of the slightest personal danger.


                                                  _Friday, June 29._

One or two days have passed without my opening my diary, but they are
very much like the days that I have already written about. The weather
is very warm, but all able-bodied men are working desperately hard over
trenches, bomb-proofs and barricades, or putting out more fires that
have started at different places. Several attacks are constantly being
made in opposite parts of our lines, with perhaps one big general attack
in the afternoon and one during the night, which causes great excitement
and sometimes great fear in everybody’s heart. Then comes more
excitement when the rumour arrives that a big fire is breaking out in
the French and American Legations, or we hear that someone, who has just
come from one of these Legations, says that he has heard the officer say
they probably cannot hold out much longer, with fire to fight as well as
the Chinese, and in ten minutes the report is all over the compound that
these Legations have been abandoned, and half of the soldiers defending
them killed. Such a quantity of rumours that are circulating every day,
only to be denied and proved untrue an hour later! It is incredible!

In the case of the Legations who are still holding their own, it is very
hard on the women whose husbands are still staying with the soldiers
until they finally evacuate. These poor women naturally wonder, “What is
my husband doing? Is he dead, and when they evacuate will he be amongst
the lucky number to retire to the British compound alive?”

Hard work is kept up on the important barricades, and men do hours and
hours of manual labour. The women make thousands of sandbags daily, and
help at the hospital, and make short rations go as far and look as
attractive as possible under the circumstances. The only strong men in
the compound who have no special work to do are Ministers
Plenipotentiary. There is no head-work to be done now, and some of them
don’t take kindly to physical work.

The British Legation Library is a complete one, and occasionally some
inquisitive soul will go to it and try to find, compared with other
sieges and massacres, what place this one will have in history. The
nearest similar harrowing siege seems to be that of Lucknow, where a
heterogeneous multitude, closed up in the Residency, were holding out
against fearful odds in expectation of relief by Havelock’s Highlanders,
resolved to die of starvation rather than surrender, for in surrendering
the fate of Cawnpore awaited them; and in thinking of these things we
recollect that the Tartar rulers of China are of the same tribal family
as the Great Mogul, who was the head of the Indian Sepoy Mutiny. But the
King of Delhi was trying to regain his throne, whereas the Empress
Dowager has no such excuse in making war on practically all the nations
of the civilized world.

The Tartars and Manchus are an alien race, although the rulers of China
for many centuries, and have always been inimical to everything which
tends to increase the power of foreigners; whereas the Chinese are
cleverer, from being so constantly in contact with Europeans on the
sea-coast, or anywhere where they can find gain or advantage in trading
with them, and have become, compared, at least, to the ruling Manchus in
Peking, progressive and modern. The Emperor and his party for progress
were completely snowed under in 1898 by the Empress-Dowager and her old
Manchu Conservatives, who, lacking the desire to accept anything
modern—even diplomatic relations of the most simple kind—decided, in a
childlike and unreasoning rage, that everything foreign must be swept
down into the sea, and it really looks now as if the first steps of her
policy may be realized.

Lady Macdonald has forty Europeans in all to feed three times a day
including servants, and at table they sit down thirty-three. She is very
sensible, and has only one dish. Nobody thinks of dressing for dinner,
except the Marquis Salvago, and I think it shows things are truly far
gone when English people dine, but do not dress.

Our little mess is very attractive, and as our stores are much more
numerous and of a greater variety than those of almost any mess here, we
manage to have, up to the present at least, a most satisfactory one. We
have tinned beef as our _pièce de résistance_, and rice is our
mainstay—of a necessity, as it is that of which we have most. Tomato
catsup tastes very good in this hot weather. Oatmeal is another staple
that we have, and as luxuries we have a good stock of jams, tinned
fruits, tinned vegetables, sardines, tinned mackerel, Liebig’s extract,
a big box of Stilton cheese, coffee, tinned butter, and white flour. Mr.
Squiers has a large supply of champagne, and every night we have one or
two quarts with our siege dinner. The men work so hard, and the women’s
nerves are so much on edge, that a small amount of stimulants is surely
a blessed help.

Our mess being comparatively small, these delicacies are lasting nicely,
as we use them with discretion, for we remember in the old days before
the siege a dollar was a dollar, and would buy a tin, but in these days
a tin has no market value—they cannot be bought. When one’s tins are
gone one can eat horse-meat and rice. We brought a small lead-lined
ice-box with us from our Legation, which seemed foolish at the time, but
which is a great comfort to us now. We keep our wine and drinking-water
in it, and also well-water, which is very cool, so that our drink is
somewhat cooled, and is not the same temperature as the air. No other
mess can attempt to have things cool, and this is one of the features of
our room—that we are as comfortable as we can be under these
extraordinary circumstances. During this sizzling weather cool water is
a great comfort. It is so hot that a tin of meat, if left open all
night, spoils by morning.

There is an English newspaper-man, who, when he can spare a few moments
from the siege-work, gets his camera and takes a few photographs of
things as they are. He is fond of chaffing, and to-day the Committee on
Fortifications are of opinion that the house used by the French
Minister, M. Pichon, is being undermined by the Chinese from outside,
though indistinct noises, etc., are as yet the only proof of it. The
Minister was more than usually perturbed about this new personal danger,
and was not pleased, or at all amused, at the remarks addressed him. “I
am making photographs for the Paris _Figaro_ of this siege. Very soon
your quarters will be blown up by dynamite. My camera is ready to take
the photographs, and as you will be the principal person in it, how
would you prefer me to take you—as your Excellency is going up
wholesale, or as you are coming down retail?”

At this time people are not well-balanced, it seems to me. Some take the
daily horrors as a matter of course, are more callous than they should
be, and the others are so miserably pessimistic and mournful that one
shuns them, fearing to catch this infection. There is a young man here
who has been known to indulge in temporary aberrations, usually at
night, following long, hard days of work in the broiling sun. On one
occasion he was on his sentry beat, and on being relieved by his chief,
the sight of whom was too much for him after having walked some hours on
his dangerous sentry route (which seemed doubly dangerous in the
pitch-black night) he, doubtless brooding over his probable approaching
death, pointed the muzzle of his gun straight at his relief. “C’est à
cause de vous, misérable, que je suis venu à Pékin et encore c’est à
cause de vous que ces belles années de ma jeunesse seront salement
terminées ici!” By not moving an inch the man thus threatened
undoubtedly saved his life, and most intelligently agreed with his
attacker, “Probably so; let’s talk it over.” In a few minutes the crisis
had passed, but the following day the man who had been in such danger
requested the General Committee to change his night sentry duty to a
different part of the compound, so that his young secretary should not
again be tempted to hold him responsible.


                                                  _Sunday, July 1._

I have been quite under the weather, to use a civilized expression, and
I assure you that things have got (not are getting) to such a state that
to live and act and talk as one would do at home is quite out of place.
How soon people get accustomed to an idea! Now that we have prepared our
minds for a possible massacre we seem to be getting back, to some degree
at least, our old spirits. Now that I am well, how much nearer seem the
soldiers who are coming to relieve us!

What a place this compound would be for an epidemic! There are barely
enough mattresses for the wounded and dying at the hospital, so that,
should we have one, and take a house for those taken sick, I am sure
that there would be no ordinary comforts of any kind for them; they
could only be isolated. Let us pray that we will have no such horror to
add to the already long list.

The hospital is already full, men lying on straw bags in halls—crowded
in every conceivable corner. They are brought in dying and wounded every
day. Dysentery has its grip on almost everybody here. The treatment is
almost to stop eating and to drink rice-water in large quantities. Our
four-times-divided cook—the other three messes in the United States
bungalow have a lien on him too—is off for some hours daily on work
which all personal servants have to give to the General Committee. When
the kitchen is comparatively free, Mrs. Squiers, my maid, and I make
gallons of rice-water, thick, nutritious but tasteless, which we bottle
in quart-bottles and place to cool in our zinc-lined, cold-water-filled
box. It is placed in a corner of our two-roomed quarters, and the
constant stream of men coming and going to that box would lead an
uninitiated observer to believe that at least a Hoffman House bar was
hidden there and doing a steady business.

The rainy season and the bad time of the year _par excellence_ has
begun, and the temperature is like a Turkish bath without the clean
smell. Apropos of smell, a whole story-book could be written about the
Peking smell. The dry heat was nothing compared with this damp
temperature, that seems to soak out of Mother Earth the most incredibly
disgusting odours. There are so many dead dogs, horses, and Chinese
lying in heaps all around the defended lines, but too far for us to bury
or burn them. The contamination of the air is something almost
overpowering. All men who smoke have a cigar in their mouths from
morning until night as a protection from this unseen horror, and even
the women, principally Italians and Russians, find relief in the
constant smoking of cigarettes.

On the 29th Dr. Lippitt, who came up from Taku with our marines, was
sitting in front of the Minister’s house smoking a cigarette, when a
bullet struck a limb of a tree nearby, and, glancing down, struck him in
the thigh, fracturing the bone. He is most dangerously ill, and we shall
not know for several days whether he will have to have his leg amputated
or not. He is an attractive man and a thorough Virginian. We used to
play tennis with him and Captain Myers before the times got so terribly
out of joint.

To-day the Germans were driven off the Tartar Wall close to their
Legation, which caused a great deal of excitement. They were driven off
by Chinese soldiers, some of whom were Tung Fu-hsiang’s men, and others
were Prince Ching’s especial troops, which seems queer, as we have
supposed all along that Prince Ching was friendly.

The Germans could see from the Wall that the Ha Ta Men Gate is being
strengthened, and people who know say that the troops who are closing
the gates in such a warlike way are doing it as much against the violent
and uncontrolled soldiers of Tu Fu-hsiang, who are notorious for the
manner in which they loot and murder, as against the allied Powers. They
say that all Chinese families in Peking who have anything to lose have
left the capital, as they realize that if the foreign troops come there
will be great looting, and if the Chinese troops are successful there
will be looting and worse. Mr. Pethick tells me that during the
Japan-China War, when it was considered highly probable that the
Japanese would march on to the capital, thousands of Mandarins and
people of wealth left Peking with their families and with as much
treasure as they could carry. It is natural to suppose that the same
fright exists to-day.

This morning our men, the Germans following, retired in a panic from
their barricades on the Wall to the United States Legation, momentarily
expecting to see Chinese hordes occupy the German position and theirs.
After an hour’s wait they retook the Wall. This example, however, was
not followed by the Germans. During this hour the excitement was intense
in the British compound. The report that the Wall had been evacuated
caused a panic, for this abandonment of the Wall would enable the
Chinese to mount their guns on this portion of it, directly commanding
the British Legation, and to fire down on us, and no one can say how
long we could hold out against such an attack. In such an event we will
put women and children into deep bomb-proofs that have been made for
that purpose, which are covered with logs, sandbags, and dirt, and are
shell-proof. These trenches we have made as near as possible like those
used in the siege of Ladysmith.

As the Germans have been unable to regain their positions on the Wall,
the difficulty for Uncle Sam’s men has been increased fifty per cent.,
as they must now be prepared at all times, either during the day or
night, for an attack by Chinese from both directions. This sentence, “to
give up the Wall,” could be, translated into siege language, “the
beginning of the end,” and this news was most terrifying to us. I think
that there are few who in their heart of hearts have given up hope of
the troops coming soon. Nevertheless, the facts remain that if we cannot
hold the place it would not take very long for us to be annihilated, and
if the troops come a day after we are finished, a miss is as good as a
mile, and we don’t care then when they come. If we had not had the
greatest luck in the world we could never have held out like this to the
present date, and what the Powers can be thinking about not to send a
column to our immediate relief, knowing, as they must, that we could
never hold out against artillery, is beyond the reasoning power of the
people in this Legation. Are the allied Powers fighting each other, or
are they fighting their way up here?

Yesterday an unsuccessful sortie was made by Colonel Shiba from the Fu
to capture a gun, and six men were killed. These offensive measures seem
to gain us nothing, and we always lose men.

Apropos of Colonel Shiba, he is a splendid, small person. He has taken
his position here by the strength of his intelligence and good right
arm, solely because the Ministers and the guard captains were not
especially inclined at the first morning conference to listen to him—in
fact, I don’t know that he tried to talk, but it is all changed now. He
has done so splendidly in his active and continuous fighting in the Fu,
and has proved himself such a general, that his opinion and help are
asked by all the commanders. His men are all so patient and untiring in
their long, long hours behind the barricades, and are so game, in great
contrast to the Italians who are with him defending the Fu. One can only
hope for Italy’s sake that her soldiers in Peking are the worst she has.

Now that we have got down to the primitive _motif_ of all nationalities
fighting for their lives, the racial friendships and animosities are
very obvious. The British and American are almost one people here;
although the expressions, “D—— Yankees!” and “D—— lime-juicers!” are
interchanged, they are used in a spirit of affection. The dislike of the
Russians for the British is so cordial that it is only equalled by the
feeling the British entertain toward them. The frankness of this avowed
enmity is delightful. Our compound joins the Russians, and they love us
and we love them in as strong a fashion as they hate their English
neighbours on their other side. Baron Von Rahden orders his men to work
and fight as much as possible side by side with our marines, as in this
way he hopes to increase the efficiency of his untrained guard. These
men can’t speak the others’ language, but are the best of friends. The
Russians are all called “Rouskies” by our guard.

The Germans are somewhat by themselves, and fraternize with no one.
Their Legation is at one end of the defended lines, and opposite the
French. They are full of sullen rage at the unavenged death of their
Minister, and when they are fighting or defending barricades in
conjunction with other nationalities, and perhaps under command of an
American or British officer, they have become notorious for their utter
disregard of ordinary military precaution and unnecessary daredevil
recklessness. The French are also far from the base of the defended
area, and come in for attacks. They are assisted by the Austrian guard,
some Belgians, some Customs students and unattached Continentals who are
able to use a gun. The Customs students constitute a splendid force of
young men, but as they are of all nationalities, they are apt, in taking
their active fighting positions, to gravitate to the guards of their
respective countries, although in many instances they simply join the
weakest spot. The Japanese are defending the Fu with the greatest
valour, and, needless to say, are tremendously pro-English and
anti-Russian.

We now feel that our tactics must be entirely defensive. Although to-day
is Sunday, most of the women in the compound, missionary women included,
are working hard at sewing sandbags, the non-fighting men filling them.
Beautiful material of all kinds is being used for these bags. Liberty
satin curtains from London and linen monogrammed sheets from Paris are
cut up ruthlessly to be used. One hundred thousand bags, as near as they
can be counted, have been made already. It was principally in the Fu,
defended by gallant Colonel Shiba, that the materials procured were so
gorgeous. Bags were made from the bolts and rolls of brocades and satins
that constituted part of the treasure left by Prince Su in his palace
when he so kindly turned it over to his persecuted fellow-citizens. This
is the one bright, wonderful bit of colouring in the compound: it is the
barricades of thousands of big sandbags made entirely of these
gorgeous-coloured satin brocades—sky-blues, blood-red, Imperial
yellows—thousands and thousands piled one upon the other. It has been
built from the ground up to the second story of the Chancery building—a
rather high house for Peking. It was made at this building, as the
firing has been very heavy here—a most extraordinary, butterfly-coloured
barricade; and if it were anywhere in the world except in this siege in
Peking, there would be seen lines of artists, with sketch-book and
easel, trying to put this unusual effect on canvas.


                                                  _Tuesday, July 3._

For several days past the Chinese on the Tartar Wall have been bolder
and bolder, and yesterday they built their last barricade so near ours
that they could, and did, throw big rocks over into our lines, which, by
a lucky chance, hurt no one. The moral effect of this dangerous
propinquity was terrible on our men. They felt that there was only one
almost ineffective barricade between them and hordes of Tu Fu-hsiang’s
soldiers—the notoriously cruel Mohammedan chief and his bandits. Mr.
Squiers was the first to appreciate this great danger, and certainly the
first to think of the cure, and, what was more to the point, he put it
through. The pros and cons were discussed with Sir Claude in conference,
and it was decided that a charge down the Wall must be made, and soon,
or else we must leave it entirely, and that none of the Americans were
willing to do, as we had been there from the beginning, and although the
Germans gave up their position on the Wall, we were not content to do
the same.

