makes one; the French Legation has attempted once to get
into communication with the distant cathedral and failed. Since then
nobody I have seen has even mentioned the great Catholic mission.

These lonely and deserted compounds, merely connected with our bases
and the outlying works by great holes rudely picked through their
massive walls, are curiously mournful and passing strange. The houses
are absolutely empty and silent; everything has been left exactly as
it stood, when the occupants rushed off feverishly to the British
Legation, where they now sit in idleness relying for protection on the
thin outer lines I have described. In these abandoned Legations and
residences you can scarcely hear more than a distant rattle of
musketry, and when you think how great the distances are it is very
easy to understand why the panic occurred yesterday morning among the
men on the outer lines, at which those smugly safe in the British
Legation were so indignant. Occupying widely separated positions,
imperfectly linked together, and with no responsible commander to
watch them with a keen and discerning eye, the defenders of the
eastern, southern and western lines could well suppose that the
incompetence of the Ministers and the disorders which have reigned
during the past few weeks would culminate in their being abandoned
without a word of warning being sent them. It is so silly to say that
because men are soldiers and sailors they must be prepared to do their
duty everywhere. There must have been times when even the Roman
soldier at Pompeii felt like revolting.

Pushing on, I crossed the southern bridge of stone, in order to reach
the Russo-American lines and the rear of the British Legation, and
marvelled more and more at our good luck. As yet nothing has been
done to protect this very exposed connecting link; and so bending low
you have once more to sneak rapidly along, using the stone parapet as
a traverse to save you from the enfilading fire, which is coming from
heavens know where. The bullets were singing in all manner of tones
here as I ran, the iron ones of old-fashioned make muttering a deep
bass; the nickel-headed modern devils spitting the thinnest kind of
treble as they hastened along. It was almost amusing to gauge their
speed. Some had already travelled so far that with a flop which raises
a little cloud of dust they dropped exhausted at your feet. The
ricochets are in the majority, for with the vast number of inte