for this opportunity. It was the last act. Well, it had come....

The Chinese fire was partially effective, for as I ran forward through
the burst and bent gates, panting as if my heart would break, a
trickle of wounded American soldiers came slowly filing out. Some were
hobbling, unsupported, with pale faces, and some were being carried
quite motionless. On the ground of this first vast enclosure, which
was hundreds and hundreds of yards long and entirely paved with stone,
were a number of Chinese dead--men of some resolution, who had met
the charge in the open and died like soldiers. That, indeed, had been
our own experience. Even with the ambiguous orders which must have
been given in every command ranged against us, there were always men
who could not be restrained, but charged right up to our bayonets....
Now as I ran forward firing was going on just as heavily, and the ugly
rush and swish of bullets filled the air with war's rude music. It
seemed curious to me that everyone should be out in the open with no
cover; after a siege one has queer ideas.

The bursting of this first set of gates meant very little, as I
personally knew full well, for immediately beyond was a far more
powerful line, with immense pink walls heaving straight up into the
air. The Tartar conquerors, who had designed this Palace, had with
good purpose made their Imperial residence a last citadel in the huge
city of Peking--a citadel which could be easily defended to the death
in the old days even when the enemy had seized all the outer walls,
for without powerful cannon the place was impregnable. On the sky-line
of this great outer wall Chinese riflemen, with immense audacity,
still remained, and as I ran for cover rifles were quickly and
furiously discharged at me.... Presently the American guns came
rapidly forward, but their commanders were wary, and did not seem to