On Saturday, December 2nd, at ten o’clock, a memorable scene occurred at Nanking. General Chang the Second escaped across the Yangtze River through the Ta Ping gate on the morning of December 1st to Pukow, the northern railway terminus, after planting a mine under the Tartar General’s yamen, which was to be blown when the rebel General Hsu was caught in the trap at the capitulation. He also secreted eighteen other mines in the Tartar city, which had therefore to be burned so as to make the explosion safe. General Chao succeeded in command of the imperialists. The investiture was complete, and the situation was now hopeless for the defenders. Twelve brave Americans had remained on the scene, the great missionaries, Doctor Macklin, Mr. Garrett, Doctor Blackstone, President A. J. Bowen, of Nanking University, and others, and the vice-consul, Mr. Gilbert, who dramatically, with field glasses, watched the bombardment from a high graveyard within the city. They believed in saving blood (“Chiu Ming,” as the Chinese say), much provocation for revenge as there was on the side of General Hsu’s victorious men. They pleaded with Hsu for the first humanitarian surrender in Chinese civil war, as a thrilling example for all time that Chinese revolutionists, like George Washington’s and Oliver Cromwell’s men, were patriots and gentlemen at heart, and not mere feudists fighting under the name of a great cause. General Hsu, with the advice of Generals Ling, Li and Hwang, and Foreign Minister Wu Ting Fang, rose to the high level. He agreed to a surrender with honors, even guaranteeing the life of the notorious murderer of non-combatants, General Chang the Second. The negotiations took place under the guns of historic Purple Hill, while the panting troops held enthusiasm in control. Behind the walls the imperialists breathed hard, and the great populace of shopkeepers eagerly waited and watched the republican sun flags on Purple Mountain. Hurrah! a shout went up that lives would be guaranteed (“Chiu Ming”); yes, honor, too! Fling open the pounded, riddled iron “Great Peace” gate! The steel muzzles of the hot Armstrongs, the deadly four-point-sevens, the spitting Rexer rapid fire and three-inch Krupp guns on Purple, Lion and Tiger Hills, held their smoky breath like good hounds in leash, but straining. The generals and captains marked time; the troops craned their heads; the Cantonese artillery hitched up the limbers to the gun carriages. The American missionaries thanked God and led on the way of peace for a China that would never forget the moving scene, where forgiveness towered over revenge. Here they come, General Chao riding ahead of the doughty Shangtung territorials with their yellow dragon flags flying for the last time, and the bloody turbaned men of escaped Chang’s army. Ground arms and mark time! The victorious rebels kept their places, and under the fluttering red, white and blue sun flags of the new republic, looked on at the impressive acts.