This knight of romance was to experience many adventures before he should return to his native land. Attended by a hundred devoted companions, he set out, but in endeavoring to cross the country of the Heung-nou the whole party were made prisoners and held in captivity for ten long years. Finally, after a bitter experience of desert life, the survivors made their escape, and, with a courage that had outlived their years of thraldom, resumed their search for the vanished tribes. Many western countries were visited in the search, and much strange knowledge was gained. In the end the Yuchi were found in their new home. With them Chang Keen dwelt for a year, but all his efforts to induce them to return were in vain. They were safe in their new land, and did not care to risk encounter with their old foes, even with the Emperor of China for their friend.

Finally the adventurous envoy returned to China with two of his companions, the only survivors of the hundred with whom he had set out years before. He had an interesting story to tell of lands and peoples unknown to the Chinese, and wrote an account of his travels and of the geography of the countries he had seen. Chang Keen was subsequently sent on a mission to the western kingdom of Ousun, where he was received with much honor, though the king declined to acknowledge himself a vassal of the ruler of China. From here he sent explorers far to the south and north, bringing back with him fresh information concerning the Asiatic nations.

Of the Yuchi later stories are told. They are said to have come into collision with the Parthians, whom they vanquished after a long-continued struggle. They are also credited with having destroyed the kingdom of Bactria, a far-eastern relic of the empire of Alexander the Great. Several centuries later they may have combined with their old foes to form the Huns, who flung themselves in a devastating torrent upon Europe, and eventually became the founders of the modern kingdom of Hungary.



THE "CRIMSON EYEBROWS."

With the opening of the Christian era a usurper came to the Chinese throne. In the year 1 B.C. the emperor Gaiti died, and Wang Mang, a powerful official, joined with the mother of the dead emperor to seize the power of the state. The friends and officials of Gaiti were ruined and disgraced, and in the year 1 A.D. a boy of nine years was raised to the throne as nominal emperor, under whose shadow Wang Mang ruled supreme. Money was needed for the ambitious upstart, and he obtained it by robbing the graves of former monarchs of the jewels and other valuables buried with them. This, from the Chinese point of view, was a frightful sacrilege, yet the people seem to have quietly submitted to the violation of the imperial tombs.

Five years passed away, and the emperor reached the age of sixteen. He might grow troublesome in a year or two more. Wang Mang decided that he had lived long enough. The poisoned cup, which seems to have been always ready in the Chinese palace, was handed to the boy by the usurper himself. Drinking it unsuspiciously, the unfortunate youth was soon lying on the floor in the agonies of death, while the murderer woke the palace halls with his cries of counterfeit grief, loudly bewailing the young emperor's sad fate, and denouncing heaven for having sent this sudden and fatal illness upon the royal youth.

To keep up appearances, another child was placed upon the throne. A conspiracy against the usurper was now formed by the great men of the state, but Wang Mang speedily crushed plot and plotters, rid himself of the new boy emperor in the same arbitrary fashion as before, and, throwing off the mask he had thus far worn, had himself proclaimed emperor of the realm. It was the Han dynasty he had in this arbitrary fashion brought to an end. He called his dynasty by the name of Sin.

But the usurper soon learned the truth of the saying, "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." The Tartars of the desert defied his authority, broke their long truce, and raided the rich provinces of the north, which had enjoyed thirty years of peace and prosperity. In this juncture Wang Mang showed that he was better fitted to give poison to boys than to meet his foes in the field. The Tartars committed their ravages with impunity, and other enemies were quickly in arms. Rebellions broke out in the east and the south, and soon, wherever the usurper turned, he saw foes in the field or lukewarm friends at home.

The war that followed continued for twelve years, the armies of rebellion, led by princes of the Han line of emperors, drawing their net closer and closer around him, until at length he was shut up within his capital city, with an army of foes around its walls. The defence was weak, and the victors soon made their way through the gates, appearing quickly at the palace doors. The usurper had reached the end of his troubled reign, but at this fatal juncture had not the courage to take his own life. The victorious soldiers rushed in while he was hesitating in mortal fear, and with a stroke put an end to his reign and his existence. His body was hacked into bleeding fragments, which were cast about the streets of the city, to be trampled underfoot by the rejoicing throng.

