ans his wounded arm. This arm is really badly hurt, probably has
sustained a slight fracture of the bone, judging from its unfortunate
owner's complaints.

The Che-hsein, as I believe the chief magistrate is titled, greets me
while running out with his subordinates, with reassuring cries of "S-s-o,
s-s-o, s-s-o, s-s-o," repeated with extraordinary rapidity between shouts
of deprecation to the mob. The mob seem half inclined to pursue us even
inside the precincts of the yamen, but the authoritative voice of the
Che-hsein restrains their aggressiveness within partly governable
measure; nevertheless, in spite of his presence, showers of stones are
hurled into the yamen so long as I remain in sight.

As quickly as possible the Che-hsein ushers me into his own office, where
he quickly proves himself a comparatively enlightened individual by
arching his eyebrows and propounding the query, "French?" "Ying-yun," I
reply, feeling the advantage of being English or American, rather than
French, more appreciably perhaps than I have ever done before or since.

This question of the Che-hsein's at once reveals a gleam of explanatory
light concerning the hostility of the people. For aught I know to the
contrary it may be but a few days ago since the Jesuit missionaries were
compelled to flee for their lives. The mob cannot be expected to
distinguish between French and English; to the average Celestial we of
the Western world are indiscriminately known as Fankwaes, or foreign
devils; even to such an enlightened individual as the Che-hsein himself
these divisions of the Fankwae race are but vaguely understood.

After satisfying himself by questioning the yameni-runners, that I am
without companions or other baggage save the bicycle, the Che-hsein
ferrets out a bottle of samshoo and tenders me a liberal allowance in a
tea-cup. This is evidently administered with the kindly intention of
quieting my nerves, which he imagines to be unstrung from the alarmingly
rough treatment at the hands of his riotous townmen.

Riotous they are, beyond a doubt, for even as the Che-hsein pours out the
samshoo the clamorous howls of "Fankwae. Fankwae." seem louder than ever
at the gates. Now and then, as the tumult outside seems to be increasing,
the Che-hsein writes big red characters on flat bamboo-staves and sends
it out by an officer to be read to the mob; and occasionally, as he sits
and listens attentively to the clamor, as though gauging the situat