chapel belonging to the United Methodist Mission at an out-station was burnt to the ground and the houses of the people razed and looted.  The caretaker, a faithful Hua Miao convert, was taken, stripped of his clothing, and threatened with an awful death if he did not betray the foreigners.  He refused manfully to divulge any information whatsoever, and was on the point of being sacrificed, when the ch’en-tai came unexpectedly upon the scene with his military.  He released the Miao, captured thirty-six rebels, killed sixteen more where they stood, and carried away many of their horses and the dreaded Boxer flag around which the men rallied.

And now comes the smartest thing I heard of throughout the rebellion.

A man named Li was the most dreaded of the trio of rebel chiefs, a man of marvelous strength, and who seemed to be able to fascinate his men and get them to do anything he wished—­and Liu, the ch’en-tai, set himself the task of capturing him.  Disguising himself in the garb of a pedlar, Liu went out towards Li’s camp, and met three spies on the look-out for a possible clue to the foreigners; they asked him where the ch’en-tai was and all about him, declaring that if he did not tell them all he knew they would take him to Li, and that he would then lose his head.  Just behind were a few of Liu’s best soldiers.  Strolling up quite casually as if they knew least in the world of what was going on, they made their arrest, and clapped the handcuffs on them before their captives knew it.  Liu ordered that two be beheaded immediately, which was done, and the other man was kept to show where Li’s camp was and where Li himself was hiding.

And in this way Li the Invincible was captured also.  This was the master-stroke of the situation.  Li was brought back to the city with many other prisoners and a few heads, guarded by a strong body of the military.

Almost simultaneously, Huang, one of the other rebel chiefs, was captured; and at dusk one evening Li was put to death by the slow process.  Afraid that if he were taken outside the city his followers might possibly re-capture him, he was murdered outside the chief yamen, about ten hacks being necessary by process adopted to sever the head from the body.  Only two men have been put to death inside the walls since the city of Chao-t’ong was built, over two hundred years ago.  After death had taken place, Li was served in the same way as he had served the village headman, and his heart and his tongue were taken from his body.  Huang was killed in the usual way, and his head placed in a frame on the city gate.

And so there died two of the bravest men who have headed rebellions in this part of country of late years.  Both were handsome fellows, of magnificent physique and undaunted courage, worthy of fighting for a better cause.  It seemed so strange that two such men should have had to die in the very bloom of life, when every strong sinew and drop of blood must have rebelled at such premature dissolution, and by a death more hideous than imagination can depict or speech describe, just at a time in China’s awakening when such fellows might have made for the uplifting of their country.  And they died because they hated the foreigner.