The Face of China by Emily Georgiana Kemp

We reached Peking after dark, which was fortunate, as the glamour of all one's youthful dreams was not at once dispelled by being brought face to face with the prosaic European Legations which lie just within the gates. At the railway station, which is close to the great gate leading to the Summer Palace, we emerged into a shouting, jostling Chinese crowd, and were put into rickshas by the friends -- Chinese and American -- who had come to meet us. Police were keeping order after a fashion most necessary, for I saw a pushing fellow seize an unlucky man who was having a dispute and fling his ricksha to the ground as if it were a dirty rag. When we and our luggage had been safely packed into a ricksha we were swiftly drawn over the most shocking roads, through the great gloomy gates, into the city. Everywhere we seemed surrounded by towering walls of vast thickness. Over the chief gateway is a large temple containing the tutelary deities, which may give some idea of this thickness. It rises tier above tier and is painted a beautiful Venetian red, and the tiles are a bright blue-green; the overhanging eaves are of carved woodwork, painted blue and green and gold. Opposite this entrance is that of the imperial palace, above which one sees its orange-coloured tiles. From the top of the wall one gets a fine view of the long approach to the palace, gateway beyond gateway, in true Chinese style, and stretching on every side an endless vista of trees and roofs of the city. Formerly this was a favourite _point de vue_ for watching royalties when they drove out, but now no one is allowed to do this, and notice is sent to the various embassies requesting foreigners to stay indoors when the royal family is taking an airing!

From the great gate eastward, part of the wall was held during the siege by the Americans, aided by twenty British and twenty Russian soldiers. One morning they awoke to find that during the night the Chinese had built a tower on it, of about twenty feet high, overlooking them. All the next day they had to lie close under their criss-cross defences, but it was clear that unless the tower were seized the Chinese would soon be masters of the situation. Captain Myers planned its capture, inviting volunteers to help him, and naturally the twenty British soldiers responded promptly. It was arranged that the Americans and British should get round it from the outer side of the wall, and the Russians join them from the inner side. When the time came for the plan to be carried out it was quite successful, except for the fact that no Russians took part in it, and that Captain Myers was severely wounded. As we stood listening to the story from one of the besieged we saw a touching scene in the American barracks below us. A man entered carrying home mails, and shouted out the fact. In a moment men came flying from every quarter of the hitherto empty yard with hands outstretched; one could almost see the throb of delight with which the letters were seized. But this was in time of peace, and we could but dimly realise what far greater excitement was caused by the arrival of a messenger from Tientsin during the siege, after the sickening suspense of hope deferred. How deadly must have been the disappointment when the brief message ran that help was coming, but not a word as to _when_, merely the egoistic remark that in Tientsin they also had been besieged!