For a quarter of an hour and more I watched in an idle, tired
curiosity, which I could not explain, those little French shells
bursting far away and falling short, and presently, as I expected, the
inevitable happened. A young American officer rode up and began
shouting angrily up to the Wall. I knew exactly what he meant, but
everybody was so interested that he remained unnoticed. And so,
presently, more furious than ever, he dismounted and rushed up red
with rage. He Was so angry that he was funny. He wanted to know if the
commander of these d---- pop-guns knew what he was firing at, and
whether he could not see the United States army in full occupation of
the bombarded points. He swore and he cursed and he gesticulated,
until finally cease fire was sounded and the guns were ordered down.
All the Frenchmen were furious, and I saw P----, the Minster, go down
in company with the gaunt-looking Spanish _doyen_, vowing vengeance
and declaiming loudly that if they were stopped everybody must be
stopped too. There must be no favouring; that they would not have. I
understood, then, why the mountain guns had come so quickly into
action; they were gaining time for that exhausted colonial infantry to
get round to some convenient spot and begin a separate attack. It was
each one for himself.

Somehow I understood now that it was a useless time for ceremony, and
that one must act just as one wished. So, finding some ponies tethered
to a post below, without a word I mounted one and rode rapidly back to
the Palace. For an instant, as I passed the great Ch'ien Men Gate, I
could see Indian troops filing out in their hundreds, and forcing a
path through the press of incoming transport and guns. Evidently the
British commanders considered that the thing was over; that it was no
use going on. Already they had had enough of our Peking methods....