Captain Myers was more than ready to lead the charge, and he was given
twenty British marines, fifteen Russians, and thirty of our own men. At
dawn this morning, about three o’clock, he charged the Wall. No one in
the compound had gone to bed; the excitement was very great. We sent
sixty of our fighting men on this sortie, and if they failed we should
have lost what we could ill afford to lose. We felt that the odds were
about even, and _that_ waiting at the hour of dawn was frightful. The
charge was successful, and two Chinese regimental flags were captured.
Sixty-five dead Chinese soldiers were afterwards found between the two
barricades, but the actual number killed and wounded is unknown. Our men
came back at five o’clock carrying their dead and wounded. This has been
the only effectual offensive measure accomplished during the siege.
Captain Myers led it most gallantly—an inspiration to his men—and was
wounded by a spear-thrust in the leg.


[Illustration:

  CAPTAIN JOHN T. MYERS
]


                                                  _Thursday, July 5._

The Glorious Fourth came in during the last twenty-four hours, and the
Chinese kindly announced the fact about 3 o’clock a.m. by a violent
firing from all sides, which terrified everybody, but like most of the
similar attempts recently made, only resulted in giving everyone a bad
fright, and materially weakening some one or two points of our defence.
Von Below, of the German Legation, notwithstanding his military
physique, seems to be developing into a man of moods instead of a man of
action, and the story comes over from his quarters that during this last
terrifying attack he was seized with the premonition that this was the
end. He preferred to meet his doom by making his piano interpret his
last feeling. The music from the “Valkyrie” that he drew from that
instrument was marvellous. He played, regardless of time and place, in a
soul agony, but was rudely awakened some hours later to be told that the
attack was all over, and that for this time at least he was not to be
massacred in a storm of music.

To-day the moral atmosphere seems worse. I think that it is because
absolutely nothing has reached us from the outside world to let us know
that our respective Governments care what becomes of us. My personal
attitude, compared with my co-besieged friends, is one of extraordinary
cheerfulness, simply because, perhaps owing to my youth and health, I
can feel no terrible fear for the future, but, on the contrary, am
distinctly hopeful.

All the hope that has been caused by seeing nightly green lights that
look like search-lights is falling very low, because they have not got
nearer at all, which would not be the case were they signals used by our
approaching troops. Where can the troops be? Are all the Governments so
gullible as to believe the Chinese Ministers in their different
countries, who are probably assuring them of our safety, or can they be
so criminally selfish as to be fighting diplomatically among themselves
as to what each Power shall have in the way of future sharing of China
after our rescue?

The consensus of opinion among the Ministers here is that the different
nations will agree to allow the Japanese or the Russians, who control
large fighting forces within a week’s march of Peking, to send a relief
column to Peking with the sole object of relieving their eleven
Ministers Plenipotentiary, exacting a promise that on this expedition
there should be no _coup d’état_ or punitive measures, but simply relief
of their distressed representatives. Weeks ago we were told to come to
the British compound for a day or two, but as yet there is not a sign of
help. Every day deaths occur of our best fighting men and officers, and
the question is, with men going in this painfully regular way, how long
can we hold out? Soon women and children will constitute the only forces
of the compound. The deaths each day are fortunately small in number,
but a great many are wounded, some very badly, which make them as good
as dead as far as fighting goes. The Russian officer in command says
that we cannot hold out longer than for one week at the most, but more
sanguine people say that, with good luck, three weeks can be tided over.

Captain Myers’s wound of his spear-thrust is not as slight as was
expected, and he has much fever. It was very sad to-day to see the
funeral of another baby. The second funeral of the day was one of the
most popular and attractive of the Customs students. He was shot through
the liver while cutting down a tree near the Hanlin Library, and died
two hours later.

Fifty men are in the hospital, twelve have been killed, and there are a
few convalescents walking about the compound. We did not say so at the
time, but we can say now, thank Heaven! the Chinese have tried to fire
us on all sides, so that in this way there are very few places or houses
where the Chinese, who are sniping at near range, can secure cover. By
means of terrific efforts, in which everybody joined, to extinguish the
fires, serious harm was averted, although our enormous wall, giving on
to the Mongolian Market Place, had a breach in it that took a great deal
of hard work on the part of the men to rebuild, or, I should say, to
mend, with rocks and sandbags, in such a way as to make it safe.

These rocks were moved with great difficulty; they had been in place so
long forming the pavements in this compound. How fortunate, from a
defensive standpoint, that when we came here we were allowed some
servants, our coolies included! Most of these are Christians, because
the Buddha men as a rule deserted when they saw how things were going;
and now these servants are put in gangs, all of them having to work for
the common need in building barricades, filling the thousands of
sandbags to strengthen the defences, and doing necessary sanitary work,
also at times working shoulder to shoulder with our soldiers when a
barricade caves in from the enemy’s heavy fire. One barricade, for
instance, was destroyed by the Chinese. The coolies, working with the
soldiers, rebuilt it, though exposed to a galling fire from Tu
Fu-hsiang’s men all the time. One afternoon six coolies were killed.

These men, whom we call by the general term of “coolie,” classing them
thus for convenience, are often scholars, being teachers of Chinese to
the missionaries or interpreters, and yet they work without complaint in
the gangs, though they are in every way unaccustomed to manual labour.

At four o’clock we had another funeral, for Oliphant, who was shot. I
was present, and the English chaplain, Mr. Norris, gave us a short
service. It was very sad to see his body, wrapped only in a piece of
sacking, let down into the ground. The grey sky, occasional bullets
flying over our heads, and a few claps of thunder, with flashes of
lightning, made a fitting background for the burial of this lovable
young man. His brother, a great tall, gaunt fellow, looked his part in
the most pitiful way as chief mourner. Before we leave Peking many will
be the Chinamen who will be killed without quarter by the Customs
students in revenge for the untimely death of their comrade. All the
Ministers Plenipotentiary were there, and poor Sir Robert Hart looked
weak and haggard from deep grief at the loss of his favourite
subordinate. Oliphant was buried only three hours after his death. We
have no way of keeping the dead for a greater length of time.

Horse is the principal article of diet. Several days after we arrived
here the beef was eaten up, and there remained but a small flock of
sheep, which fortunately was brought here while there was time. There
are 1,293 Europeans to feed daily in this compound, and rice is the dish
_par excellence_ for everyone. Mutton, however, is distributed to the
sick, women and children, to the extent of a quarter of a pound apiece
every third day. There are a lot of horses, ponies, and mules in the
compound which we have kept alive by feeding with straw, and every day
two animals have been slaughtered and distributed among the messes. Then
the coolies have a kitchen, where they can come whenever their work
makes it possible, and they get rice and horse-meat. It is queer to see
how many people acknowledge that they like it, having eaten it now for
two weeks. Of course, a great deal depends upon the animal, but they
agree that mule and pony are better than horse. Some people even who
have among their stores plenty of canned or tinned beef prefer the fresh
horse-meat. At our mess, however, we have a prejudice against it, and as
long as we continue to have the tinned beef we will not send for our
share of the animal.

The May races having come off before the siege, most of the diplomats
had not disposed of their horses and polo ponies, and the all-important
question now is not if “Cochon” will win more cups in future, but if his
steaks will be tender. Things are so queer now. The one cow which still
gives a small amount of milk, needless to say, has not been killed for
her beef, but is carefully tended for her baby-saving fluid. The
president of the largest and most influential bank in Peking, besieged
here with us, has received a wound which absolutely incapacitates him
for active work. He can only hobble around on a crutch. He has
volunteered to tend “Miss Cow” and assist her to find the few blades of
grass which are still to be had.

I went with an officer to the Hanlin Library, where the sniping is still
constant, but not quite as severe as it was, owing to the good
barricades with which we have strengthened the position. The Chinese
fired this wonderful library of Peking so ruthlessly that nothing is
left there but thousands of charred and burnt books, and some evidences
of the charming courtyard and grass plot where the old Chinese savants
used to go and read the ancient manuscripts in Sanskrit and other dead
languages. Here I found the bank president, a great power in China in
ordinary times, quietly tending the cow, watching her from an antique
stone bench. Surely the shade of some ancient philosopher must be
shocked into asking himself, “And what have we here?”

The Customs mess at Sir Robert Hart’s has an invariable menu. At
breakfast, rice, tea, and jam; at tiffin, rice and horse; at dinner,
rice, horse, and jam. We have splendid stores—better than any in the
compound—so we live better than any mess here. We have quite a supply of
Bishop’s wonderful preserved California fruits, not very sweet, which
are most delicious during this hot weather, because they do not make one
thirsty; then we have macaroni and tinned tomatoes. We make our corned
beef into croquettes sometimes, but generally have it put into a curry
with rice. Yesterday we had a great treat for dinner. Our cook, who is
an enterprising and daring soul, went outside of our lines into the
Mongol markets at great risk to his life from snipers or being waylaid
by the enemy, and procured one dozen tiny chickens. Sir Robert Hart came
to our party.


                                _Menu._

                               Remarks.

          Celery bouillon      Liebig extract, celery.

          Anchovy on toast     Anchovy paste.

          Broiled chicken      Procured at risk of cook’s
                               life.

          Green peas, fried    Tinned peas and two potatoes.
          potatoes

          Bean salad           Tinned beans.

          Black coffee         Plenty of coffee.

The chickens remaining from the cook’s raid are being kept in a basket
and fed as if they were babies, and will be used entirely for the
children. We count eight at our mess as regular members, but our guests
are constant and numerous. Its personnel consists of Dr. Velde (who does
such glorious surgical work), Dr. Morrison, Mr. Cheshire, Mr. Pethick,
Mr. Squiers, Fargo Squiers (who is Captain Strouts’ orderly), Mrs.
Squiers (who, because of the great generosity in freely supplying from
her limited stores those who are in need, has been called by many in
this compound the “Lady Bountiful”), the three children and two
governesses, and myself. We usually have missionaries in to tiffin, and
our more intimate friends, many of whom are sadly in need of food, to
breakfast and dinner.

The Russian Legation is so situated that at one point their defence is
very weak, and they have almost nightly attacks at such close quarters
with the Chinese, that the fighting is sometimes hand to hand. The men
of the Russian guard were undrilled sailors, who had been forcibly
enlisted from inland villages in Russia, and Von Rahden, their
commander, and his under-officer, to keep them from running away when
these close-range fights begin, get behind them and stick them with the
ends of bayonets, so that they in turn will advance on the Chinese with
fury. He claims that this is the only way to teach undisciplined troops
to advance at close quarters, as they always become seized with
terror—and I don’t wonder a bit, for the Chinese in attacking blow on
shrill horns, shriek, howl, dance with the wildness of dervishes, and
advance with the cruelty and cunning of Indians.


[Illustration:

  MRS. SQUIERS
]


Von Rahden is frequently up all night, and when he is, he usually comes
to us for breakfast, which we have at any time between 6.30 and 8
o’clock. I have especial charge of the coffee-pot, and when the members
of our mess have been up all night on duty, they look as if they could
drink it all, instead of the one cup I have to limit them to. What a
difference, instead of having your maid bring your breakfast-tray in the
morning when you ring for it, to be waked up from a heavy morning nap at
six o’clock by knocking on the door, to find two or three
powder-begrimed members of your mess humbly inquiring: “How soon will
breakfast be ready?” They have probably been up all night on the
firing-line, and are dog-tired and faint.

We tell them to come back in half an hour, and then our skirmish begins.
The sleepy cook is routed out of the Chinese-filled courtyard under our
windows, and told it is time to cook the wheatena, the coffee and
soda-raised biscuits, for which purpose he repairs to the broken stove
in the box-like kitchen. We take a hasty sponge-bath, and our
rough-dried shirt-waists and golf-skirts are donned, and we are ready
for the day. Next we roll up our straw mattress, place it in a corner,
and put the small eight-sided Chinese table in the middle of the room.
We boast four chairs, and as our mess ranges from eight to twelve
people, the ones who come late sit on the silver trunks or on the floor.

A fresh table-napkin we have procured from somewhere, and on the table
we place some green leaves for decoration, and breakfast is announced.
Besides Von Rahden, another breakfast guest we have almost daily is the
Rev. Mr. Gamewell, a missionary who appears the mildest of men, but who
is developing into one of the strongest in Peking. He is the brains of
the Defence and Fortification Committee. Before entering the ministry he
was a star student at Cornell, in the engineering department; and now
this entire compound and the outer lines are included in his hands, and
his recommendation for barricades, countermining to protect against the
Chinese undermining, of which we are constantly aware, are all carried
out as near as possible from his orders. Before dawn he is at work to
take advantage of these hours of comparative quiet, to see just where
the weak spots are, and how he can best provide for their strengthening
during the coming day. He is a stooping figure, very quiet, and rarely
speaks to us, and, when he does speak, never about what he is doing. He
told me his working hours are so continuous, and everybody calling for
him from every quarter, that he did not believe he could keep on if it
were not for the hour’s rest and good hot breakfast that he gets daily
in Mrs. Squiers’s rooms.

Another member of the mess is Dr. Velde, the German surgeon, who is
doing such wonderful and constant work at the hospital day and night. He
performs unheard-of operations one after another, and on the same old
kitchen table that we found for him. The antique rifles used so
frequently by the Chinese inflict the most heart-rending wounds, the
treatment of which, to be successful, surely calls for surgical genius,
and, thank Heaven! Velde has that. He is short, thick-set, and blond,
with stumpy little hands and a keen blue eye, and is wonderfully
practical and matter-of-fact. The various messes near the hospital asked
him to join them, but without affectation—he knows he is the only
surgeon in Peking, and he must guard his health—he answered: “No, I go
only where I get the best and the most food;” and having been asked by
Mr. Squiers to come to us, he gladly accepted, while reiterating the
same reason for joining us that he had given for refusing the others.
His duties are so constant that he usually is only able to get in to
breakfast and dinner.

Another feature of this siege is one which shows what marvellous
executive ability some people have. The proprietor of the Peking Hotel
is Chamot, a Swiss who has played a wonderful part in the drama of our
imprisonment. There have naturally been numbers of people without stores
of any kind, and people who, if they had stores, would have no place to
cook them; so Chamot stepped forward and undertook to feed daily I don’t
know how many people. When we were first assembled in the British
compound the confusion was something terrific, and he gave food to all
those who had nothing, and later he made a permanent business
arrangement to provide food for those who had no means of messing
themselves. Among these are many Roman Catholic priests and twenty-five
Roman Catholic Sisters, saved by himself and his wife from the Nan-t’ang
just before it was burned, besides numerous families and detached
individuals having no stores, who would have had a most serious time
without his assistance.

These Sisters were fed by Mrs. Squiers for many days before Chamot
volunteered their care. Of course, the variety that he supplies is not
wonderful, but he gives them horse-meat, rice, occasionally some tinned
vegetables, and a kind of coarse brown bread, made from an inferior
flour, which he bakes himself. For so many people it is quite marvellous
how he feeds them so regularly. He has a few coolies to help him at his
hotel, which is near the French Legation, and there he personally
superintends the cooking of the two messes, one at twelve and one at six
o’clock, and brings it up in a Chinese cart to the British compound,
always at the risk of his own life from snipers. One cannot but wonder
how long he will be able to continue his good work. Chamot’s Hotel in
Peking is known in the siege vernacular as the Swiss Legation.


                                                  _Monday, July 9._

A day or two ago an old-fashioned cannon was found in a shop near
Legation Street, where they made Chinese stoves—a kind of foundry. It is
undoubtedly one of the guns brought up to Peking by the English and
French in 1860. Mr. Squiers promptly took a great interest in this
ancient piece of ordnance, hoping that we might make some use of it. He,
with Mitchell, a gunner’s mate from the _Newark_, have worked
assiduously in their efforts to clean off the rust of forty years and
get it ready for use. During the cleaning process they made projectiles
of bags of nails. They took the “International,” as the gun was
christened, over to the Fu and fired the bags of nails at a Chinese
barricade, thus serving the double purpose of cleaning the gun and
causing some damage and immense fright to the enemy. The noise of the
explosion was so much greater than anything the Chinese had heard coming
from our lines that five sentries incautiously put their heads above the
Imperial Wall to ascertain what was going on, and were promptly shot
down by our guards. Some Russian ammunition is here, intended for a gun
which should have been forwarded from Tien-tsin at the same time as the
ammunition, but which, most unfortunately, Colonel Wogack failed to have
put on the last, train, and we find it can be fired from the
“International.”


