Indiscreet Letters From Peking: Being the Notes of an Eye-Witness, Which Set Forth in Some Detail, from Day to Day, the Real Story of the Siege and Sack of a Distressed Capital in 1900—The Year of Great Tribulation
History
Indiscreet Letters From Peking: Being the Notes of an Eye-Witness, Which Set Forth in Some Detail, from Day to Day, the Real Story of the Siege and Sack of a Distressed Capital in 1900—The Year of Great Tribulation
Beijing (China) -- History -- Siege, 1900 -- Personal narratives; Putnam Weale, B. L. (Bertram Lenox), 1877-1930 -- Correspondence
Slowly and methodically the
artillerymen demolished the upper part of our fort, and brought tons
and tons of bricks and slates rattling about our ears; but with the
exception of many bruises impartially distributed among all of us, no
one was further hurt. After two hours' bombardment and throwing forty
or fifty shells right on top of us, the enemy apparently tired of the
amusement, and we, on our part, seeing no good in remaining where we
were, sallied out of the side of the building and suddenly faced the
skirmishers, who were still lying on the sunburned bricks. The Chinese
soldiery, alarmed at this sudden appearance when they must have
thought us dead, took precipitously to flight, and in their haste to
escape so exposed themselves that we had no difficulty in rolling over
a couple. As soon as they had retreated we reoccupied a little
position slightly in advance of the house, and lay there contentedly
munching biscuit and having a pull at the water bottles. It is
extraordinary how callous you become.
It was not until four or five o'clock in the afternoon that we were
relieved, and then in a fashion that highly flattered our vanity. The
little Japanese colonel appeared in person with a small force of
riflemen and some stretcher bearers, and he fell back in astonishment
when he saw our occupation. We had pushed forward a lookout a few
yards in advance, and the rest of us were playing noughts and crosses
on some broken tiles. In front of us the barricades were silent, and
the Japanese sailor so curiously wounded in the earlier part of the
day was fiercely wrangling with an English volunteer, who had taught
him the game and had just insulted him by saying he was cheating. The
colonel declared he had thought us all dead, but that although he had
sent twice to find out how we were faring, the tremendous storm of
shells and bullets raging round our entire lines had made it
impossible to reinforce us. The French, he said, had been so heavily
beaten that he had had to prepare for a general retreat into the
British Legation; the Germans had been swept off the Tartar Wall; the
Americans had been shaken and almost driven back; and had not the
Chinese themselves tired of the game, another hour would have seen a
general retreat sounded. We were much commended for not having fallen
back, but we pointed out that it had been really nothing, since we had
only had one man slightly wounded. Still, it was an experience hard to
beat to be left in a house practically levelled to the ground by
shell-fire, and as I got eighteen hours off duty granted me, during
which time I slept solidly without waking once, the whole affair
remains most firmly impressed on the tablets of my memory. It is only
when you have been through it that you understand what you can endure.
All this was some days ago, and was really nothing to what we had the
day before yesterday, which happened to be the 1st of July.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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