This place, I may mention, was subsequently burnt to the ground by the English, after the French had looted it and carried off more than a million's worth of plunder, leaving only the husks of the spoil for our gallant men, who had done all the hard work of the campaign! The Summer Palace was burnt, I should explain, as a punishment for the cruel murder by the Chinese of a number of our officers and men, as well as poor Mr Boulby, the special correspondent of the _Times_, all of whom had been taken prisoners and tortured to death, though at the time they were under the protection of a flag of truce! Our troops had pretty well paid out the Chinese before this, however; their infantry being annihilated and the Tartar cavalry of Prince Sanko-liu-sin "doubled up" by our dragoons. This news "yellow hat" told us on our way to the English camp opposite to the Anting gate to the north of the city, explaining that the reason we had not seen him before was that he had gone away trying to open communications with our friends, and that he had made arrangements that no harm should befall us in his absence. "It didn't look much like it, though, half-an-hour ago!" said I, on Ned's translating this to me, his knowledge of Chinese, originally pretty good, having increased considerably during our long detention amongst our criminal companions of the prison. "That ugly beggar next me seemed just about to slice off your head like a carrot when he turned up." "Better late than never, old chap," said Ned, with a grin. "He mightn't have turned up at all!" The next moment, we passed a couple of men of the Royals who were doing out-post duty; and, ere we could realise the fact almost, we were amongst friends and comrades once more! This was on the 10th October, on which day Sir Hope Grant sent a demand to the Chinese authorities that unless the Anting gate was surrendered by the 13th, or in three days' time, the city would be bombarded. The morning of the 13th came, but the Chinese were still unyielding; so, the guns in front of the fortifications were sponged out and run back ready for loading, with the gunners standing by awaiting the order to fire. Every heart beat high with expectation, and it looked as if we were going to have a last fight of it; when, just on the minute of the hour fixed for the ultimatum to expire, the gates were thrown open and the defences of the city surrendered to the English army. Another minute, and the Union Jack was floating over the walls of Pekin. The rest is a matter of history. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. AT HONG KONG AGAIN!