[Illustration:

  LOADING THE “INTERNATIONAL”
]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  AMERICAN AND RUSSIAN MARINES AT WORK ON THE BARRICADE.

  BARON VON RAHDEN ON THE RIGHT
]


To-day a European boy died of dysentery. Last night the “International”
was taken over to the Hanlin, where it was used to great advantage in
breaking up a barricade that the Chinese had made, and which they have
been strengthening daily for their convenience and protection while
engaged in the pleasant occupation of sniping our men. The day before
yesterday Von Rostand, Austrian Chargé d’Affaires, was shot at the
French Legation—where, I understand, the rifle-firing and shelling is
terrific—somewhere near the eye, and they fear he may lose it. His wife
is nursing him there. M. Merghelynckem, the First Secretary of the
Belgian Legation, killed two Chinese yesterday, and in killing one he
undoubtedly saved the life of the French commanding officer. He does
good work, and is a fine shot, but is erratic to a degree, and I don’t
believe he loves his English colleagues as much as he might. He left
yesterday for the French Legation to take up his abode there, where he
surely will be treated with great consideration, having saved the life
of their officer, although there he is given eight hours of sentry duty,
while here he had but six hours.

The other day he brought me five long Chinamen’s queues, which he had
cut off the heads of Boxers he had killed, as a souvenir of a day’s
work. It means to some Chinese—the cutting-off of the queue—a great and
unholy mutilation, and these trophies hanging up in our living-room for
a few days were obviously things of terror to our Chinese servants,
although they had been cut from the heads of their dread enemies, and we
soon disposed of them. Yesterday the Austrian commanding officer was
killed, shot through the heart. At first we kept a record of the dead or
badly wounded men as they would be brought into the hospital, but now
they come in so often that we cease to note the exact number.

People—the sanguine ones—say that it is quite likely and reasonable that
help will not come for a week or two, and in this way, if the troops do
not come, they can say, with childish satisfaction, “Oh, I never
expected them before.” When we first got here all the Ministers and
everyone said: “Certainly by the first of July at the latest.” Now they
are actually saying: “Certainly by the first of August”!

Yesterday—Sunday—there was a lot of good work done. Nevertheless, Mr.
Norris, the chaplain, who is one of the hard-working members of the
Committee on Fortifications, gave us half an hour for the service held
in Lady Macdonald’s dining-room—the regular chapel of the compound being
occupied by the American Protestant missionaries—and I must say that it
was comforting. This room is something of a wreck, denuded of all
draperies for sandbags, walls riddled with large and small bullet-holes,
a life-sized painting of Queen Victoria occupying the entire wall at one
end of the room, hung quite crooked and peppered with shot. A great beam
from the ceiling protruded some 4 or 5 feet down into the room, where it
had been forced by a spent cannonball crashing into the side of the
house, and over all this ruin was the unmistakable atmosphere which
clings to a room where many people eat three times a day, and where the
staff of servants is not equal to the work. It was but six weeks ago
that I was a guest at a most charming dinner given in this very room,
surrounded by what then seemed to be the unutterable and interminable
calm that comes from the possession of the best things to make life
pleasant in the Far East. The other denominations had their services as
well some time during the day.

The hot weather began last week, and the thermometer is 109° in the
shade. I wear shirt-waists and short skirts; the men wear filthy clothes
that they work in and most of them sleep in. They never wear collars—no
washing of linen for three weeks, and, from the looks of them, most of
them only shave every fourth or fifth day. Life is now settling down to
a routine, and one would think that the people of this compound had
never done anything else all their lives but get up during each night
when a general attack begins. Each man goes to his appointed post, or if
for a change we have no general attack, the men quietly get up at all
hours and go to their sentry work.


[Illustration:

  _Photo, Elliott & Fry_

  SIR CLAUDE MACDONALD
]


The Marquis Salvago sits chatting with his wife, a very beautiful
woman, in a _chaise longue_ most of his time. M. Pichon, the French
Minister, nervously and ceaselessly walks about, telling every one who
chats with him: “La situation est excessivement grave; nous allons
tous mourir ce soir.” M. de Giers, the Russian Minister, walks
eternally between his Legation and the British compound, and looks
every inch a Minister. Poor Señor Cologan, the Spanish Minister, and
doyen of the corps, is very ill. M. Knobel, the Dutch Minister,
offered his services as a sentry to the Committee on Defences, but
stated at the same time that he did not know how to shoot, and was
very short-sighted. Needless to say, his offer was not accepted. Mr.
Conger, the American Minister, walks about. Sir Claude Macdonald, the
British Minister, is now the Commander-in-Chief, unanimously elected
to that position by his colleagues, and he tries sincerely to do his
duty as such. I believe he is fully competent, as he used to be a
captain in the British army before entering the diplomatic service.
His path is a thorny one, however; most of the Legations are so
jealous of this compound being the centre and last stronghold _par
excellence_, that they are outrageously inconsiderate of all orders
issued, and, notwithstanding the great gravity of the situation, they
put everything in Sir Claude’s way to keep his plans from reaching
successful maturity. A small incident may be cited to show this horrid
and prevalent spirit.

The French had put in an application with the Committee on
Fortifications for picks and shovels to be sent to their Legation for
important night barricade work. The missionary in charge of them at the
British Legation failed to send them; either they were all in use on
equally important work, or there was an oversight on his part. Having
failed to receive them, Herr Von Rostand, the Austrian Chargé, who has
joined the French in their compound, at twelve o’clock last night
returned to the British Legation, where he and his wife were accepting
Lady Macdonald’s hospitality, and took it upon himself to wake Sir
Claude up, and insultingly shouted that Sir Claude was responsible, and
he alone responsible; that the French Legation was not being properly
defended, etc. (especially the etc.). Sir Claude said that he would
discuss anything relative to the safety of the Legations at any time in
the proper manner, but the way that Von Rostand spoke made it impossible
for him to talk to him at all. The Von Rostands then took up their abode
at the French Legation, which was natural more or less, as the Austrian
soldiers are helping them.

A question going round the compound is: When the French and German
Legations must be given up, where will the Von Rostands go? The fact
that one is a Minister or Chargé does not help to find one new quarters,
as every room, hall-way, and closet, was long ago appropriated. The
charming doyen of the Corps Diplomatique, the Spanish Minister, Señor
Cologan, sleeps on a mattress in the tiny hall of the house that was
given to the French Minister for himself and official family. He has to
go to bed late and get up early because people have to walk over him. He
has a tiny shelf on which to put his few toilet possessions, but he
sleeps in all his clothes, as everyone sees him. The Dutch Minister
sleeps in a tiny storeroom of the very small Second Secretary’s house,
that we now call the Russian Legation, where the fifty-one people
composing M. de Giers’s official personnel are housed. As this room is a
storeroom, his nights are a constant fight with cockroaches. Such is the
way rank is treated when it is a fight for life.


                                                  _July 16._

A steady rain has begun that promises to last for several days, a sure
but not very heavy downpour, and with it comes a greater number of
mosquitoes and fleas than would otherwise be the case. The sticky black
flies seem to be of a different family from those one is accustomed to
elsewhere. It is awful to see them feasting themselves on these filthy
and ill-smelling Chinese people, half of whose bodies are usually
covered with a hundred of these pests; but the Chinese are so accustomed
to them that when they prepare their food they do not object if some, or
I should say a great many, get into it. The “slaughter-house,” of
course, is a great centre for these disgusting flies, and as we are only
a few doors from it, the feeling of having these beasts swarming over
everything in one’s room, oneself included, is distinctly unpleasant. To
an imaginative person, who may have been so unfortunate as to study “The
Life of the Microbe,” these scavenger flies would certainly cause him to
lose his mind.

The room at the back of Dr. Poole’s house, which we occupy, is damp, and
all night the fleas and cockroaches that appear would horrify anyone. We
sent our mosquito-nets and hair-mattresses to the hospital, so that
every night we lie on our straw-stuffed bag, doing duty as a mattress,
on the floor, and unless one lies in a pool of bug-powder there is no
such thing as sound sleep. Until quite recently we had no insect-powder,
and the nights were unimaginable. Our bodies were most frightfully
bitten. Lately, however, a steward at the hospital concocted a powder of
materials which he had on hand. It makes one sneeze, it is so powerful;
but under these circumstances sneezing is a joy. One knows our
arch-enemies are dying, although this does not affect the ungetatable
mosquito, who sings on nightly.

Last night young Warren, of the Customs, was carried through the
compound on the way to the hospital, his face almost entirely shot off.
I knew him quite well—had danced with him often; he was a charming
fellow. He died at daybreak this morning. One of our wonderful shots, a
marine named Fisher, who was stationed on the Wall, was shot and
instantly killed this morning, and to-day really seems to be the most
disheartening morning of the siege, for so many men are going, as the
French Canadians would say, “on their last great trail,” or “over the
Great Divide.”

About 8.30 this morning, after our mess had been straightened up, I was
_en route_ for the hospital, carrying a pot of coffee to the doctors and
nurses, when some soldiers passed me, carrying a rough litter bearing
Captain Strouts, mortally wounded. It was especially shocking to me to
see him thus, as he had breakfasted with us at seven o’clock, and had
seemed tired from his constant work, but hopeful and in good spirits.
His arm was hanging limp, the hands and fingers stiff with agony. It
seemed but a moment before that I had passed him at breakfast a cup of
black coffee, to receive which he had held out that strong, slim hand,
with the signet-ring on the little finger, and now it was all so
changed. In less than two hours the hand was again being held out, but
in his death-throes. He had been shot while going over to the Fu with
Colonel Shiba and Dr. Morrison, to decide on some new plan of defence
for that much-fought-over district, where the firing was constant. Dr.
Morrison was hit at the same time, but not seriously, and the little
Colonel had his cap shot off his head by two bullets.

These two wounded men were carried to the hospital, where Captain
Strouts was attended to; but Dr. Morrison, owing to the great press of
work, had to wait for some hours, nursing the exquisite agony of his
wound, until his turn arrived. Poor Captain Strouts, with a cut artery
in the thigh, only lived four hours, and died while asleep. He was so
very, very tired. His work had been almost continuous night and day
since he arrived from Tien-tsin, and especially hard, since he had to
share the work and responsibility which necessarily fell on him by the
death of so many officers. His death was very much felt by everyone. Dr.
Morrison and Captain Strouts were frequent members of our mess, and in
one day to have two leave thus—one wounded and one killed! Mrs. Squiers
and I asked each other, “Who next?”

Can it surprise us that to-day the whole compound looks dreary and
disheartened? So many deaths in one short twenty-four hours! I could
write a great deal if it were of any use—of this compound, with the shot
and shell and bullets, making it dangerous for us to move about the
small open place in the Legation; of weary waiting for the troops
through heat and rain; of great dread over the weak places in our
defences; of crowded hospital and growing cemetery, and principally of
the nervous strain caused by all this worrying and fearing over the fate
in store for us should we arrive at that point when we could no longer
hold our own. A good sergeant or corporal is missed as much when he is
wounded or killed as an officer; it is especially true of our own
marines, for in many instances they do the work of an officer, and take
as much responsibility. The deaths are coming so frequently now that a
final stand seems not improbable, and if when that is taken we continue
to have the same percentage of deaths, then we can well say our prayers.
It is discussed quietly by men that they will certainly kill their wives
when that time comes. God grant it never may! Apropos of this, I have in
my pocket a small pistol loaded with several cartridges, to use if the
worst happens. A Belgian secretary stole it from the armoury for me—“in
case you need it, mademoiselle.”

Many is the time bullets passing through the tops of the trees have cut
off branches or twigs which fall at our feet when attacks begin. We
often see the flash of the cannon as it sends the shell over the
compound, generally too high to do any damage, but passing before one
knows it. And so it goes, shells and rifle-shots singing all around us.
Late yesterday afternoon the shooting seemed to cease temporarily as I
was sitting with Baroness von Ketteler on one of the benches which bore
witness that this Supply Department had been, before the siege, the
Legation tennis-court, when a bullet whistled with startling clearness
within half an inch of my ear, passing between the Baroness and myself.
Knowing that the sniper who had spied us was taking a moment to re-aim
or reload, I immediately dropped from the bench on to the ground to get
out of his range trying at the same time to pull Baroness von Ketteler
with me. This I could not do, and it was some time before one of the
Customs students who was working quite near us realized that we were the
target for this new sniping, and forcibly led her back to the Legation.
In her agony of mind I am sure a bullet to end her suffering would have
been truly welcomed.

We no longer talk about the troops. If they come in time they will come
in time, and our one aim will be to last as long as we can. The only
subjects of conversation now are the necessary strengthening of this or
that barricade, the digging of trenches at this or that corner, to guard
against the Chinese undermining us, as they are sure to do, mining being
one of their favourite methods of warfare.

We are trying to prepare for all emergencies. People who, before the
siege began, seemed to have reasonable intelligence, and, if one had
thought about such a thing, looked as if they would show up pretty well
if they were put to it, have now gone to pieces entirely, lacking
apparently the desire even to appear courageous. The men often make some
trifling ailment an excuse to shirk all work for the common defence, and
spend their time groaning over the situation, and becoming more hateful
daily to the men and women upon whom the real responsibilities of the
siege are resting; while the women who have collapsed simply spend their
hours, day and night, behind the nearest closed door, and await each
fresh attack to indulge in new hysterical scenes.

I can honestly say there are more men to the bad than women. When anyone
becomes really seized with this terror they lose all sense of
proportion—the slightest provocation brings forth torrents of self-pity,
and they ask only for the impossible. To-day I took the French governess
her dinner, into which, I must admit, the cook had dashed the
curry-powder rather too strongly. With this small _contretemps_ as a
starter, she seized my hands, and with heart-breaking sobs begged me to
save her, as she knew, from the unusual taste of her food, that someone
was trying to poison her. “Mademoiselle, je ne demande que peu,
simplement qu’on me retourne tout de suite en France.” To tell her we
had all eaten the same curry, and that it was as impossible to send her
to France as it was to send her to the moon, were words thrown away; she
was hopelessly unbalanced with terror.

Several people have already lost their minds; among them a dear old
Italian priest, Père Dosio, the Superior of the Nan-t’ang, which was
looted and burnt with the accompanying horrors. I talked with him from
day to day, and from being at first _comblé_ with grief at the ruin of
his life’s work in the destruction of his cathedral and hospital, he
gradually has become full of hallucinations. His loss of mind has been a
gentle affair compared to the violence shown by a Swedish missionary
named Norregarde, who at times has to be confined with armed guards over
him, as he is utterly deranged. He escaped once, and marched out of the
British Legation gate to the canal, and it seems that he went direct to
the Tsung-li Yamen, where he gave them, as far as we can learn by his
own accounts when he returned, all the information they wanted, and
especially urged them not to shoot so high, as few of their shots harmed
us. Since his return he has been hourly guarded, but, unfortunately, we
notice his advice has been taken, and Chinese shooting comes lower. The
Chinese have a great respect for the insane, thinking the spirits who
possess them are sacred. They gave him a good dinner, and he returned
unharmed to the British Legation. The Chinese are working harder to take
the Fu than any other point. It holds nearly three thousand native
Christians, and it is these poor wretches whom the Chinese would first
love to murder. Then, too, if they got the Fu, they could so easily
mount guns on its wall and fire down on us. We _must_ hold the Fu and
the Tartar Wall directly behind the American Legation, but it will cost
us the lives of all our marines to hold the latter.

On the 14th two messengers came to the British compound carrying a
letter signed “Prince Ching and others.” This communication was
interpreted by some as a desire of Jung Lu to incriminate Prince Ching,
as the letter came from the former’s camp, and he is a well-known hater
of both the foreigners and Prince Ching. If we answered it, and sent the
answer to him to Jung Lu’s camp, from whom it came, nothing would be
easier than for Jung Lu to take the communication to the
Empress-Dowager, and thus prove to her Ching’s perfidy in writing to the
Ministers.