It is not, however, the story of Wang Mang's career that we have set out to tell, but that of one of his foes, the leader of a band of rebels, Fanchong by name. This partisan leader had shown himself a man of striking military ability, bringing his troops under strict discipline, and defeating all his foes. Soldiers flocked to his ranks, his band became an army, and in the crisis of the struggle he took a step that made him famous in Chinese history. He ordered his soldiers to paint their eyebrows red, as a sign that they were ready to fight to the last drop of their blood. Then he issued the following proclamation to the people: "If you meet the 'Crimson Eyebrows,' join yourselves to them; it is the sure road to safety. You can fight the usurper's troops without danger; but if you wish for death you may join Wang Mang's army."

The end of the war was not the end of the "Crimson Eyebrows." Fanchong was ambitious, and a large number of his followers continued under his flag. They had aided greatly in putting a Han emperor on the throne, but they now became his most formidable foes, changing from patriots into brigands, and keeping that part of the empire which they haunted in a state of the liveliest alarm.

Against this thorn in the side of the realm the new emperor sent his ablest commander, and a fierce campaign ensued, in which the brigand band stubbornly fought for life and license. In the end they suffered a crushing defeat, and for the time sank out of sight, but only to rise again at a later date.

The general who had defeated them, an able prince of the Han family, followed up his victory by seizing the throne itself and deposing the weak emperor. The latter fled to the retreat of the remnant of the brigand band, and begged their aid to restore him to the throne, but Fanchong, who had no idea of placing a greater than himself at the head of his band, escaped from the awkward position by putting his guest to death.

Soon after the "Crimson Eyebrows" were in the field again, not as supporters of an imperial refugee, but as open enemies of the public peace, each man fighting for his own hand. While the new ruler was making himself strong at Loyang, the new capital, Fanchong and his brigands seized Changnan, Wang Mang's old capital, and pillaged it mercilessly. Making it their head-quarters, they lived on the inhabitants of the city and the surrounding district, holding on until the rapid approach of the army of the emperor admonished them that it was time to seek a safer place of retreat.

The army of the brigand chief grew until it was believed to exceed two hundred thousand men, while their excesses were so great that they were everywhere regarded as public enemies, hated and execrated by the people at large. But the career of the "Crimson Eyebrows" was near its end. The emperor sent against them an army smaller than their own, but under the command of Fongy, one of the most skilful generals of the age. His lack of numbers was atoned for by skill in manoeuvres, the brigands were beaten in numerous skirmishes, and at length Fongy risked a general engagement, which ended in a brilliant victory. During the crisis of the battle he brought up a reserve of prisoners whom he had captured in the previous battles and had won over to himself. These, wearing still the crimson sign of the brigands, mingled unobserved among their former comrades, and at a given signal suddenly made a fierce attack upon them. This treacherous assault produced a panic, and Fanchong's army was soon flying in disorder and dismay.

Terms were now offered to the brigand chief, which he accepted, and his army disbanded, with the exception of some fragments, which soon gathered again into a powerful force. This Fongy attacked and completely dispersed, and the long and striking career of the "Crimson Eyebrows" came to an end.



THE CONQUEST OF CENTRAL ASIA.

The Chinese are the most practical and the least imaginative of the peoples of the earth. During their whole four thousand years and more of historical existence the idea of military glory seems never to have dawned upon their souls. They have had wars, abundance of them, but these have nearly all been fought for the purpose of holding on to old possessions, or of widening the borders of the empire by taking in neighboring lands. No Alexander, Caesar, or Napoleon has ever been born on Chinese soil; no army has ever been led abroad in search of the will-of-the-wisp called glory; the wild fancy of becoming lords of the world has always been out of touch with their practical minds.

