making a horrid noise about this trivial detail. Some rifles had also
gone off by themselves, how, why and at whom no one would explain. A
very fine night counter-attack we were, and the rear was the safest
place. Yet that run did us good. It was like a good drink of strong
wine.

But we had now reached the first torches and understood why they
remained stationary. The Boxers, met by the Austrian machine-gun, had
stuck them in long lines along the edge of the raised driving road,
and had then sneaked back quietly in the dark. Every minute we
expected to have our progress checked by the dead bodies of those we
had slain, but not a corpse could you see. The Austrian commander was
now once again holding a council of war, and this time he urged a
prompt retreat. We had certainly lost touch with our own lines, and
for all we knew we might suddenly be greeted with a volley from our
own people coming out to reinforce us. Our commanders wobbled this
way and that for a few minutes, but then, goaded by the general
desire, we pushed forward again, with a common movement, without
orders this time. We moved more slowly, firing heavily at every shadow
along the sides of the road. Here it seemed more black than ever, for
the spluttering torches, which cast a dim light on the raised road
itself, left the neighbouring houses in an impenetrable gloom. Whole
battalions of Boxers could have lurked there unmarked by us; perhaps
they were only waiting until they could safely cut us off. It was very
uncanny.

In front of us the flames of the burning Roman Catholic Cathedral rose
higher and higher, and the shouts and roars, becoming ever fiercer and
fiercer, could be plainly heard. Just then a Frenchman stumbled with a
muttered oath, and, bending down, jumped back with a cry of alarm. At