Mr. Pethick disagrees entirely with this view, and urges the Ministers
to answer it, as he feels convinced it is a genuine beginning of
parleyings which, if nothing comes of them, would probably at least give
us an armistice and a respite from the horrible attacks. This letter is
fairly threatening, and it reads that we _must_ now leave Peking, or
they will do their _worst_; that they have tried to communicate with us
before, but their advances were never “gracefully received”; that we had
fired first, and they were glad that so far only one Minister
Plenipotentiary had been killed. As for the way of going, we must all
leave Peking in tens, or those who desire to remain temporarily would be
afforded protection and lodging in the Tsung-li Yamen, etc. It was
addressed to Sir Claude and other Ministers, and they threatened in a
postscript that terrible things would happen to us if they received no
letter in answer by twelve o’clock the next day.

Opinions vary about it, but everyone agrees that it is worth while
answering whether it is a ruse or not. So the response was sent
yesterday at noon. The messenger who brought us this letter was the
Chinese Christian who took, or tried to take, Sir Claude’s communication
to Admiral Seymour, and was caught by the Chinese, beaten in the most
horrible way, and robbed of the letter containing information as to our
numbers, strength, etc., which the Chinese must have been very glad to
get. The messenger was then taken to Jung Lu’s camp, where this letter
was given him to deliver to us, as he knew the way that would get him
quickly into our lines. This man was again used to take our answer to
Jung Lu’s camp. Some say the troops are on the way, and the Chinese are
trying to start negotiations before they arrive, either to make us come
out of our lines, so that they can murder us easily, or so that they can
say to the Powers, when they finally arrive, that they kept up
communication with us, and that it was our own fault that we barricaded
ourselves in our Legations; others insist that it is altogether a
_blague_ and a _canard_.

The morning following Captain Strouts’ death the Ministers and
guard-captains unanimously voted Mr. Squiers to be Sir Claude’s Chief of
Staff, the position having been unfilled since Captain Strouts’ death.
The atmosphere of the besieged in Peking is not one of peace, but of
bitterest feeling, especially strong against the British, and for no
other reason than that the other nations begrudge the strategical
superiority of the English position. Everyone hopes, with Mr. Squiers in
this rôle, that things will run smoothly, and that perhaps Sir Claude’s
orders, when delivered to the different “guards” by an American Chief of
Staff, and talked over with them in their own mother-tongues (for Mr.
Squiers is a linguist), may be oil on the troubled waters. Let us hope
so, for, should national feeling ever reach the top notch, this besieged
area will separate—the Continentals on one side and the English and
Americans on the other—and Heaven only knows how soon the end would come
for everybody should this horror of military separation take place.

The strong feelings of friendship, that are perhaps due to the
propinquity of our lines, have made the Russians our good friends and
comrades, leading them to express to us freely their intense dislike of
the British in violent phrases: “Ces chiens d’Anglais! Comment
supportez-vous leurs arrogances et leurs manières de cochons?” And later
on an Englishman would drop into our mess for a moment and admonish us
with the words: “You Americans are the devil. You are on good terms with
every d——d dago in the place; and as for the Russians, you love them as
though they were your long-lost brothers!” It is unique, this feeling of
ours of amity and good-will towards almost everybody here, and I am
confident it is greatly due to the strong personality of Mr. Squiers
that, as a Legation, we hold this extraordinary balance of things in
Peking, which places the Americans in the lead on this diplomatic
chess-board.


                                                  _July 31._

In the afternoon of the 16th, the day of Captain Strouts’ death, and
while we were all attending his funeral, Mr. Conger, Mr. Squiers, and M.
de Giers were told to come and interview a messenger who had arrived
with a white flag, bringing a letter from “Prince Ching and others” in
answer to our letter of the 14th. The messenger apparently came from the
Yamen, and had a cipher telegram for the American Minister from the
State Department in Washington, reading simply, “Give tidings bearer,”
then saying that we could send an answer to the Secretary of State
through them; but, knowing it must be an open telegram, which they could
easily change, no steps were taken to answer it. The following day came
another letter from the Yamen to Mr. Conger that Minister Wu in
Washington had written thus, “China is sent greetings and aid by the
United States, and desires to know how is the health of Mr. Conger,” and
this message stated that the American Minister would be allowed to send
one cablegram in cipher. Realizing the great responsibility devolving
upon us to send a clear and strong telegram to the outside world, our
Legation consulted with Sir Claude and other Ministers about the
wording. The gist of what they sent was that, “We are holding our last
position under shot and shell in the British Legation, and we will be
massacred shortly if help does not come.”


[Illustration:

  EDWIN H. CONGER

  (UNITED STATES MINISTER)

  REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION FROM “THE SPHERE”
]


The following day, when the Yamen messenger came for the telegram, the
other Ministers sent cipher messages also, hoping they might be sent.
They were returned, however, with no apology. Since then there has been
a message of some sort on every other day from the Yamen, signed “Prince
Ching.” The attacks are so irregular now that one cannot count on them,
except that they are apt to occur at the most inopportune time during
the day, and when least expected. Once, even two or three of the clerks
or under-secretaries of the Tsung-li Yamen “called.” They were evidently
frightened and nervous at what they considered actually coming into the
lion’s den, but amenities only were discussed. We very naturally
considered them of too inferior rank to treat officially. In one of the
many letters in answer to Prince Ching’s, Sir Claude wrote that we could
hold out indefinitely with food, soldiers, and ammunition, but that the
ladies and children felt the need of ice, eggs, and fresh fruit; so
yesterday, the 20th, came three carts full of melons, six bags of flour,
egg-plants, and an uneatable Chinese vegetable—no eggs, no ice, or
fruit, except the unripe melons.

We have been trying to make a kind of market with the Chinese soldiers
doing duty on the Chinese sentry lines, but although they would be very
glad to pocket the big commission which they could get out of the
transaction, they have not been allowed to do so by their officers, but
they smuggle in eggs for us every morning at high prices (_bien
entendu_), just enough for a very small supply for the hospital.

An interesting rumour that comes to us by a captured Chinese, and is
generally credited to be true, is that Tung Fu-hsiang’s army has retired
south from Peking to meet the foreign troops. Another rumour, however,
says that Tung Fu-hsiang has departed westward, and as he was only a
Mohammedan brigand before the Empress-Dowager elevated him to the head
of her army, the Chinese think he has gone, not to meet our troops, but
to continue the good work and merry life as a bandit in Mongolia. A
letter comes to-day to Sir Robert Hart from the Yamen which is most
polite and gushing. They regret most sincerely that his house and
compound have been burned, and state at the same time that the Customs
affairs have been turned almost upside down in consequence of lack of
orders during the past six weeks from the Inspector-General. It is
probable that they will come to Sir Robert for help as soon as things
become more quiet.

The other day, when they sent us fruit and vegetables, they said they
regretted they could not send us ice, because, if they attempted to do
so, the Boxers, who like ice, would be sure to capture it. Apropos of
ice, another baby’s life could undoubtedly to-day have been saved had
there been any in the compound. These “might-have-beens” are so
agonizing.

M. Pichon, the French Minister, to-day had a very nice telegram sent him
from France, saying: “You are unanimously voted to have the Legion of
Honour. Your mother sends her love and greeting, and 15,000 Frenchmen
are on their way to your support.”

On the 18th a messenger got through from the Japanese Consul in
Tien-tsin to Narahara, saying that he hoped the large foreign contingent
of soldiers would get started by the 20th for the relief of Peking; he
hoped there would be 24,000 Japanese, 6,000 Russians, 3,000 British, and
1,500 Americans; and that the Chinese city of Tien-tsin had been burnt,
but not the foreign settlement.

The Russians seemed horribly worried about so many Japanese soldiers
coming, but there are rumours that the Russians have been keeping away
from Tien-tsin so as not to join the allied Powers, and perhaps be
forced to make some promises which they might regret later, and that
they are doing some seizing of territory at the present on their own
account on the plea of defending their railways. An Englishman here,
being, of course, anti-Russian, insists that this nation is absolutely
careless about its Minister or the other Russian people trapped here,
whether they live or not. If it is a question of making some coup for
the aggrandizement of their country, they would not hesitate to
sacrifice their people in Peking. One of the men in the Russian Legation
is named Pompoff, and has a very pretty wife with a gorgeous voice, and
as Russia is known to want Manchuria, he put it quite aptly in speaking
of probable orders from St. Petersburg: “They will say, _Mon Dieu_, what
is Madame Pompoff to Manchuria?”

A day or two ago, when news came to the Japanese that the allied troops
were mobilizing in Tien-tsin, a letter came to M. Joostens, the Belgian
Minister, from Kettles, the Belgian Consul, telling him in an excited
way a little of the news we are all thirsting to hear—that Seymour’s
relief party had got near Peking about the end of June, but had been
driven back toward Tien-tsin, owing to great numbers of Chinese soldiers
opposed to them, and lack of supplies and water. They were then cut off
from Tien-tsin by the Chinese under General Neih, and their whole column
would have been massacred there had not 3,000 troops from Tien-tsin gone
out to their rescue. Neih was defeated, and, in consequence, committed
suicide.

The foreigners and soldiers then in Tien-tsin proceeded to take and burn
the native city, over 700 being killed and wounded. Towards the end of
this interesting letter Mr. Kettles naïvely remarked that he doubted if
the Belgian Minister would ever get this letter, but if he did it might
please him to learn that his home Government had wired to M. de Cartier
to remain in Shanghai and await orders, for he undoubtedly would be sent
to Peking as Chargé d’Affaires, “the Minister, M. Joostens, having been
massacred.” No matter what queer things happen in this world, humour is
always left if one looks for it.

At the hospital an apparatus for applying X rays would have saved the
lives of many. Poor Narahara, a Japanese officer, died this morning from
lock-jaw produced by a bullet which pierced his thigh. He has suffered
horribly for three weeks. Dr. Lippitt, after waiting four weeks for his
leg to be in a condition for the surgeons to make another search for the
bullet, had the pleasant news told him, after an agonizing examination,
that it could not be found. We are hoping that if the troops arrive soon
their medical corps will have X-ray machines, and that Lippitt’s leg may
be saved. He has suffered and is suffering much physical pain, but more
mental, I think, from the close proximity to the bed on which so many
men have died, all the details of which he has seen, and the climax was
reached during the night by the death of Narahara, whose wound was
almost similar to his, although lately Narahara’s wound has been
complicated by lock-jaw, whereas in the doctor’s case there have been no
complications. If we get out of Peking, Dr. Velde deserves from every
nation that is represented here a grateful acknowledgment of his
services during the siege.

The wife of the Russian Minister, Madame de Giers, a handsome woman with
a great charm of manner, has been a veritable angel of mercy in the
hospital. She has personally nursed most of the Russian patients, for
while all Russians of education speak either French or German, and the
hospital nurses understand their wants, to the poor sailors, who can
express themselves only in their own language, her nursing is a Godsend,
and she is on duty with her suffering compatriots an incredible number
of hours out of the twenty-four. A graduate trained nurse, working to
make a record, could do no more than she is doing, and her physical
strength, patience, and gentleness are a joy to witness.

No Minister’s wife in Peking can approach in any way to having helped
with the burdens of the siege as Madame de Giers. The old saw of
“Scratch a Slav and you find a Tartar” could be changed by those who see
them here in Peking in so many instances “making good” to, “Scratch a
Slav and you find a hero.” The past week while these negotiations,
communications, and messengers have been arriving the calm has been very
noticeable, only I must admit that it seems almost as if one would
prefer to say, “If it is war, then let it be war,” for under these
circumstances one would not, or, I should say, could not, have time to
appreciate to the full extent this fiendish weather, this war and siege
regimen, and the eternal and without end discussions about the troops.
As long as the continual attacks were going on we knew it was a matter
of life and death, and every man did his allotted work without a murmur,
but now, owing to the half-armistice that exists, the five-week strain
during this terrible weather is beginning to tell; everyone is seedy,
and most of the work is done by dragging one leg after the other, while
dysentery has a terrible hold on most of the people here. To me the most
pitiful of all scenes in this compound is the collection of
perambulators, huddled together in the shadiest part, with limp, languid
babies in them, some looking so ill that their parents must feel that
each day more of the siege brings their little ones nearer death.

Yesterday, July 25, another communication came from the Yamen, saying
that they again asked us to leave Peking, under, of course, their
solicitous care; that they feel that they can no longer protect us,
although in any circumstances they will continue to do all in their
power, and that they would like all the Ministers to send open telegrams
to their respective Governments that they are all quite well.

We suppose that the pressure of the world is being brought to bear on
such high Chinese officials as can be reached to find out how we are,
and they in turn are trying to force us to reassure our Governments by
these covert threats. At ten o’clock this morning the Ministers had a
meeting, and sent a unanimous statement, saying that Legations never
send telegrams unless in cipher, so they could not comply with the
Yamen’s request, and that, as for wanting us all to leave for Tien-tsin
immediately, we might consider the proposition if the Yamen would be
kind enough to give us complete and accurate information as to what kind
of a convoy they would give us, and what comforts would be furnished for
the women and children. Of course, we have no idea of going _anywhere_
with them as protectors; but it is well to keep up communication, as it
gives us time.

Surely it will be a surprise to the world to find us not dead, and to
hear how we held our own. Last night the hospital statement was as
follows: 165 men killed and wounded—12 per cent. killed, and 20 per
cent. wounded.

People’s larders are getting terribly empty, and the menu I quoted three
weeks ago is now in the dim and distant past. We live quite sparingly,
and are hungry most of the time. The chief comforts of our mess now are
the Selzogene bottles that Mrs. Squiers brought with us from our
Legation, in which we daily make enough soda-water to last throughout
the day.

Last night I was walking round the compound with M. Knobel, a Minister
Plenipotentiary, who has not seemed as yet to develop any special
attributes during the siege beyond the very common one of being
intensely hungry—so very hungry, in fact, that as we passed the bungalow
given to the Russians, which boasts a few trees, Knobel’s hungry eyes
descried in the gloom six or more fat hens, belonging to some woman in
the Legation, roosting high up on the branches. There was no sniping
going on, and we took advantage of the quiet to walk once again round
the compound, and noticed that, though it was early, everyone seemed to
have turned in to get what rest they could before being awakened by the
usual nightly attack.

The night was also getting blacker, and by the time we got round to the
Russian bungalow again Knobel’s fell purpose had seized him in a
determined grip. He whispered to me, “If you will watch, I will get a
chicken. There will be no noise, and to-morrow we will have a real
dinner and eat that chicken.” It flashed through my mind that at home,
if clever darkies could not steal chickens without making a racket, I
did not see how Knobel, who has probably never in his life come nearer
to one than to pay his steward’s bills, could expect to be successful.
However, there was no time to argue. Knobel had left me standing in the
road, watching his figure disappear in the darkness. A rustle, a slight
squawk, and my Minister friend was by me again, with a squirming bundle
under his coat. We ran, as if the Boxers were after us, straight to the
Chinese courtyard, where we found our fat cook. Fortunately he had done
his daily duty on the “gang,” and was obviously delighted to receive our
stolen booty—“All lighty. Me flixy good dinner to-mollow,” and winked
comprehendingly as he saw that Knobel had been holding Miss Chicken’s
neck so tightly she could not utter a sound. With a sigh of relief,
Knobel turned her over to the cook, and with another but deeper sigh of
anticipation of to-morrow’s dinner, he stealthily started by a
roundabout way to return to his quarters.

Colonel Shiba, the Japanese commander, who has won the sincerest
admiration from everyone, states to-day that he confidently expects the
troops by July 28.


                                                  _July 28._

This day, which was to have been so auspicious, brings us the worst news
of the siege. It is to the effect that as late as July 22 no troops had
yet left Tien-tsin for our relief.

A little Chinese boy, of the Presbyterian mission, aged fifteen, small
but clever, was sent out by us, on the night of July 5, for Tien-tsin,
with a letter to the British Consul, Mr. Carles, telling him of our very
terrible plight, and how we must have relief soon, and writing him in
the strongest terms of our danger. This boy, after being let down over
the Tartar Wall by a rope, made his way to Tien-tsin without many
adventures, beyond being seized at one place and made to do coolie work
for eight days. He then escaped, but, once arrived at Tien-tsin, he had
great difficulty in getting through the outposts of the foreign troops
who are apparently carefully guarding that part of Tien-tsin, which is
in their lines. It is insisted here that the British Consul must be
lacking in intelligence. He neither questioned the boy, who could have
told him a great deal about our condition, nor did he give the boy any
letters from the other Consuls, simply sending his own.