If we consider closely the wars of China the truth of what is here said will appear. The great bulk of them have been fought within the limits of the empire, for the purposes of defence against invasion, the suppression of revolt, the overthrow of the power of feudal lords, or in consequence of the ambition of successful generals who coveted the throne. The wars of external conquest have been singularly few, consisting principally in the invasion of the domain of the Tartars, to which the Chinese were driven by the incessant raids of the desert hordes. In addition, there have been invasions of Corea and Indo-China, but merely as passing incidents in the long era of Chinese history, not as inaugurating a career of conquest. The great invasion of Japan in the thirteenth century, the only pure war of conquest of China, was made by Kublai Khan, a Tartar emperor, and largely with Tartar troops. In brief, the Chinese have shown themselves in disposition one of the most peaceful of nations, only asking to be let alone, and are very unlikely to begin the war of conquest which some modern military writers fear.

Yet there is one instance in Chinese history which seems to contradict what has here been said, that of the career of a great conqueror who carried the arms of China over the whole width of Asia, and who seemed actuated by that thirst for military glory which has inspired most of the great wars of the world and brought untold misery upon mankind. This was the great leader Panchow, who lived under three emperors of the Han dynasty, and whose career is full of interest and event.

Panchow first appears in the reign of the emperor Mingti, who came to the throne in 57 A.D. His victories were won in the west, in the region of Kokonor, where he brought to an end the invasions of the Tartar tribes. Under Changti, the succeeding emperor, Panchow continued his work in the west, carrying on the war at his own expense, with an army recruited from pardoned criminals.

Changti died, and Hoti came to the throne, a child ten years of age. It was under his reign that the events to be described took place. During the preceding reigns Panchow had made the power of China felt in regions far west of that realm, bringing several small kingdoms and many tribes under subjection, conquering the city of Kashgar, and extending the western borders of China as far into the interior of Asia as the great upland region of the Pamir. The power of his arms had added Eastern Turkestan to the Chinese empire, a region which it continues to hold to-day.

But these conquests were not enough to satisfy the ambition of the veteran general. Under the boy emperor Hoti he was free to carry out his designs on a much larger scale. With a powerful army he set out on the only campaign of ambitious warfare in which China ever indulged. His previous victories had carried the terror of his name far over the kingdoms of the west, and he now led his army to conquest after conquest in the great oases of Western Turkestan, subduing kingdom after kingdom until no less than fifteen had submitted to the power of his arms, and his victorious army stood on the far-distant shores of the Caspian Sea,—the Northern Sea, as it is named in Chinese annals.

To cross this sea would have brought him into Europe, which continent had never dreamed of invasion from the mysterious land of Cathay, on the eastern horizon of the world. Panchow's ambition was not yet satiated. There came to his mind the idea of crossing this seeming great barrier to his victorious career. He had, with his army, overcome innumerable difficulties of waterless deserts, lofty mountain ranges, great rivers, and valiant enemies. Thus far his progress had been irresistible, and should a mere expanse of water put an end to his westward march?

He was checked by dread of perils in the unknown land beyond. The people on the borders of the Caspian represented that salt sea as being far more formidable than it really was. They dilated on its width, the vast mountains which lay beyond, the fierce tribes who would render a landing difficult and dangerous, and the desert regions beyond the mountains, until Panchow reluctantly gave up his scheme. He had already been for several years warring with savage nature and barbarous man, and had extended the dominions of his emperor much farther than any Chinese general had ever dreamed of before. It was time to call a halt, and not expose his valiant followers to the unknown perils beyond the great inland sea.

The army remained long encamped on the Caspian, coming into communication through its envoys with the Roman empire, whose eastern borders lay not far away, and forming relations of commerce with this rich and powerful realm. This done, Panchow led his ever-victorious warriors back to their native land, to tell the story of the marvels they had seen and the surprising adventures they had encountered.

That Panchow was moved by the mere thirst for military fame may well be doubted in view of what we know of the character of the Chinese. His purpose was perhaps the more practical one of opening by force of arms new channels of trade, and overcoming the obstacles placed by the Parthians and other nations of Asia in the way of freedom of commerce. On his return to China he found himself the idol of the people, the trusted friend of the emperor, and the most revered and powerful subject of the empire. He died in his eightieth year, enjoying a fame such as no general of his race had ever before attained.



