The city has been turned inside out, like the fingers of a glove, but whose hand shall ultimately fill it remains still to be settled.
-- Arthur Smith
BY the close of August, many foreigners had already left the "ancient Empire." Regimental bands played as long caravans of carts, sedan chairs, and stretchers set out under the shadows of the Tartar Wall for Tungchow. Departing U.S. Marines presented a curious picture that their captain ruefully described: "Not a man was completely clad in American uniform. As they lined up for inspection, some of them wore blue or rose Chinese trousers, others mandarin coats, and almost all of them were shod in Chinese silk boots."
Life began to regain some kind of normality for those that remained. After the relief, a weary Jessie Ransome described how the besieged had "fondly hoped the troops were going to supply us, but, on the contrary, these hungry hordes of men have poured into a city panic-stricken by terror, whence many peaceful folk have fled, and into which the country market folk dare not come." One of her convert boys managed to find some eggs but they were promptly stolen from him by Russian soldiers. Gradually, however, the situation was improving.
Sarah Conger had quickly moved back into her "dilapidated Legation home" and was out and about buying curtain fabric to replace the hangings she had destroyed to make sandbags. Her daughter Laura now seemed completely cured of her nervous con-