It took the boy a long time to walk back to Peking, and, finding the
Water Gate too dangerous to enter by daylight, he waited until dark, and
it was this letter that spread such a gloom over everything this
morning. This communication of Mr. Carles was most unsatisfactory in
every way, and the only excuse for this letter was that he was afraid it
would fall into the hands of the Chinese. He wrote: “The rest of the
British contingent, under General Gaselee, coming from Singapore, are
expected on the 24th. Most of the Japanese troops are in Tien-tsin, and
mobilized. The Russians are only landing at Taku. There are many Chinese
troops between Tien-tsin and the coast. If you have plenty of food, and
can hold out for a long time, the troops will save you. All foreign
women and children have left Tien-tsin, and plenty of soldiers are on
their way to your succour.” This was all very disheartening; but we
realize more than ever before how long we still may be besieged, and the
consequent economy of stores which should be practised, and there is
talk of commandeering all private food-supplies.

The last sentence of his letter was hopelessly confusing. We did not
know whether the troops had already started, or whether he was speaking
of the Singapore contingent. Most people now feel that no reasonable
Foreign Office should take two months to get a military relief party
ready.


                                                  _August 1._

This is a piping hot day, 108° in the shade. Our principal conversation
now is asking each other, “Is Colonel Shiba’s messenger reliable?” This
man brings in almost daily to the Japanese camp the most cheerful and
apparently accurate news that the troops are not far from Tungchou. If
he is reliable, we may expect them very soon, but we can hardly believe
his statements, owing to Mr. Carles’ letter. This is simply another
variation to our old song of the siege.

The day before yesterday a letter came to Sir R. Hart from the Yamen,
asking him to be so kind as to send a telegram to London telling the
people there of our safety, because the different Governments were
clamouring for news of their Ministers, and if he (Sir Robert) would
send this telegram, it would be received as truth by the world, but they
could not allow the Ministers to use their own codes.

Sir Robert answered immediately that the Ministers were quite right to
decline to telegraph without cipher, and that he distinctly refused to
send any telegram of such a nature as to reassure the world, because if
he telegraphed the truth, the world would be so horrified that they
would not believe his telegram. Well answered, Mr. Inspector-General.

I had the good luck to-day of being allowed to go over our defences on
the Wall, and saw all of our protective barricades while getting there.
Baron von Rahden and Mr. Squiers took me, and, needless to say, it was
most interesting and thrilling. The conditions I had heard discussed for
nearly two months I can now understand by seeing them all. I could also
now understand the all-pervading charnel-house smells which at times
during the siege have almost caused us to faint.

On each defended barricade loopholes have been made so that we can see,
to some degree at least, the enemy. In many instances the loopholes are
arranged with small mirrors, as the Chinese snipers often hit even these
peepholes when a sentry’s eye is seen, so that this further protection
has been deemed necessary.

I looked through one from a barricade in the Hanlin, and what I saw was
what I might see in looking through the wicket-gate of a horror chamber
at the Eden Musée in New York. A group of gorgeously-apparelled Boxers
with their insignia were pitilessly caught by death in a mad dash at
this barricade, and there they were, stiff and stark, nearly all in the
furious attitudes of assault! Even the standard-bearer was stiffly and
conscientiously gripping his gay-coloured pennant. A couple were shot in
the back as they had started to run, and were lying flat on the ground,
but a dozen or so, making up the body of the attacking party, held these
horrible life-like positions with the most incredible rigidity. The
sentry tells us that this hideous, almost theatrically posed,
death-group has been thus for a couple of days. The Chinese would not
come for their bodies, we could not, and there they were to remain until
the carrion-dogs finished them, or until they eventually decomposed.

The combinations of barricades here, there, and everywhere are glorious,
especially on the Wall, and well they might be, as they are made out of
the huge rocks that were used hundreds of years ago to pave this
wonderful piece of masonry. To stand and look down from the Wall into
the British compound makes one realize more than ever how delightfully
easy it would be for the Chinese, if they ever manned this part of the
Wall, to point their guns downward and annihilate us.

Forgetting this possible picture, let me look down and tell you what I
see on this beautiful, sunshiny August morning. Before me lies what we
could naturally call the _terre du siège_, and comprises the Japanese,
German, French, Russian, American, and British compounds, all of which
have their flags flying somewhere, although in most cases the original
Legation flag-poles have been shot down. Then comes as a pretty piece of
colouring, in contrast to the sacked, burnt, and charred Chinese houses,
all that remains of the Hôtel de Pékin, with its collection of flags of
all nations flying in seeming defiance from the upper windows.

Further up Legation Street one sees a dirty, tired-looking, slimy green
canal, running parallel to the British Legation, with a strong and high
barricade on the bridge that spans it, so that we still have
communication with those Legations on the other side—namely, the
Japanese, German, and French. Then between and around these oases of
compounds one sees an occasional big tree which has escaped burning, and
which makes the scene of desolation seem even more lonely and desolate.
Hundreds of houses, half burnt, half broken up, and wholly
uninhabitable, tell the story of how in those first horrible attacks at
the beginning of the siege they were used by the Chinese as cover, and
then looted and burnt. A stray dog of the large wolfish, mongrel type
that is so common in Peking can be seen picking his way about from place
to place with the queer look and walk that seem to mark carrion animals.


[Illustration:

  A GATE INTO THE IMPERIAL CITY
]


Standing in the same place, but looking westward, one sees such a
picture of beauty as one could never imagine even in one’s most
exquisite dreams—a song of green and gold, the fairyland palaces of the
wicked old ogress, the Empress-Dowager, these ideal gold-topped
pavilions, palaces, and pagodas rising out of a veritable sea of green,
which quivers and shimmers in the warm summer sunlight. In the old days
we were frankly told that it was dangerous to wander too near enchanted
palaces, and if this warning had been remembered, Kings and Queens would
not have sent their knights of diplomacy to live on the other side of
the Wall of this mysterious “Forbidden Purple City.” It was always a
hazardous thing to do, even in fairy stories, and it seems as if the
tale of what happened to these misguided knights may finish in the
regular good old way, “And they were eaten up and never seen any more.”


                                                  _August 2._

To-day there is posted on the Bell Tower—a sort of summer-house in the
centre of the British compound, where all notices are posted, and around
which people congregate at all times to hear the news—the translation of
the cipher letter that came yesterday to Sir R. Hart, which came from
the Customs in London, through the Yamen: “Keep up heart. Chinese
finally routed at Tien-tsin on July 15. Troops having great difficulty
in getting enough transports, but expect to leave for Peking after July
28. Is Chinese Government protecting you, and do you get food from
them?” They then refer to Mr. Conger’s telegram of the 18th.

Another choice bit of news comes to-day that two members of the Yamen
have just been beheaded because they are suspected of being
pro-foreign—Hsu Ching Cheng, Director of the Imperial University and
President of the Manchurian Railway, at one time Minister to Germany and
Russia; the other an ex-Taotai, a member of the Tsung-li Yamen, and an
ex-Minister to Russia. Such is the price one pays in China for having
assimilated broad ideas while enjoying diplomatic posts in Europe.

As I write, over in Mrs. Squiers’s house in the American Legation, where
since this half-armistice we have been allowed to come occasionally and
take a bath or read, I can see them taking away one of Mr. Squiers’s
favourite ponies to be slaughtered to-morrow. The supply of horses is
getting very low, and it will certainly be hard for the fighting men
when the rations are reduced from horse and rice simply to rice, but it
is really not pleasant to see one’s pet pony being taken off to help the
supply.


                                                  _August 3._

Good news came yesterday, late in the afternoon, by a messenger who was
clever enough to get through the Chinese lines. He brought in five
letters, mostly from the Consuls in Tien-tsin—from Consul Ragsdale to
Mr. Conger; from the German Consul to Von Below, the German Chargé
d’Affaires; from Mr. Lowry to his wife; from Captain Mallory to Captain
Myers; and one for Sir R. Hart. These letters are most cheering, because
they all prove that our troops must arrive soon, but they are stupid, in
that they give us none of the facts we are thirsting for; they don’t
even tell us approximately when we may expect relief.

They all take the attitude that the writers are pleased that we are not
dead, then give us some trifling details about themselves in Tien-tsin
and long, rambling accounts of what wonders they have gone through. Nine
days besieged! and the carpenters are at work on the consulate porch, as
a shell hit it; and Mr. Carles, the British Consul, even told us in the
intricate consular cipher that he had had bad dreams about us the night
before. The only letter that was to the point was from Colonel Mallory,
an American, who sent us some good details and dates: the taking of
Tien-tsin, July 15, etc.; the magnificent work of our marines; and last,
but not least, his definite assurance that the Americans at least in the
contingent would do all they could to start the advance-guard of 10,000
by July 28. General Chaffee’s note to the American Minister seemed to
promise good things from its very military brevity: “I arrived this
morning.—CHAFFEE.”

All the Consuls seemed overcome by the gravity of their own situation,
for all the ladies have left or are leaving Tien-tsin. The night these
letters came Von Below was sharing such dinner as we had with us. After
it was over we all sat on the floor and discussed the comparative merits
of the remaining stores, and he truly remarked that in these siege days,
instead of looking at and discussing _bibelots_ after dinner, one is
glad to examine, exchange, and count tins.


                                                  _August 7._

The day before yesterday an announcement was made in the _Peking
Gazette_, the Imperial newspaper organ of the capital (these occasional
bits of information we get by bribing heavily some fairly detached
Chinese sentry) to the effect that Jung Lu was appointed by the Empress
to devise means of carrying out the order that all the Legations were to
be escorted to Tien-tsin, and that he was to see that they were tenderly
cared for, and that any annoyance given to them on their way to the
coast should call forth an immediate punishment.

Then a letter came to us, stating that they (the Yamen) had had letters
from all their Ministers in the different countries saying that the
Governments wished their representatives to retire to the coast, and
that Jung Lu had been appointed to escort us. We replied, as usual, that
we desired first to communicate with our Governments on the subject, and
we also enclosed cipher telegrams. Yesterday came an answer, saying that
they had been sent, but, of course, with lack of telegraphic facilities
from Peking, it will probably be a week before our home Governments get
them. To-day Baroness von Ketteler took a simple tiffin with Mrs.
Squiers. Her condition has been such that she has not had one night of
natural sleep in the seven weeks since her husband’s murder.

I am sure everyone is sorry for Lady Macdonald, with that enormous mess
to keep going. The complaints that people actually have the impertinence
to make at her table, loud enough for her to hear, got so bad that one
day she rose from her chair and said: “I give you the best I have; I can
do nothing better; and, what is more, let me remind you that what is
good enough for the British Minister to eat is more than good enough for
anybody here.”


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, Pirie MacDonald, New York_

  GENERAL A. R. CHAFFEE
]


                                                  _August 8._

It is just seven weeks to-day since we came here for a few days until
the troops should arrive, and food is running very short. There is,
moreover scarcely any condensed milk in the compound Another European
baby died yesterday, simply from lack of food. It lay in its little
coffin looking so white and tired. Out of pity for the mothers the
hospital steward makes little rough coffin-boxes for their babies. All
mothers who have children and infants who are ill or weak seem
fascinated by these pitiful funerals, and they all go to them.

There is a good, busy old hen who lays an egg every day. She is given an
entire deserted courtyard in the American Legation, a part of which is
not in use, and I have fed her personally, or seen that she has been
fed, ever since I placed her there at the beginning of the siege. There
are three babies here, ranging in age from twelve to eighteen months,
who are slowly dying from lack of digestible food, I give an egg to each
mother every third day. The eggs are beautifully fresh, and the horror
of it all is that these agonized mothers know, and I know, that, could I
give the egg to them each day, instead of every third day, their babies
could probably live; but as I can’t, I have to divide them, and I cry
with the pity of it.

Unless the troops come soon it is dreadful to think of the fate of the
Chinese Christians in the Fu. Until now we have been able to give them a
certain amount of food daily, but we can only spare this supply a few
more days. These poor people will be forced to choose between leaving
the Fu, with an almost certain chance of massacre, probably of torture,
and staying where they are and dying of starvation.

No description of this place can give an idea of it as it exists to-day.
To turn to Doré’s engravings in Dante’s “Inferno” would help. Every tree
in the Fu, and there are many, has been stripped of leaves by these
starving people; the smaller branches pulled and the bark chewed off.
Diseased or not, these wretched people have been forced to remain here
all together, as there is no other place for them. Carrion crows and
dogs are killed and dragged to the Fu by sentries whenever possible, and
these ravenous creatures pull the flesh from their bones and eat it
without a pretence of cooking. Every morning when the two horses are
shot at the slaughter-house, for distribution to the messes, half of the
inedible parts are eaten with relish by these starving people.

The heat is intense, the ground in the Fu is brown and hard, the
children are naked, and the adults wear little, but one and all are
enveloped with the agony of relentless, hideous starvation. The white
rice which we have used in the compound has been finished, and we now
use the yellow or uncleaned rice, which is very sandy and gritty, and
which even the coolies in ordinary times would never think of using. It
is made into curries or eaten plain, but one has to swallow it in
spoonfuls without closing one’s teeth on it, or it would be too much
like chewing sand.

To-day a letter came from the Yamen saying that Li Hung Chang had
arrived in Shanghai, and that he would soon begin peace negotiations by
telegraph with the Ministers in Peking. Not a word was mentioned about
our leaving for Tien-tsin, nor an apology for the continued sniping at
night, and the occasional attacks which make us realize the lie that we
are being “tenderly cared for and watched over by the Empress.” Apropos
of this clever old statesman, Li Hung Chang, the story is told of him
that when, after some months of hard work and successful diplomacy, he
had completed the terms of the treaty of Shimonoseki with the Japanese
after the China-Japan War of 1894, although the Chinese had been
whipped, Li had procured a most advantageous treaty for his Empress, and
while the ink was hardly dry on the document he procured an audience
with T’si An, and after kowtowing the entire length of the audience-hall
in great abasement, he finally reached her august presence and told her
of the successful termination of the work she had entrusted to him.

All high Chinese officials are supposed to get plenty of legitimate
“squeeze” out of their political sinecures, and expect no monetary
remuneration from the Government or throne. At the end of the interview
the Empress made a sign to him to indicate that he would receive a
personal present for his services, which would be given him in the
anteroom. Li Hung Chang had always been a great collector of Chinese
ceramics, and his collections were promptly sold by him to the highest
bidder at Christie’s in London for many pounds sterling. He was, in
fact, notorious for this weakness, and it was well known that he would
sell anything he owned, provided the amount offered was large enough,
from the Russian sable coat in his own wardrobe to the fine latest
antique, delicate-tinted rose vase he had procured. On leaving the
audience-chamber, his eyes sparkled when a large cloth-of-gold bag,
containing some heavy article, was handed to him by a eunuch. He flew to
his own palace, hardly able to wait for his secretary, Mr. Pethick, who
is one of the greatest connoisseurs on ancient Chinese art, to arrive
and examine this new acquisition, which had come straight from the
Empress-Dowager’s treasure store. Some time was spent in a careful
examination to determine the dynasty during which this treasure was
produced, but the date of this especial paste was lost, with its other
technical classifications. After a long time Mr. Pethick lifted it
gingerly, placed it on a table, put himself in front of it, drawing a
wrap around his shoulders, and slowly, very slowly, held his hands up to
it, turning them in the attitude of warming them at a fire.

Chinese need few words. Li understood, and was heart-broken. This was a
clever reproduction made in Paris, and the secretary warming his hands
before it meant it was so fresh from the pottery furnace that he could
still notice the warmth. Naughty old Empress, fooling her most faithful
of servitors!

Last night there was a very severe attack, coming from all sides at
once, and the firing continued for many hours. It is outrageous,
considering the letters we get every day from the Yamen, declaring to us
that they give orders to their soldiers daily that there must be no more
shooting.

It seems as though this “Chinese diplomacy” may be successful, and they
may succeed in starving us out first. By negotiating indefinitely with
our Governments and Li Hung Chang in Shanghai, and having assured the
Powers we are quite safe, with plenty of food, they may be able to keep
us here starving. What a refinement of cruel Chinese diplomacy that
would be!

