When visiting the Samchun Custom House on another occasion, at a later period, I saw a number of small, two‐pounder rifled breechloading guns belonging to Admiral Ho’s force being embarked on a war‐junk. I examined them with interest. They were mounted on small‐wheeled carriages and bore the stamp of the Chinese arsenal where they had been made. The breech ends were square, with a falling block worked by a lever at the side. They were well finished; for the work turned out at these arsenals by native workmen, often under European supervision, is generally very good. Early one morning, a few days after Admiral Ho’s departure, the camp was roused by a sudden alarm. About four a.m., when it was still pitch dark, we were awakened by the sound of heavy firing in the Chinese territory. The continuous rattle of small arms and the deeper booming of field‐guns were distinctly audible. We rushed out of our tents and the troops got ready to fall in. The firing seemed to come from the immediate neighbourhood of Samchun; and it appeared that a desperate fight was in full swing. Our impression was that the rebels, learning of Ho’s departure, had eluded his force and doubled back to attack the town, which, being wealthy, would have proved a tempting prize. We gazed from the hillside in the direction from which the sound came; but a thick mist lay over the fields beyond the river and prevented the flashes from being visible. We waited impatiently for daylight. The rattle of rifle‐firing now broke out suddenly from around the Customs station; and we trembled for the safety of Affleck‐Scott and his companion. As the sound came no nearer in our direction, it became evident that no hostile movement against us was intended. We cursed the tardy daylight. At last day broke; but still the low‐lying mists obscured our view of the town and the plain beyond the river. Then the sun rose. The fog slowly cleared away. We looked eagerly towards Samchun, expecting, as the firing still continued, to see the contending forces engaged in deadly battle. But to our surprise, though every house in the town, every field and bank around it, stood out distinct in the clear light, scarcely a human being was visible. Before the gates a few soldiers lounged about unconcernedly. But the firing still continued. We could see nothing to account for it and began to wonder if it was a battle of phantoms. Gradually it died away and left us still bewildered. Later on in the day came the explanation. In view of our imaginary combat it was simple and ludicrous. The day was one of the innumerable Chinese festivals; and the inhabitants of Samchun and the neighbouring villages had been ushering it in in the usual Celestial fashion with much burning of crackers and exploding of bombs. To anyone who has heard the extraordinary noise of Chinese fireworks, which accurately reproduces the rattle of musketry and the booming of guns, our mistake is excusable. At the attack on the