Frederick Nicholson, together with the interpreter, were
ordered to land and communicate with the chief mandarin. To
carry out this as inoffensively as possible, Nicholson took
the jolly-boat, manned by four lads only. As it was my
watch, I had charge of the boat. A napkin or towel served
for a flag of truce. But long before we reached the shore,
several mandarins came down to the water's edge waving their
swords and shouting angrily to warn us off. Mr. Thom, who
understood what they said, was frightened out of his wits,
assuring us we should all be sawed in half if we attempted to
land. Sir Frederick was not the man to disobey orders even
on such a penalty; he, however, took the precaution - a very
wise one as it happened - to reverse the boat, and back her
in stern foremost.

No sooner did the keel grate on the shingle than a score of
soldiers rushed down to seize us. Before they could do so we
had shoved off. The shore was very steep. In a moment we
were in deep water, and our lads pulling for dear life. Then
came a storm of bullets from matchlocks and jingals and the
bigger guns, fortunately just too high to hit us. One bullet
only struck the back-board, but did no harm. What, however,
seemed a greater danger was the fire from the ship. Ere we
were halfway back broadside after broadside was fired over
our heads into the poor devils massed along the beach. This
was kept up until not a living Chinaman was to be seen.

I may mention here a curious instance of cowardice. One of
our men, a ship's painter, soon after the firing began and
was returned by the fort's guns, which in truth were quite