In one of our letters to the Yamen we stated that we insisted on their
opening a market for our use, but the letter in reply ignored the
subject absolutely, simply saying that they enclosed some telegrams from
our Consuls in Chefoo and Shanghai, etc.

These telegrams, again, I must add, were most tantalizing. They gave us
no news at all, simply congratulating us on being still alive. It is
stated that from the Tartar Wall enormous numbers of troops have been
seen leaving Peking, and from messengers and coolies we learn that these
troops are advancing to give battle to our foreign troops, and that only
a few companies of Jung Lu’s troops are left here to continue to make
things lively for us.


                                                  _Friday, August 10._

Notwithstanding the day, we have just received the best news that we
have yet had. A messenger arrived from the troops, bringing two short
notes, one from General Gaselee, the commander of the British forces,
and one from General Fukushima, the Japanese commander, both stating
that they have arrived half-way between Peking and Tien-tsin; that they
have met enormous forces of Chinese at two places, and that by hard
fighting they had completely routed them; that if they had no further
opposition they hoped to arrive between the 13th and 15th of this month,
but owing to the size of their army, they could not move as quickly as
they wished.

The messenger who brought the letter says that our long-distance
artillery is what is terrifying the Chinese; their guns, though
perfectly modern, are comparatively useless, except at moderate range.
We are all wondering what our position will be until our troops arrive.
Will the Tsung-li Yamen try and “save their faces” by continuing
diplomatic relations, or will they feel that, with the foreign troops
practically at their doors, they will receive no mercy from the
advancing armies, and that they might as well try and kill us before it
is too late to do so? Perhaps by violently attacking us at the last
moment they feel they may succeed. Certainly, if several regiments of
the defeated Chinese hurried on to Peking before our troops could
arrive, they might make it a very near thing as to whether the next day
we would hear our troops’ buglers or the trumpets of the judgment-day.

For two nights the fighting has been constant, and the attacks general
and fierce. The Chinese continue building their barricades higher and
stronger; we have done the same, but we cannot understand how the Yamen
can have the impertinence to speak of the present time as a time of
truce and peace, with these attacks and fighting going on nightly, and
making so much noise that the officers say it must be heard many miles
out of Peking.

The Yamen claims that these shots are fired by people the Government
cannot control, and that it is only sniping, which fact is absolutely
ridiculous, as the Empress-Dowager, by cutting off the head of General
Ma, for instance, could easily put a stop to it all. Such horrible
dreams as one has now on going to sleep after a violent attack, and with
the awful sounds accompanying such attacks still ringing our ears! The
shrill cries of “Sha! sha! sha!” (Kill! kill! kill!) and the constant
blowing of trumpets, is enough to account for our continued nightmares.
While awake the brain can be somewhat controlled, but the real horror of
our situation follows us even in our sleep. On awaking, one wishes one
were asleep again, as the heat is something awful. The very worst
weather of the year is upon us: the rain is almost incessant, and
everything is sticky and muggy. Of course, this continual downpour is
very hard on the soldiers, making everything a mass of mud, and the
long, nightly attacks keep them out in the wet for hours. The flies,
mosquitoes, and fleas are pests that still continue.


                                                  _August 13._

An assurance came from the Yamen saying that we could have as much food
as we wanted, and inviting us to send to them a list of what we desired,
which we did, and they were to have sent the things yesterday by nine
o’clock. Needless to say, they never appeared.

In the afternoon an official communication came from the Yamen saying in
the most polite and abject Chinese that they would like a personal
interview with the Ministers, to be held in the German Legation, as it
was near their lines. This letter came late in the afternoon of
yesterday, and the corps was to sleep all night on it, and decide this
morning what to reply. In the compound feeling ran very high; everyone
is against it. People felt that to receive these lying tricksters, who
are offering peace and compliment with one hand, and with the other
writing orders to their army to exterminate us, would be most
undignified.

Early this morning the Ministers decided to bid them come at eleven
o’clock to-day, the 13th. So they wrote to that effect, and the answer
came back saying they regretted, but that other affairs and engagements
of importance kept them busy to-day, so they would not be able to come,
but hoped to give themselves that pleasure later. They also said that
the terrible firing we kept up prevented them sending us the market
supplies we desired. On the face of the awful attack of last night,
continuing as it did from 8 o’clock until 6.30 this morning, the Yamen
may have realized the absurdity of amicable chats, or perhaps they were
afraid we would seize them, a measure seriously talked of by some of the
officers. By seizing them all we could then let one depart with the
cheering news that if the attacks continued the rest of the Yamen would
be shot, but these clever old diplomats are not to be caught by any such
old Chinese tricks.


                                                  _August 14._

Such an attack as we have just had: incessant throughout last night, the
entire night, by its continuousness and fierceness did much damage
everywhere, but we answered back their volleys, and were for the first
time during the siege spendthrifts with our ammunition.


                                                  _August 15._

About midnight it appeared as though the Chinese were making a final
effort to frighten and demoralize us by a terrific fire from all sides,
and about one o’clock the pom, pom, pom, of machine-guns became
apparent. To whom did they belong? Mr. Pethick had told Mr. Squiers that
Li Hung Chang had bought fifty quick-firing guns just before the siege.
In whose hands were they now? Did the Chinese still have them, or had
they fallen into the hands of our relief?[1]

Footnote 1:

  We found out later that the Russians had captured these guns, and were
  using them against the Chinese on the south-eastern corner of the
  Wall.

When these guns started their hammering there was a perceptible pause in
the attack for four or five minutes, when the Chinese fire recommenced
with redoubled effort, if such were possible, making a veritable ring of
flame on all sides of our defence.

Through the racket that was around us all night we could faintly hear
the unmistakable sound of the foreign guns of our troops. The dull boom
of distant artillery—artillery coming to our rescue! We no longer asked
each other, “When will the troops arrive?” We simply stood still,
listening to this wonderful music, and goose-flesh ran up and down us.
Early this morning the noise of battle gradually increased, and from the
Tartar Wall we can see the advancing lines with their artillery,[2]
which is answered by the Chinese on the Wall. The allies seem to be
approaching Peking in every direction, for the Chinese are answering
with cannon from every city gate.

Footnote 2:

  Afterwards ascertained to be the Japanese trying to drive the Chinese
  from the Eastern Gate in order to enter the city.

We have all become like deaf people, and to make people hear we have to
seize them by the shoulders and bellow into their ears. We don’t quite
know whether the Chinese will occupy themselves entirely with the
advancing troops, or whether our fortified lines will be swept away by
them in a last attempt on us before the allies thunder in to our rescue.
Opinions vary; every barricade is doubly manned, as they have been, in
fact, for the last two nights.

The Russians, English, and Americans finally succeeded in their attack
on the south-eastern Wall, and entered the Chinese city almost
simultaneously, marching along the southern Wall of the Imperial City
towards the Water Gate, the Ch’ien Men Gate, and the Ha Ta Men Gate. The
commanders received a cipher despatch from Sir Claude Macdonald advising
them to enter the Imperial City by the Water Gate, as we held that
portion of the Wall, and would be able to assist them in entering at
that place.

At about half-past three I was debating with my maid whether I should or
should not go over to the American Legation and take the cheerful bath
which I had been indulging in each day lately. Owing to the
half-armistice existing, the early afternoon hours were fairly safe ones
in which to move about the lines, and I was about to start with bathing
paraphernalia and the little maid, when my inner consciousness was
struck by something unusual happening out in the compound. I tingled all
over, for my instinct had told me the troops had come.

Running to the old tennis-court, the only open space, I found everybody
flying in the same direction. There were about two hundred Sikhs. They
had entered Peking by the Water Gate, or what one should really call a
drain, which allows the now dried-up water in the canal egress under the
Tartar Wall. It is by this that our messengers have gone out and come
in, and it is the route Mr. Squiers urged in his letter on both M^cCalla
and Chaffee as being the only way by which troops could penetrate right
into the heart of our lines without having to take any big gate of the
Tartar city. These Sikhs came in this way, and they were the first to
warm our hearts with the knowledge that this horrible siege is over.

It was queer to see these great, fine-looking Indians, in khaki uniforms
and huge picturesque red turbans, strutting around the compound, and as
they entered right into our midst they all whooped a good English whoop.
A little blond Englishwoman was so overcome at the relief really being
here that she seized the first one she could get to and threw her arms
around him and embraced him. The Sikh was dumbfounded at a _mem-sahib_
apparently so far forgetting all caste. It seemed odd that the word
“relief” should have been personified in these Eastern and
heathen-looking Sikhs, but it was all the more in keeping with this
extraordinary siege in Peking that they should be the first on the scene
to rescue us.

At this wonderful moment the Chevalier de Melotte, Mrs. Squiers, and
myself, without a word spoken, flew with common consent to the point in
our lines down Legation Street where we knew we could see the entering
columns. Cannons were booming in all directions, caused by the Powers
trying to enter by the different gates, shells exploding and sniping
everywhere. We took our stand at the bridge crossing the canal, from
where we saw large quantities of soldiers, sometimes even cavalry, come
through the Water Gate. We had scarcely caught from this rather exposed
point a bird’s-eye view of it all, when a squad of Sikhs passed us with
an officer of high rank, who turned out to be General Gaselee, riding in
the midst of them. He jumped off his horse on seeing us, and showing on
every inch of him the wear and tear of an eighty-mile midsummer relief
march, he took our hands, and with tears in his eyes said, “Thank God,
men, here are two women alive,” and he most reverently kissed Mrs.
Squiers on the forehead.


[Illustration:

  _Photo, Elliott & Fry_

  GENERAL SIR ALFRED GASELEE
]


It was so good to see him and meet him in this way. As soon as the
despatch had arrived saying that General Gaselee was to be in command of
the British forces, a smart-looking photograph of him that someone had
cut from a magazine had been pinned on the Bell Tower, and it was so
smart-looking, and his appearance so correct, that one of necessity lost
interest in his personality; and now to see him thus—the military
martinet all lost in this big-hearted, kindly man, who was almost crying
because we were alive! A short time before meeting us, on his line of
march, he saw poor Père Dosio’s head stuck on the end of a pole, where
the Chinese had placed it, and General Gaselee feared that this head
might be but the beginning of a series of Europeans similarly treated.
We had considered the Italian priest so quiet and docile that he was not
restrained at all, and yesterday he quietly wandered out into the
Chinese lines, and undoubtedly he was killed before they knew his mind
was gone, although at this stage the Chinese, I expect, were all too
ferocious to have spared him even had they known of his dementia.

Coming to the “front” this way had to be paid for in a mild way, and a
ricochetting bullet grazed my ankle, and one tipped the top of my ear.
Chevalier de Melotte, our escort, had his cap shot off; but the battle
lust had got into our blood, and it seemed that all this storm of
bullets and dropping shells was but a new and exciting kind of
hailstorm, and that to keep moving from one point to another was the one
necessary thing to do.

The red-turbaned Sikhs and General Gaselee had come and gone, and now
came long lines of yellow, khaki-uniformed Americans of the 9th
Infantry, belonging to us, and General Chaffee, well set-up marines
under Colonel Waller—they came on and on, stumbling through the hot
August sunlight, line after line, without end, and we were nonplussed
when they told us they were but a small detachment of the United States
troops; and the tremendous storming of the Ch’ien Men Gate that was
deafening us was being done by the Americans, who were having no easy
time of it, as the Chinese were firing right down on them from their
protected height.

Now this Water Gate entrance is no longer a drain, as it used to be, but
is rapidly shooting forth a veritable military kaleidoscope. The yellow
lines have changed into a stream of plodding, heavily-laden, tiny
Japanese soldiers; then the picturesque uniforms of the French Zouaves,
from Saigon, with their loose, baggy, cumbersome red trousers, come into
view. We stood transfixed. It seemed to us as if the whole world had
come to our rescue. Now the passing lines have changed again, and this
time Cossacks, with their black, high leather boots and soiled white
tunics, tramp past us, but we could not wait for more. We returned to
the British compound, where we found that the galling fire from the
Ch’ien Men Gate, which had done such damage amongst our attacking
troops, had been stopped by a sortie of our marines down the Tartar Wall
to the gate, where they silenced the Chinese and the Chinese guns, and
helped our incoming soldiers to mount theirs in the erstwhile Chinese
position, from which splendid vantage they fired directly into the
Imperial City, and by this fire opened two more of the big gates of the
Forbidden City.

This charge down the Tartar Wall to clear it of Chinese soldiers and
Chinese guns by our marines was a brilliant bit of action. The guard,
one and all, were anxious to help in some way our relief, which was so
hard pressed at the Ch’ien Men Gate, and they welcomed with shouts of
joy the orders from Sir Claude which enabled them to have a hand in this
last great fight. They were joined by twenty Russians, the siege friends
and almost the dear “bunkies” of our men, one Russian officer, and Mr.
Squiers, of our diplomatic service (the Chief of Staff to Sir Claude
during the siege), who led the charge.

The other nationalities have done about the same sort of thing on
entering Peking; they have each taken some one gate, and are stationed
now at different parts of the city, and, by a hasty conference of the
generals and Ministers, they have each been given areas to be
responsible for and to police. To police—which means that in these
districts they will turn their men out to loot.

The Americans, after taking the Ch’ien Men Gate and the continuing inner
gate directly up to the Purple City, left them manned, and then retired
to the south-east portion of the Chinese city, which is contiguous to
this district. In all Peking, but principally in our lines, confusion is
rampant. This modern “Tower of Babel” will, I suppose, eventually settle
itself or spread itself, as the case may require. One of the
difficulties of late arriving columns trying to find their headquarters
and marching round and round is the fact that their headquarters are
also on the move, and until they bump into each other by accident they
are at a loss to know what to do. To-day, at least, no one can direct
anyone else.

Out of this wonderful military kaleidoscope, how glad I was to see old
friends and acquaintances emerge! First to come to me was Colonel
Churchill, the British Military Attaché to Japan, who got permission in
Tokyo to come up with the Japanese troops to Peking. On finding me alive
and well, he returned to the Japanese headquarters in time to send word
with the first official telegram of General Fukushima to the War Office
in Tokyo (announcing that the Japanese troops had arrived in Peking), to
my brother-in-law, Lieutenant Key, who is the American Naval Attaché to
Japan, that I was safe and well. How wonderful to think that, as the
troops were marching up to Peking, the engineers were steadily placing
the telegraph-wires, so that six hours after we were relieved a message
went flying down to the coast with the tidings! To know that my dear
sister in Japan and my family at home have been relieved from the
uncertainty of my condition, already causes my heartstrings to loosen up
a bit, and the tension is not quite so painful. A year before, I lunched
with General and Mrs. Chaffee in Havana, and it was very nice to see him
again here in this wicked old Peking.

He told me that no hours in his life had ever been so full of dreadful
anxiety as the hours before the dawn of this morning at Tungchou, just
before the starting of the columns for Peking. They could hear the
continuous Chinese fire, and also the weak but steady spitting of our
little Colt automatic gun, which he knew the marine guard had with them,
and he said that all the sounds he heard spelled but one sentence,
“Shall we be too late? Shall we be too late?”

It seems that the greater part of the allied armies had spent the night
at Tungchou, and it had been absolutely settled by the commanders that
the following night and morning hours were to be spent there, which
would give time for scouts to go out and make reasonable
reconnaissances; and that by early noon the main body of the allies
should march on to Peking, each having a different city gate to take
simultaneously. This plan was very nice and correct and military, but
the Japanese and Russians, who had been eyeing each other distrustfully,
could not stand it any longer, and throwing to the winds the pledge that
they had given that day in conference, they both started their columns
off double-quick before dawn for the capital. This breaking of their
promise to the allies at the last moment, so to speak, rather mixed
things up, but perhaps, after all, it was a relief to the others,
because it then meant they were relieved, too, from any long concerted
action, and they all could begin to march straight for Peking, which
they did.

