On the last two days of the march the long-threatened rain came down in torrents, covering the already muddy roads to the depth of six inches with water and slime. In this storm some of the transportation wagons lost their way; and for two nights Major Morris’s battalion slept out in the field without covering of any kind. Of the transportation wagons which became lost, three took a side road running directly into the Chinese camp; and these would have been captured by the enemy, had not some sharpshooters of the Russians discovered them, and turned the drivers back. It must be confessed that some of the soldiers were much disheartened, for the wearisome march was beginning to tell upon them. They could scarcely drag one tired leg after the other, and had to be urged forward constantly by their officers. They were willing--nay, eager,--to fight; but to drag along mile after mile through rain and mud, with the thermometer standing at a hundred degrees in the shade, was something for which nobody had bargained. And yet all felt that the advance upon Pekin must be made as soon as possible. The foreigners congregated in the compound of the British legation were being subjected to a constant bombardment by the Boxers and Chinese troops; and, if the legation fell, it was certain that every man, woman, and child would be killed, and perhaps horribly tortured. Four hundred and fifteen people were pent up in the compound; and it was being defended by three hundred and four marines and eighty-five volunteers, all under the general command of Captain Poole, of the British army. Every entrance to the compound was strongly guarded; and barricades of sand and salt bags, boxes, casks, and dirt, were everywhere in evidence. In the mean time the attack on the foreigners had lasted for many weeks, and the greater part of the foreign settlement in the Tartar City of Pekin was in ruins. This embraced the legations of the various nations, schools, hospitals, hotels, and some very costly residences. Looting went on by day and night, and the torch was applied on every hand. With the foreigners, provisions ran low; but all they could get from outside were a few melons. Yet, to a man, they resolved to die rather than to give up. With the missionaries in the compound was the Rev. Mr. Wells, the gentleman mentioned in Larry Russell’s letter, a devout man who had spent much of his life among the Chinese. In an early fight at the American legation the missionary had been struck by a bullet in the left arm, and he now carried that member in a sling. But he was just as enthusiastic as the rest about holding out, although praying night and day that relief might be no longer delayed. CHAPTER XXVIII THE FIGHT BEFORE PEKIN