THE SIEGE OF SINCHING.

When the great dynasty of the Hans, which had held supreme rule in China for more than four hundred years, came to an end, it left that country divided up into three independent kingdoms. The emperors who had once ruled over all China found themselves now lords of its smallest division, while the kingdom of Wei included the largest and most populous districts in the realm. A war for supremacy arose between these three kingdoms, which ended in the kings of Wei becoming supreme over the whole empire and establishing a new dynasty, which they named the dynasty of Tsin. Of this war we have only one event to relate, an interesting example of Chinese fortitude and valor.

Shortly after 250 A.D. an army of the Han emperor, led by a general named Chukwoko, settled down to the siege of a small walled town named Sinching, held by three thousand men under the command of a leader named Changte, whose fortitude and energy alone saved this place for the king of Wei.

For ninety days the siege went on, the catapults of the besieging force playing incessantly upon the walls, which, despite the activity of the garrison, were in time pierced in many places, while several gaping breaches lay open to the foe. Changte had defended the place vigorously, no commander could have done more, and, as no sign of a relieving force appeared, he could with all honor have capitulated, thrown open the gates, and marched out with such dignity as the victorious enemy would permit.

But this was not the view of his duty held by the valorous soldier. He was one of the kind who die but do not surrender, and in his extremity had recourse to the following ruse. He sent word to Chukwoko that, as the place was clearly untenable, he was willing to surrender if he were granted ten days more of grace.

"It is a law among the princes of Wei," he said, "that the governor of a place which has held out for a hundred days, and then, seeing no prospect of relief, surrenders, shall not be held guilty of dereliction of duty."

Chukwoko gladly accepted this offer, being weary of his long delay before this small post, and quite willing to save his men from the perils of an assault. But, to his astonishment, a few days later he saw fresh bulwarks rising above those which had been ruined by his engines, while the breaches were rapidly repaired, new gates replaced those that had been destroyed, and Sinching seemed suddenly to regain the appearance it had presented three months before. Inside the walls a new spirit prevailed, the courage of the bold commander reanimating his troops, while the sentinels on the ramparts shouted messages of disdain to the besieging force.

Indignant at this violation of the terms of the agreement, Chukwoko sent a flag of truce to the gate, demanding angrily what these proceedings meant, and if this was Changte's way of keeping his word.

"I am preparing my tomb," replied the bold commander. "I propose to bury myself under the ruins of Sinching."

The tomb remained untenanted by the daring commandant. The long-delayed relief appeared, and Chukwoko was obliged to make a hasty retreat, with the loss of half his army. It is safe to say that in the pursuit Changte and his faithful three thousand played a leading part.



FROM THE SHOEMAKER'S BENCH TO THE THRONE.

At the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian era China had fallen into a state of decrepitude. The second dynasty of the Tsins was near its end. For a century and a half it had held the imperial power, but now it had fallen a prey to luxury, one of its latest emperors dying from prolonged drunkenness, another being smothered in bed by his wife, whom he had insulted while intoxicated.

The empire which the founder of the dynasty had built up showed signs of falling to pieces. In the south the daring pirate Sunghen was making the great rivers the scenes of his merciless activity, spreading terror along their banks, and extending his desolating raids far over the surrounding provinces. In the north had arisen a new enemy, the Geougen Tartars, whose career had begun in the outbreak of a hundred rebels, but who had now become so powerful that their chief assumed in the year 402 the proud title of Kagan, or Great Lord. Falling upon the northern boundaries of the empire, these dangerous foes made daring inroads into the realm. As for the provinces of the empire, many of them were in a rebellious mood.