The night of the 14th was the last night that our siege mess dined
together on our little eight-sided Chinese table, which was generously
stocked with the remaining tins which we had been hoarding for such a
long time. Somebody has said, “There is a sadness about the last time of
everything,” and truly it was so with us. I felt exactly as children
feel when they have been having a wild game of make-believe all day,
when the grown-ups break in and say, “Come, children, there has been
enough of this.” And so it was with us: these terrible times are over,
and there is nothing for us to do but remain passive, and try and get
some sort of equilibrium into our lives again; and as we dined together
last night there was a strong feeling, although we did not speak of it,
that nobody but ourselves, who went through this incredible eight weeks
of horror, were ever going to know really what the siege in Peking has
been, and that we might all talk until doomsday, but the world will
never understand. Perhaps it is too busy to try. So, as the kiddies say
after a game, “Well, we know who’s who, and who has done what, and that
is as near as we ever will get to teaching the grown-ups, who know it
all, about it.”


                                                  _August 16._

Captain Reilly, who was killed this morning while gallantly directing
the fire of his battery, was buried this afternoon in a small open space
in the American Legation. This funeral, however, was not as pitiful to
me as the siege funerals we have been having all summer. Perhaps because
there was some help and satisfaction to be got out of the military pomp
and honours which were given him as he was laid away. All the guard
captains were there. Captain Reilly’s brother-officers and the officials
in general assisted. The rough coffin was generously shrouded in an
enormous flag, and after a short military service was let down into the
wide, deep grave made for him.

Mr. Conger, as being the chief representative of things American in
Peking, stepped down into the grave, and began to drag the flag from the
casket, saying at the same time, “There are so few American flags in
Peking, _this_ one can’t be spared.” In a moment General Chaffee, the
personification of justice for the dead and wrath for the living,
shouted: “Don’t touch that flag. If it’s the last American flag in China
it shall be buried with Reilly.” This man, whether addressing a Minister
Plenipotentiary or an army division, is instantly obeyed, and so his
dead subordinate was tenderly cared for by him at the end, and his body
was buried wrapped in the flag for which he had given his life.

All of us, now we have no longer any right to continue living in the
British Legation, feel that we should leave as soon as possible. The
diplomatic people have houses to go to, and those who have no houses to
go to are usually taken in by their colleagues, but the great majority
are houseless and homeless.

It is like hunting a needle in a haystack to find a habitable house
anywhere near the Legations, because, for blocks and blocks, almost
everything is burnt. To find any decent Chinese houses one has to go too
far from our lines to be really safe, as even now there are plenty of
snipers still in Peking. Some wretched, dirty, and filthy temples have
partially escaped burning, owing to the fact that almost up to the time
that our troops arrived they were used by the Chinese as strongholds for
themselves and Boxers. Into these holes people must go for lack of
anything better.

Yesterday we spent the entire day moving from our tiny British Legation
quarters to our own house in the American Legation compound, and such a
difficulty we had in getting coolies to carry our many trunks and boxes!

The Chinese servants, almost without exception, were off looting or
trying to find places for their families. They would not work, and it
was not until 6.30 in the afternoon that we could hand over our two
rooms to Dr. Poole. Mrs. Squiers is busy nursing little Bard; he has
gone down with typhoid fever within the last few days, and we are all
dreadfully worried about him. He is now at our Legation, in an isolated
building. It is hard to nurse typhoid without fresh milk and ice, but we
hope to get them before long. Mrs. Squiers is also nursing Captain Myers
(who has developed a case of typhoid) and Dr. Lippitt, thus making two
cases of typhoid in our little compound.

I had a chat to-day with Sir Claude Macdonald and M. de Giers, the
Russian Minister, and both volunteered two highly complimentary
criticisms of things American during the siege. One was that the
services of Herbert Squiers had been simply invaluable during the most
trying part of the summer; they both said—and surely, unless it was the
case, these two people with such widely different points of view would
never have both felt it—that he held both people and things together
when people did not even dare whisper their fears to each other; that
there might have been a possible division of forces during the siege
owing to exaggerated racial feelings. The other criticism was that our
marines lead in their intelligent work as soldiers. The accuracy of
their shooting is extraordinary, and their ability to step forward, one
after the other, on the death or retirement of an officer or
non-commissioned officer and take his place is remarkable. They show the
greatest aptitude to command, and are in no way disconcerted by the
sudden increase of responsibility. In many instances which could be
cited this was proved.

The British have never been known unnecessarily to sing the praises of
other nationalities, and I was very happy to have this judge of things
military tell me exactly what I felt and had seen from the beginning of
the siege.


                                                  _August 18._

Yesterday General Chaffee told me he proposed to send the first American
convoy down the river to Tien-tsin on Monday, the 20th. A boat-load of
convalescents and several boat-loads of missionaries will make up the
convoy. Fargo Squiers, my maid, and I, will have our own little boat,
and will be sent with this contingent for protection to Tien-tsin, where
the Consul will be instructed to look out for us until we take passage
for Japan to join my family.

Things in Peking are in a terrible state of chaos. Generals and
Ministers know as little as anyone in the respect that they never decide
on anything. Of course, they are awaiting instructions from home.

Yesterday I was _en route_ from the British Legation to the American,
when a big Sikh addressed me most respectfully, whacking his chest,
which was bulging in tremendous curves: “Mem-sahib give me two dollars,
I give mem-sahib nice things.” There had just been an order issued to
all British troops that the loot they procured each day must be turned
in to some appointed official, so I fancied that this man must have
wanted to get rid of something which he might find difficult to explain
if found on his person. I, of course, had no money with me—it was the
one thing we had had no use for two months—but I returned to our
Legation and procured two dollars, for my curiosity was aroused, and
returning hastily to where I had left my man standing; and then, in the
most evident perturbation, he unloaded what he thought was only a proper
equivalent for the two dollars which he had asked of me—an exquisite
gold-mounted cloisonné clock and two huge, struggling hens!

He was so anxious to be gone that before I knew it I had the clock in
one hand and those wriggling old chickens in the other. They pecked at
my hand, and I almost dropped them; but when one has been on short
rations for two months one can stand without complaint a few
difficulties in procuring food. The clock was a joy to look at, and the
chickens were so big and so old; they made wonderful soup for the dear
little kiddies, who, thank Heaven! are all still alive, but very much
run down from the siege.

This morning Baron von Rahden came for breakfast, our conversation
being, as usual, carried on in French. He told me he had procured for me
a good sable coat—and when a Russian speaks of good sables they are
good, for that nationality are expert judges of furs. I wanted to accept
the coat in the spirit it was offered, as a testimonial of a charming
friendship, formed under extraordinary circumstances, but owing to the
intrinsic value of the garment I had to decline it. I don’t think he
understood very well my refusing it, and I had within an hour the
pleasure of seeing him present it to another woman, who accepted it
without a qualm, and without giving him, I thought, very many thanks. My
soul was torn with conflicting emotions all day, and in the afternoon a
Belgian, of whom I had seen a good deal during the siege, brought me a
tortoise-shell bracelet, set with handsome pearls, which he had taken
from the arm of a Chinese officer whom he had killed. I surprised myself
by promptly accepting it. My nerves could not have stood it, and I took
it rather than have a repetition of the sequel to the sable-coat
episode.

When the rich Chinese inhabitants left Peking in such a hurry they in
many cases took their treasure, their favourite wives and themselves out
of the capital with the greatest expedition possible, while the young
girls and women of their households thus left in countless instances
promptly committed suicide, usually by hanging themselves, or drowning
themselves in the wells of their courtyards. The men who are throughout
Peking now looting, constantly run into these silent testimonials,
showing how these people all preferred self-inflicted death to what they
knew they could expect when the civilized and Christian soldiers of the
West should be turned loose.

Yesterday a very animated generals’ conference was held, the great
question being whether there should be a unanimous effort to stop all
looting and sacking, or whether it should be continued. The Japanese,
French, and Russians were absolutely _pro_; English and Americans,
_con_, the latter having the strictest orders from President McKinley
against any looting. The English, although giving their vote for no
looting, added they should continue to place “in safe-keeping all
valuable things” found in the district given them to police. This, of
course, gives them practically the right to loot, although whatever is
brought in has to be placed in one place, where they have an auction
later, and the officially prescribed amount _pro rata_ is given to the
officers and men, so that they are really doing just what the other
nations are doing, only in a somewhat more legalized way. They say that
these Indian troops, the Sikhs and the Rajputs, are something horrible
when they get started, and occasionally the British officer who is
supposed to always be on these parties sent out to procure “the valuable
things for safe-keeping” has to shoot a man to keep them in discipline.

The rumours come in that now the whole of Peking is being looted, and
worse, and each Legation, closed up in its little compound, feels like a
little question-mark of respectability, surrounded by a whole page of
wicked, leering horrors.

[Illustration:

  THE RESULT OF THE SIEGE: IN THE AMERICAN MINISTER’S HOUSE
]


[Illustration:

  _Copyright, M. S. Woodward_

  THE RESULT OF THE SIEGE: FRENCH LEGATION RUINS
]


Our gates are all closed tight, and occasionally we hear thundering down
Legation Street as whole troops of half-starved horses, ponies, and
donkeys (animals which have been left by their owners in their stables,
and which have managed by some means to free themselves, either by
looters untying them, or perhaps fire freeing them), dash past at top
speed all together in a fury of liberty regained. And dangerous it is
for anyone to be on the road when one of these wild troops race down the
street, for he will certainly be trampled to death. After a time these
mad collections of animals become tame and quiet from hunger and
exhaustion, and are willing enough to be led into almost any courtyard.
Everything is unusual in this wonderful Peking. This morning I walked
with Colonel Churchill and Captain Mallory on the Tartar Wall and down
it to the Ha Ta Men Gate, where we went down the Ramp and walked all
over the tremendously exposed German and French lines with their
barricades and defences. In the German compound the havoc wrought is
unimaginable. Whole sides of the houses have been battered down, in some
instances one or two walls only left standing; and as for the French
compound, every house, every building, and every wall has been levelled
to old Mother Earth again, and nothing but the little house of the
concierge at the gate, which flies the French flag, is left standing.

On seeing this one can understand why the French at the conference not
only wanted Peking to be looted and sacked, but to be burnt as well. As
the whole place can be inspected now, Mr. Gamewell tells me that four
big mines, almost completed, have been found, and, had not the allies
arrived when they did, that the following night would have seen some
terrific explosions in the British Legation, the Hanlin Library, and on
the Tartar Wall even. The mortality of the siege would thus have been
doubled by twenty-four hours’ further delay by our troops.

Baron von Ketteler’s body was accidentally discovered on the 16th by the
Russian troops who were passing near the Tsung-li Yamen, very near the
spot where he had been murdered. The body had been thrown into an old
wooden box and left. The polite communication which had been sent to the
Baroness von Ketteler during the semi-armistice days of the siege that
her husband’s body was lying in state at the Tsung-li Yamen was thus
proved to be an utter fabrication on their part. To-day his formal
obsequies took place in the German Legation, the doyen of the Corps, the
Spanish Minister, reading a short address, which was as well put as it
was as hard for Baroness von Ketteler to hear. I did not go to the
ceremony, however, for I felt as if I had attended more than enough to
last me the rest of a long life.

Although the allies arrived on the afternoon of the 14th, it was not
until the afternoon of the 16th that the Japanese troops went to the
relief of the Pei-t’ang, where Archbishop Favier had held his own so
long. They had had tremendous losses by attack and mines which exploded
in their midst—300 Chinese converts killed, 75 orphan children, and 60
foreigners, including 2 French officers who had been sent with the 20
French marines to help them at the beginning of the siege.

This huge fortified cathedral was the only other mission in or about
Peking which was strong enough to hold out. At four o’clock they were
relieved, and at seven o’clock the French Minister arrived to make
inquiries about his compatriots. All the commanders who have inspected
the Pei-t’ang say its defence was a wonderful one.

At every meal now Mrs. Squiers’s guests are most numerous, charming, and
interesting. The servants seem to be all back, and although the days are
filled with incredible stories of what the different nationalities are
“doing” in Peking, our evenings are always delightful, as they are made
up of the companionship of the most delightful men in Peking, who, when
they arrive to dine, throw off the disagreeable features of these war
times, and devote themselves with happiness to this opportunity,
probably their first for many weeks, of enjoying the ordinary cheerful
amenities of life; and while these nice parties smack of the camp—for
everyone is in uniform—it only makes things more interesting, for they
help to cheer up the tired siege people. It is the same everywhere in
the different Legations: each nationality is surrounded by its military,
with a sprinkling of more or less unattached secretaries and Ministers
Plenipotentiary, who are temporarily without Legations to go to or
troops to attend to.

Sir Robert Hart is very busy with his mountain-high accumulated Customs
work to be attended to, but he manages often to drop in to tiffin or
dinner.

Colonel Mills, General Chaffee’s Chief of Staff, an old friend of our
host’s, comes frequently to this hospitable house, as does Colonel
Waller, a delightful person, with his young officers, Lieutenant David
Porter and Lieutenant Harding. Colonel Mallory and Colonel Churchill,
the British Military Attaché to Tokyo, who is an old friend of mine, and
many other charming people, would make this list a long one should I
attempt to make it complete.

[Illustration:

  MRS. HOOKER, MISS ARMSTRONG, LADY MACDONALD’S LITTLE GIRLS, FARGO
    SQUIERS, AND COLONEL ARTHUR CHURCHILL
]

Colonel Churchill is returning, as I am, as soon as he can to Tokyo. He
intends to go down the river with Miss Armstrong and Sir Claude’s little
girls with the first convoy sent down by the British, which will be a
day after General Chaffee sends down his.

Fargo Squiers, my maid, and I, will then meet him and Miss Armstrong and
the children in Tien-tsin, and we will make our journey to Japan by the
first way that presents itself. He thinks that Admiral Bruce, who is in
command of the British fleet at Taku, will put a despatch-boat at our
disposal, and that we will be sent immediately over to Yokohama.

In coming up to Peking Colonel Churchill brought me a very kind
invitation from Admiral and Mrs. Bruce—I had known them for some time—to
come to Mrs. Bruce at Wei Hai Wei, the British concession near Chefoo,
in case I was ill or needed a rest before starting for Tokyo. So, with
the letters to Colonel Moale, in command of our troops in Tien-tsin, to
do everything possible for us, Mr. Squiers, Mrs. Squiers, and I, feel
that Fargo and I will have an interesting and reasonably comfortable
trip over to Japan, where I know my sister is counting the days until I
return to her.

General Chaffee has delayed sending the first convoy down until the
21st, which gives me a little more time before starting. It has made me
feel that really, after having been shot upon all summer from the
Imperial walls, I should like a peep inside before I leave Peking.

The city has been portioned off to the different generals, and the
English and Americans have a district where there is very little to
loot. To-day a French officer of high rank, wishing to get treasure out
of a palace that was in our lines, came to Mr. Conger and asked him if
he would allow him to change the boundary a trifle. The Minister naïvely
agreed to the Frenchman’s purely disinterested request, and the
consequence is there are a lot of indignant American military men
wandering about trying to understand why this change in the map should
have been made without consulting them.


                                                  _August 19._

I talked over with Mrs. Squiers my great wish to see something of the
wonderful Purple City before leaving, and while she was too busy nursing
little Bard to go with me, she saw no reason why, with ample protection,
and escorted by an officer, I should not ride through this mysterious
and beautiful park.

I had expected General Chaffee would give me an order to enter by the
Ch’ien Men Gate and its continuing three gates, and pass practically
through our own lines, upon his hearing that I wished to do so. He was
usually so amiable when I asked him for anything, that this time, much
to my surprise, he became very angry, and, pounding his fist on the
table, he assured me that he would not allow me to even ride through the
Imperial City, giving as his refusal the only reason that “there were
sights of war there which no American girl should see,” and pounding his
fist a second time to emphasize the fact. All of which was ridiculous,
as the sights of war referred to were simply the heaps of corpses which
surrounded the different gates of the Imperial City by which the allies
had entered, and, as a consequence of the defeat of the Chinese, the
dead were still there. He was right, inasmuch as these are not pretty
things to see; but as I had been in the midst of war for two months, and
had seen all these things many times, I did not feel that it was just in
him to deny me the privilege now of being able to get a bird’s-eye view
of this wonderful park, which he might have done by allowing a special
permit to go round it on horseback before leaving. But one can’t fuss
with people who deny you things for what they think is for your own
good, especially when the person in question happens to be General
Chaffee.

