As we stood about, twisting our fingers and cheering, and trying to find something sensible to say or to do, there was a rush of people towards the lines connecting with the American Legation and the Tartar Wall This caused another tremendous outburst of cheering and counter-cheering, and led by C----, the American Minister, columns of American infantry in khaki suits and slouch hats came pressing in. In they came--more and more men, until the open squares were choking with them. These men were more dog-tired than the Indian troops, and their uniforms were stained and clotted with the dust and sweat flung on them by the rapid advance. Soon there was such confusion and excitement that all order was lost, until the Americans began filing out again, and the native troops were pushed to the northern line of defences. In the turmoil and delight everything had been temporarily forgotten, but the growing roar of rifles had at length called attention to the fact that there might be more fierce fighting. Every minute added to the din, and soon the ceaseless patter of sound showed machine-guns were firing like fury. Somebody called out to me that there was a fine sight to be seen from the Tartar Wall, for those who did not mind a few more bullets; and, enticed by the storm of sound that rose ever higher and higher, I ran hastily through our lines towards the city bastions. Every street and lane from the Ch'ien Men Gate was now choked with troops of the relieving column, all British and American, as far as I could see, and already the pioneers attached to each battalion were levelling our rude defences to the ground in order to facilitate the passage of the guns and transport waggons.... Strange cries smote one's ears--all the cursing of armed men, whose discipline has been loosened by days of strain and the impossibility of manoeuvring. One word struck me and clung to me again; everybody among the Indian troops was crying it: "_Chullo, chullo, chullo_," they were calling.