At this critical period in Chinese history a child of the people came forward as the savior of his country. This was a poor boy for whom his parents had done little more than give him his name of Lieouyu, having been forced by poverty to desert him to the cold comfort of charity. He was cared for by a kind woman, as poor as they, and as he grew older learned the humble trade of shoemaking, which he followed for some time as an occupation, though he chafed in spirit at its wearisome monotony. The boy had in him the seeds of better things, showing in his early years a remarkable quickness in learning, and an energy that was not likely to remain content with a humble position.

Seeing that his only chance of advancement lay in the military career, and burning with spirit and courage, the ambitious boy soon deserted the shoemaker's bench for the army's ranks. Here he showed such valor and ability that he rapidly rose to the command of a company, and was in time intrusted with a small independent body of troops. It was against the pirate Sunghen that the young soldier was pitted, and during three years he vigorously opposed that leader in his devastating raids. In this field of duty he was repeatedly victorious, breaking the reputation of the corsair, and so weakening him that his overthrow became easy. This was performed by another leader, the defeat of Sunghen being so signal that, despairing of escape, he leaped overboard and was drowned.

Lieouyu, having abundantly proved his ability, was now rapidly promoted, rising in rank until he found himself in command of an army, which he handled with the greatest skill and success. His final victory in this position was against a formidable rebel, whom he fought both on land and on water with a much smaller force, completely defeating him. The emperor showed his sense of gratitude for this valuable service by raising the shoemaker's boy to the rank of commander-in-chief of all the armies of the empire.

In this exalted position Lieouyu displayed the same energy and ability that he had shown in humbler commands. Marching from province to province and from victory to victory, he put down the rebels whom the weakness of the government had permitted to rise on every side. He had not only rebellious bands, but disloyal princes of the empire, to contend with. In one of his marches it was necessary to cross the great province of Wei, north of the Hoang-ho, a movement to which Topa, prince of the province, refused permission. Lieouyu, indignant at this disloyalty, forced the passage of the stream, routed the army of the prince, and pursued his march without further opposition, sending one of his generals, named Wangchinon, against the city of Changnan, the capital of the prince of Chin, who had hoisted the flag of rebellion against the emperor.

Lieouyu had chosen his substitute well. Conveying his army by water as far as possible, Wangchinon, on leaving his ships, ordered them to be cast adrift. To the soldiers he made the following Napoleonic oration:

"We have neither supplies nor provisions, and the swift waters of the Weiho bear from us the ships in which we came. Soldiers of the empire, only two things lie before us. Let us beat the enemy, and we will regain a hundredfold all we have lost, besides covering ourselves with glory. If the enemy beat us, there is no escape; death will be the lot of us all. To conquer or to die,—that is our destiny. You have heard; prepare to march against the enemy."

With so resolute a commander victory was almost assured. Changnan, vigorously assailed, quickly surrendered, and the captive prince of Chin was executed as a rebel taken in arms. Lieouyu, who had been winning victories elsewhere, now arrived, having marched in all haste to the aid of his valorous lieutenant. Praising Wangchinon for the brilliancy of his achievement, the commander was about putting his forces on the march for new victorious deeds, when peremptory orders recalled him to the capital, and his career of conquest was for the time checked. The absence of the strong hand was quickly felt. The rebels rose again in force, Changnan was lost and with it all the conquests Lieouyu had made, and the forces of the empire were everywhere driven back in defeat.

Meanwhile Lieouyu, at the capital, found himself in the midst of political complications that called for decisive measures. The weakness of the emperor troubled him, while he felt a deep resentment at what he considered ill treatment on the part of the throne. He had, as Prince of Song, been raised to the third rank among the princes of the realm, but he thought his deeds entitled him to rank among the first; while the success of the rebels in the absence of his master had redoubled his reputation among the people.

Ganti, the emperor, was destined to experience the dangerous consequences of raising a subject to such a height and yet leaving him below the rank to which he aspired. Lieouyu, now all-powerful in military circles, and virtually master of the realm, caused the emperor to be strangled, and named his brother Kongti as successor to the throne. But the ambition of the shoemaker's boy had not reached its summit. This was but a provisional step, and the throne itself lay before him as an alluring prize. Having skilfully laid his plans, Lieouyu, at the end of two years, gave the weak Kongti to understand that his reign was at an end, and that he must step down from the throne which a stronger than he proposed to ascend.

