The firing spoken of as the immediate cause of the detention of our people, began thus: Colonel Walker and his party had been left in the lines of the Tartars, who were at first rudely good-humoured, as he moved about and observed how completely the guns, now in position behind a ridge of sandhills, covered the ground allotted by the Commissioners for the encampment of our forces. Suddenly Walker’s attention was attracted by a cry uttered close to him. He saw a French officer who had come out of Tung-chow during the morning, and had attached himself to the English, in the act of being cut down and pulled off his horse by a party of soldiers. Walker rode up to him, and catching hold of his hand, essayed to drag him away. A mob closed round Walker; some attempted to lift him off his horse; whilst others, taking advantage of his right hand being engaged, canted his sword out of its scabbard and made off. A mortal blow was dealt to the poor Frenchman; swords were drawn on all sides; and Walker calling on his men to put spurs and ride, galloped for his life towards our troops, now drawn up within sight, about half a mile away. The party was pursued by cavalry, and fired on by Tartar infantry and guns in succession; but they reached our lines alive, with one horse severely, and two men slightly, wounded. An immediate advance was made by the Allied forces; the enemy were speedily driven from their guns, and their cavalry was swept away by successive charges of our horse. All their guns, seventy-five in number, their camps, and quantities of arms, were captured by our troops, who occupied for the night the walled town of Chan-kya-wan, which gave its name to the battle. That place is twelve miles from Pekin, in a direct line, and four from Tung-chow, which is the port of Pekin on the Peiho; and lies to the right of the direct road from Tientsin. But the victory did not lead, as we had fondly hoped, to the immediate recovery of the prisoners, victims of treachery so dark as to have been unsuspected even by the experienced and wary Parkes. The night before the foul plot was carried out, the Prince of Ee had entertained our people at dinner, and, smiling, had bidden them adieu. An officer, deputed by the Prince, attended the party in the morning, and it was perhaps not unnatural for Parkes to believe that he could induce the Prince to countermand the movement of troops which he then saw, and which he supposed to be unknown to the High Commissioner. The Prince’s reception of Parkes, of course, dispelled this expectation, and no time was lost in returning to camp. Even then there was no appearance of immediate danger to the party, unless from possible excitement of the rude soldiery through whom they had to pass; for both Chinese and Tartars had up to this time invariably shown the fullest confidence in the protection of flags of truce, under which officers had frequently passed between the Allied and Chinese camps during the war then waging.