But although the advance down this grand approach to the inner halls and Palaces had been stayed, nothing had been said about piercing through the great outer enclosures to the right and left; and, catching my pony, I rode round a corner where a broad avenue led to another set of entrances. Perhaps here would be something. All along I found a sprinkling of American infantrymen, in their sweaty and dust-covered khaki suits, lying down and fanning themselves with anything that came handy, and sending rude jests at one another. Old-fashioned Chinese jingals, gaudy Banners, and even Manchu long-bows, were scattered on the ground in enormous confusion. The Palace Guards belonging to the old Manchu levies had evidently been surprised here by the advance of the main body of American troops through the Dynastic Gate, and had fled panic-stricken, abandoning their antiquated arms and accoutrements as they ran. The soldiery who had been doing all the fighting and firing must have been the more modern field forces engaged in the last attacks on the Legations, or those driven in on Peking by the rout on the Tientsin road. Still, there was nothing worth seeing, and the miniature Tartar towers crowning the angles of the great pink walls looked down in contempt, as if conscious that no enemy could hurt them. I must push along. I trotted quickly, exchanging chaff with the Americans, who called out to me with curious oaths that they had had no breakfast, and wanted to know why in h---- this fun was being stopped, and that they were being left there. Alas! I could give them no news. I only swore back in the same playful way. At the end of an immense wall I came on the last of this soldiery--a corporal's guard, squatting round a small wicket-gate and looking very tired. They told me that they were still being shot at from somewhere on the inside; and even as I paused and looked a curious _pot-pourri_ of missiles grounded angrily against the gate-top. There were modern bullets, old iron shot, and two arrows--a strange assortment. Somehow those quivering arrows, shot from over the immense pink walls, and attempting to vent their old-fashioned wrath on the insolent invaders who had penetrated where never before an enemy's foot had trod, made us all stare and remain amazed. It seemed so curious and impossible--so out of date. Then one of the Americans ran into a guard-house, bringing out with him a huge Manchu bow, which he had secreted there as his plunder. He plucked with difficulty the arrows out of the woodwork in which they had been plunged, and with an immense twanging of catgut sent them high into the air, until they were suddenly lost to our sight in the far beyond. An answer was not long in coming. In less than half a minute a crackle of firearms broke harshly on the air, and a fresh covey of bullets whistled high overhead. The enemy was plainly still on the alert inside the last enclosures, where no one might penetrate. What a pity it had been stopped....