Kongti made no resistance to this arbitrary demand. He knew that resistance would be useless, and resigned his imperial dignity in favor of the peasant who by his sword had carved his way to the throne. The ceremony was an interesting one. A broad scaffold was erected in a field adjoining the capital, and on it was placed a gorgeously decorated imperial throne, which Kongti occupied, while Lieouyu, attired in royal garb, stood below. In the presence of the assembled thousands of Kienkang, the capital, Kongti descended from the seat which he had so feebly filled, while his strong successor seated himself on the throne amid the plaudits of the approving multitude. In the presence of the great officials of the realm Kongti paid homage to Lieouyu, thus completing a ceremony which was without parallel in the history of the Chinese empire. With this act the dynasty of the Tsins came to an end, and was replaced by that of the Songs, of which Lieouyu was the first and worthiest representative.

Of the ceremony of investiture the principal feature was the assumption of the imperial cap or crown, which has long been the chief mark of royalty worn by the Chinese emperor. This is a cap of peculiar shape, round in front and straight behind, and ornamented with one hundred and forty-four precious stones. From it hang twelve pendants consisting of strings of pearls, of which four are so arranged as to hang over the emperor's eyes. This is done, it is said, in order that the emperor may not see the accused who are brought before him for trial.



It was in the year 420 A.D. that Lieouyu ascended the throne, assuming with the imperial dignity the name of a former emperor of renown, Kaotsou, and naming his dynasty the Song, from his princely title.

As for the deposed emperor, the new monarch had no thought of leaving any such dangerous element in his path, and Kongti was called upon "to drink the waters of eternal life," the Chinese euphuism for swallowing poison. Kongti, a devoted Buddhist, declined the fatal draught, on the ground that self-murder was in opposition to his religious sentiments. This is the only instance in Chinese history in which a deposed ruler refused to accept the inevitable fate of the unfortunate. To quaff the poisoned cup is the time-honored way of getting rid of an inconvenient ex-monarch. This refusal of the deposed emperor led to sterner measures, and he was murdered by the guard which had been placed over him in his palace.

Lieouyu was not destined long to occupy the throne which he had thus secured. He was already growing old, and a short reign of three years ended his career. As a monarch and a man alike he displayed sterling and admirable qualities. His courage on the field of battle, his frugality and earnest devotion to duty in every position which he reached, won him the widest commendation, while he was still more esteemed by his subjects for his kindness and devotion to the foster-mother who had nourished him when deserted by his own parents, and who had the remarkable fortune of seeing the poor child who had been abandoned to her charitable care seated on the imperial throne of the realm.



THREE NOTABLE WOMEN.

In the year 503 began a long war between the princes of Wei and the emperors of China, which continued for nearly half a century. Of this protracted contest we have only three incidents to relate, in which, within a few years, three heroines rose to prominence and in various ways showed an ability surpassing that of the men of their age. It is the story of these three women that we propose to tell.

Chanyang, a stronghold of Wei, had been placed in charge of Ginching, one of the ablest soldiers of that kingdom. But the exigencies of the war obliged that officer to make an excursion beyond its walls, taking with him the main body of the garrison, and leaving the place very weakly defended. Taking advantage of this opportunity, one of the Chinese generals marched quickly upon the weakened stronghold, surrounded it with a large army, and made so rapid and vigorous an assault that all the outer defences fell into his hands without a blow in their defence.

At this perilous juncture, when the place was almost in the hands of its foes, and the depressed garrison was ready to yield, Mongchi, the wife of the absent commander, appeared upon the ramparts, called upon their defenders to make a bold and resolute resistance to the enemy, and by her courage and animation put new spirit into the troops. Inspired by her, they bravely resisted the further advance of the assailants and held the walls, which, but for the valor of the heroine, must inevitably have been lost.