After this sad refusal, the first person I met was Baron von Rahden,
who, on hearing my tale of woe, was delighted to hear that it was one
which was so easy to remedy. As General Chaffee had the power to write a
permit to go into the Forbidden City, so had the Russian
Commander-in-Chief. He flew off, and in a few minutes returned, bearing
an order from the headquarters of the Russian troops giving him power to
escort me through the Imperial City, with a company of Cossacks as a
military guard, so that we could come to no possible harm from snipers
or marauding parties.

I was all excitement to be off. I felt like a naughty child, and was
afraid to stop a moment, fearing something might still stop me. But we
could not start, as there was no horse or pony in the Legation, and the
Cossacks had only their necessary number. Von Rahden was a resourceful
person, and told me that while I was putting on a riding-habit he would
have a horse got ready for me. He sent his men off with the word that
some sort of an animal for me to ride must be here in fifteen minutes,
and when I was ready to go I found the Cossacks all lined up and Von
Rahden holding two of the sorriest, thinnest-looking horses I had ever
seen. His men had stopped a stampeded troop of animals out in Legation
Street, and these two were the best. The horse he selected was half mad
with fear, but I finally managed to mount him, and off we started,
lickety split, Von Rahden and myself leading, and the half-company of
Cossacks thundering after us. This dashing down deserted streets and
rushing up slight grades made me realize that one was no longer a
prisoner, at any rate.

We rode for a long time through absolutely deserted streets, at all
moments on the _qui vive_ for shots from closed doors, or for a possible
ambush at each turning in the road. Our horses shied at corpses in our
path, and we were listening for unheard noises from apparently empty
houses, many of which had tiny little foreign flags flying from some
window or a painted foreign flag roughly executed over the door, the
owners hoping these Western insignia might protect their property from
looters.

Before entering the Forbidden City we passed through three series of
walls, at the entrance to which were piled innumerable dead Chinese,
silent proof that many lives were given in the vain attempt to protect
the Imperial City; but after we were once inside, these horrors were
forgotten in the grandiose landscape gardening, which almost overwhelmed
us by its magnificent simplicity. We crossed the wonderful white marble
bridges which spanned the artificial waterways, and the glorious
lotus-flowers were all in bloom on the banks and partially in the water.
They are such gorgeous, big flowers; they are like the Chinese
architecture—wonderful in big, sweeping lines. We rode on through this
semi-cultured landscape, where every detail was so carefully attended to
that the ensemble was a complete joy to the senses, and after the eight
weeks we had been barricaded in our Legation district this park seemed
like heaven.


[Illustration:

  COAL HILL
]


We climbed the Coal Hill, and got the only view I ever had of the Purple
City. We were at such a height that we could look right down and get a
good glimpse of the plan of these palaces, besides obtaining a gorgeous
general View of the whole Imperial City. On descending the hill, I must
say I was disappointed that the palaces in this Holy of Holies were not
more imposing. They were low, long buildings constructed of the gorgeous
Imperial yellow tiles. The extraordinarily rich colouring of these
buildings made one forget momentarily the plainly low architectural
lines. Unfortunately, we had no permission to enter these
closely-guarded, mysterious precincts. We hated to leave this spot of
beautiful trees, long avenues and vistas, and, above all, the pure air,
to return to our half-burnt, wholly ill-smelling Legation district.

At nine o’clock all the Anglo-Saxons sang a _Te Deum_ on the
tennis-court. Mr. Norris conducted the service, and Dr. Smith, the
author of “Chinese Characteristics,” made a most stirring address. We
all surely sang it with hearts full of a thankfulness we had rarely ever
before felt.


                                                  _August 20._

To-day I took a walk all over the German lines with Mr. von Bergen,
Second Secretary of the Legation, and, in fact, all over our old siege
lines, and said a cheerful good-bye to it all. To-night Mrs. Squiers has
a farewell dinner, and to-morrow, at 6.30 a.m., we start with ourselves
and our baggage in United States Army schooners _en route_ to Tungchow,
where we take primitive houseboats to sail down the Pei-ho to Tien-tsin.
A detachment from the 9th United States Infantry is to accompany us, and
everything is to be very military in this escort for the first convoy.
How absurd to compare my coming to Peking and my leaving it! I came up
on Sir Robert Hart’s private car in a few hours, and will go down to the
coast in an antiquated Chinese boat, which will take as many days as the
train took hours. And so, floating down the river, I will have much time
to think quietly about this wonderful siege, to forget the disagreeable
and the bad, and to remember the great and the good.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                 INDEX


 American Legation. See Legations

 Armstrong, Miss, 17, 23

 Austrian Legation. See Legations


 Belgian Legation. See Legations

 Below, Von, Secretary to German Legation, 14;
   effect of siege on, 100

 Bergen, Von, Second Secretary to German Legation, 203

 Boxers, the, rising of, 7, 16, 23;
   captures of, 29, 35, 76, 152;
   outrages by, 38, 57

 Brent, Mrs., 17

 British Legation. See Legations

 Bruce, Admiral, 197

 Bruce, Mount, 2;
   ascent of, 4


 Carles, Mr., British Consul at Tien-tsin, 148, 149

 Cartier, M. de, 142

 Cassini, Countess Marguerite, 5

 Chaffee, General: arrival at Tien-tsin, 158;
   the relief of Peking, 177, 181, 199;
   a funeral incident, 184;
   the convoy to Tien-tsin, 187, 197

 Chamot, Swiss proprietor of the Peking Hotel, provides food for the
    besieged, 114

 Cheshire, Mr., American Legation, waiting for the relief troops, 15,
    21;
   his bravery, 77

 Ch’ien Men Gate, burning of, 25;
   firing of cannon from, 69;
   arrival of the relief force, 179

 China, Empress of, and Prince Ching, 132;
   and Li Hung Chang, 163, 164

 Ching, Prince, head of the Tsung-li Yamen, 69, 92;
   correspondence with the besieged, 132, 137, 138

 Christians, Chinese, outrages on, 35, 38;
   located at the Fu, 75, 132;
   their want of food, 161

 Churchill, Colonel, British Military Attaché to Japan, 180, 196

 Cologan, Señor, Spanish Minister at Peking, 43;
   his illness, 120

 Coltman, Dr. and Mrs., American physician at Peking, 20, 52, 79

 Conger, Mr. and Mrs., American Minister at Peking, 52, 62, 120;
   message from the Yamen, 136;
   a funeral incident, 184;
   his naïveness, 198


 Dana Collection, the, 14

 Dosio, Père, the Superior of Nan-t’ang, his loss of mind, 131;
   Chinese outrage on, 176

 Dutch Legation. See Legations


 Favier, Archbishop, the Superior of Pei-t’ang, 37, 194

 Feng-tai railway-station, 4;
   burning of, 8

 Fisher, a marine, death of, 125

 Food-supply during the siege, 58, 73, 85, 106, 108, 109;
   an amusing incident, 146

 French Legation. See Legations

 Fu, the, Chinese Christians located at, 72, 132, 161

 Fukushima, General, commander of the Japanese relief forces, 167


 Gamewell, Rev., a missionary, a mainstay to the besieged, 112, 193

 Gaselee, General, commander of British relief forces, 149, 167, 176

 German Legation. See Legations

 Giers, M. de, Russian Minister at Peking, 43, 120;
   message from the Yamen, 136;
   and the Americans, 186

 Giers, Madame de, her wonderful help in nursing, 143


 Hanlin Library, the, 107, 116

 Hart, Sir Robert, Inspector-General of Customs, 13, 18, 50;
   death of Oliphant, 105;
   letters from the Yamen, 139, 151

 Ha Ta Men Gate, defence of, 22, 33, 92

 Hsu Ching Cheng, Director of Imperial University, 156


 “International” cannon, the, 116

 Italian Legation. See Legations


 James, Dr. H., 75;
   murder of, 76

 Japanese Legation. See Legations

 Joostens, M., Belgian Minister, 141, 142

 Jung Lu, communications with the besieged, 132, 134, 159


 Kempff, Admiral, 14, 16, 17

 Ketteler, Baron von, German Minister at Peking:
   Boxer incident, 24, 25;
   murder of, 45;
   discovery of body, 194

 Kettles, Mr., the Belgian Consul, 141

 Knobel, M., Dutch Minister at Peking, 43, 120;
   the chicken episode, 146, 147

 Kroupensky, Mr., Russian Secretary, 23


 Legations:
   Boxer outrages, 7 _et seq._;
   arrival of the marines, 15;
   weakness of the American, 18, 31;
   waiting for the relief party, 21, 27;
   attempts to burn, 25 _et seq._;
   alarming state of, 31;
   rescue of Chinese Christians, 35 _et seq._;
   Chinese offer an escort to the coast, 42, 159;
   murder of Baron von Ketteler, 45, 194;
   strength of the British Legation, 48, 72;
   American women and children transferred to the British, 48, 50;
   American missionaries brought in, 49;
   life in, 50 _et seq._, 119 _et seq._;
   evacuation and burning of the Belgian, 56;
   attempt on the Dutch, 57;
   supply of food, 58 _et seq._, 86, 108 _et seq._, 160;
   in great danger, 61 _et seq._;
   evacuation of Austrian and fright of the French, 63;
   general panic, 64;
   fighting the fire, 65 _et seq._;
   the crowded hospital, 74, 90, 91, 102, 103, 105, 116, 142, 143;
   a sortie, 75;
   murder of Dr. James, 76;
   armistice, 78;
   renewed attacks on, 80 _et seq._;
   attack on German, 92 _et seq._;
   an unsuccessful sortie, 95;
   racial friendships and animosities, 95, 96, 121, 122, 135;
   Japanese valour, 97;
   boldness of the Chinese, 98;
   successful charge down the wall, 99, 100;
   funerals, 102 _et seq._;
   discovery and successful use of an old cannon, 115, 116;
   plague of flies, 123, 124;
   Captain Strouts mortally wounded, 125;
   a bad day, 125 _et seq._,
   wave of despondency, 129 _et seq._;
   a missionary becomes insane, 131;
   communications with the Yamen, 132-134, 136, 145, 151, 159, 163, 169;
   Chinese send in food, 138;
   news of the relief force, 140;
   a chicken episode, 146;
   messenger sent to Tien-tsin, 149;
   description of the barricades, 151 _et seq._;
   letters from Tien-tsin, 157;
   food running short, 160;
   more severe attacks, 165, 168, 171;
   good news, 167;
   arrival of the relief force, 171 _et seq._;
   the question of loot, 191;
   the state of the German Legation, 193;
   discovery of mines, 193


 Li Hung Chang, 163;
   and the Empress of China, 164, 165;
   purchase of guns, 171

 Linqua Su, temple of, description of, 2;
   defence of, 9, 10

 Lippitt, Dr., 34;
   wounded, 91, 142;
   typhoid fever, 186


 M^cCalla, Captain, in command of the Japanese marines, 15;
   returns to Tien-tsin, 16;
   and the relief party, 21, 34

 Macdonald, Sir Claude, British Minister at Peking, elected
    Commander-in-Chief, 120, 121;
   and Von Rostand, 122;
   Communications from the Yamen, 132, 133;
   and the relief force, 173, 179, 186

 Macdonald, Lady, and her children, 17;
   and Baroness von Ketteler, 46;
   lodges the American missionaries in the chapel 50;
   food-supply, 85, 160

 McKinley, President of the United States, forbids looting, 191

 Magi-poo, rioting at, 14

 Mallory, Colonel, sends news to the besieged, 158

 Marines, the, arrival at Peking, 15;
   on the sick-list, 34;
   sorties, 35, 41, 99;
   death of Captain Strouts, 126;
   the relieving force, 179, 187

 Martin, Dr. A. W. P., Director of Imperial University in Peking, 23;
   and the fire at the Legations, 68

 Melotte, Chevalier de, his gallant defence, 56;
   arrival of the relief force, 175, 177

 Merghelynckem, M., First Secretary of Belgian Legation, 56;
   saves the life of the French commanding officer, 117

 Methodist Mission, burning of, 57

 Mills, Colonel, General Chaffee’s Chief of Staff, 196

 Missions:
   arming of, 34, 35;
   removal into the Legations, 49, 51;
   work of Protestant and Roman Catholic missionaries, 57;
   burning of Methodist, 57

 Morrison, Dr., _Times’_ correspondent:
   his kindness, 9;
   stoned by rioters, 14;
   his advice to the Legation Ministers, 44;
   his hard work and cheerfulness, 69;
   and the Chinese Christians at the Fu, 75;
   wounded, 126

 Myers, Captain, commander of the American marines in Peking, 17, 18,
    21;
   makes successful sorties, 25, 99, 100;
   his hardships, 33;
   saves the Dutch Legation, 57;
   wounded, 103, 186


 Nan-t’ang, burning of the, 131

 Narahara, death of, 142

 Neih, Chinese General, defeat and suicide of, 141

 Norregarde, a Swedish missionary, becomes insane, 131

 Norris, Rev., English chaplain at Peking:
   the funeral of Oliphant, 105;
   works hard on the fortifications, 118;
   holds thanksgiving service, 203


 Oliphant, funeral of, 105


 Pei-t’ang, the Roman Catholic fortress cathedral, 36, 37;
   relief of, 194

 Peking—see also Legations:
   Boxer rising, 7 _et seq._;
   burning of Feng-tai, 8;
   positions of the Legations, 12;
   telegraph broken, 21;
   assassination of the Japanese Chancellor, 22;
   burning of the missions, etc., 24 _et seq._;
   fires in, 25 _et seq._;
   description of, 26;
   treachery of the Imperial Chinese troops, 45, 47;
   burning of the Belgian Legation, 56;
   burning of the Hanlin Library, 71;
   entry of the relief force, 173 _et seq._;
   looting, 192

 Pethick, William, Li Hung Chang’s private secretary, 11;
   his opinion of the state of China, 19, 20;
   his advice on the Yamen communication, 132;
   and the antique China episode, 165

 Pichon, M., the French Minister in Peking, 43, 78, 87, 120;
   the Legion of Honour, 139

 Poole, Dr., surgeon to the British Legation, 50, 52, 53, 59;
   the Legation fire, 68

 Porcelain, antique, 14


 Rahden, Baron von, commander of Russian Legation force, 25, 30, 96;
   and his undrilled soldiers, 110;
   the defences of the Legations, 152;
   the forbidden city, 200

 Reilly, Captain, death of, 184

 Roman Catholics in Peking, 36, 114

 Rostand, Von, Austrian Chargé d’Affaires, 117;
   and Sir Claude Macdonald, 121

 Russian Legation. See Legations


 Salvago Raggi, Marquis, 43, 86, 120

 Seymour, Admiral, 44, 51

 Shiba, Colonel, Japanese commander at Peking:
   a sortie, 75;
   description of, 95, 148

 Shimonoseki, Treaty of, 163

 Squiers, Herbert, Secretary of the American Legation, 6;
   _en route_ for Peking, 10;
   his collection of antique porcelains, 14;
   his hospitality, 15, 49, 73;
   beginning of the siege, 22;
   sends communication to Tien-tsin, 28, 29, 34;
   removal to the British Legation, 53;
   renovates an old cannon, 115;
   becomes Sir Claude Macdonald’s chief of staff, 134;
   communications with the Yamen, 136;
   the defences of the Legations, 152;
   leads a sortie, 179;
   Sir Claude Macdonald’s opinion of, 186

 Squiers, Fargo, his brave adventure, 58;
   and the Legation fire, 68

 Strouts, Captain, commander of the British marines in Peking, 18;
   a sortie, 25;
   Legation fire, 30;
   mortally wounded, 125

 Su, Prince, 98


 Taku Forts, taking of, 49

 Tien-tsin, first relief force sent to
   Peking from, 15;
   message received by besieged from, 140;
   the capture of, 141, 158

 Tsung-li Yamen, the Chinese Foreign Office, send a guard to protect the
    temple of Linqua Su, 6;
   Swedish missionary’s interview with, 131;
   communicates with the Legations, 136 _et seq._, 145, 159, 166, 169;
   send in food, 139

 Tung Fu-hsiang, 51, 92

 “Tungchou,” the Roman Catholic church, burning of, 24


 Velde, Dr., German surgeon at Peking, the excellence of his work, 73,
    109, 113, 143


 Waller, Colonel, 177, 196

 Warren, Mr., mortally wounded, 124

 Water Gate, entry of Sikhs through the, 174




                                THE END




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