Having thus checked the first onslaught of the enemy, Mongchi went vigorously to work. The inhabitants of the place were armed and sent to reinforce the garrison, the defences of the gate were strengthened, and by promises of reward as well as by her presence and inspiriting appeals the brave woman stirred up the defenders to such vigorous resistance that the imperial forces were on every side repelled, and in the end were forced to abandon the prize which they had deemed safely their own. Not till after Chanyang was saved did Ginching return from an important victory he had won in the field, to learn that his brave wife had gained as signal a success in his absence.

The second woman whom we shall name was Houchi, wife of the king of Wei, whose husband came to the throne in 515, but became a mere tool in the hands of his able and ambitious wife. After a short period Houchi was so bold as to force her husband to vacate the throne, naming her infant son as king in his place, but exercising all the power of the realm herself. She went so far as to declare war against the empire, though the contest that followed was marked by continual disaster to her troops, except in one notable instance.

As in the case above cited, so in this war a stronghold was successfully held by a woman. This place was Tsetong, whose commandant was absent, leaving the command to his wife Lieouchi, a woman of the highest courage and readiness in an emergency. As before, the imperial troops took advantage of the occasion, and quickly invested the town, while Lieouchi, with a valor worthy of a soldier's wife, made rapid preparations for defending it to the last extremity.

Her decisive resolution was shown in an instance that must have redoubled the courage of her men. Discovering, after the siege had gone on for several days, that one of the officers of her small force was playing the traitor by corresponding with the enemy, she called a general council of the officers, with the ostensible purpose of deliberating on the management of the defence. The traitor attended the council, not dreaming that his proposed treason was suspected. He was thunderstruck when Lieouchi vehemently accused him before his fellow-officers of the crime, showing such knowledge of his purpose that he was forced to admit the justice of the charge. The energetic woman wasted no time in this critical state of affairs, but, drawing her sword, severed the head of the traitor from his body with one vigorous blow. This act put an end to all thoughts of treason in the garrison of Tsetong.

The courage of Lieouchi was not greater than her judgment and decision in an emergency. There was but a single well to supply the garrison with water, and this the enemy succeeded in cutting off. The ready wit of the woman overcame this serious loss. It was the rainy season, and she succeeded in collecting a considerable supply of rain-water in vases, while linen and the clothes of the soldiers were also utilized as water-catching devices. In the end the imperial forces, baffled in their every effort by this heroic woman, abandoned the siege in disgust.

As for Houchi, the ruler of Wei, her ability was of a different kind, yet in her ambitious designs she displayed unusual powers. Deposed and imprisoned on account of the failure of the war, she soon overthrew her enemies and rose to the head of affairs again, and for several years continued to wage war with the emperor. But the war went against her, and trouble arose within her kingdom. Here and there were movements of rebellion, and the generals of the realm were at daggers' points to supplant one another.

Amid these distractions the queen balanced herself with marked skill, playing off one enemy against another, but her position daily grew more insecure. Her power was brought to an end by her final act, which was to depose her son and place herself in sole control of the realm. Erchu Jong, a general of ability and decision, now rose in revolt, marched on the capital, made Houchi his prisoner, and in the same moment ended her reign and her life by drowning her in the waters of the Hoang-ho. Then, gathering two thousand of the notables of the city, her aids and supporters, on a plain outside the walls, he ordered his cavalry to kill them all. Other steps of the same stern character were taken by this fierce soldier, whose power grew so great as to excite official dread. A general sent against him by Vouti, the emperor, who boasted of having gained forty-seven victories, was completely defeated, and all the results of his campaign were lost. Erchu Jong now formed the design of reuniting the empire and driving Vouti from the throne, but his enemies brought this ambitious scheme to an end. Invited to the palace on some pretence, he was cut down in the audience-hall, the Prince of Wei, whom he had placed on the throne, giving his consent to this act of treachery. Thus was the death of Houchi quickly avenged.



THE REIGN OF TAITSONG THE GREAT.

The history of China differs remarkably from that of Japan in one particular. In the latter a single dynasty of emperors has, from the beginning, held the throne. In the former there have been numerous dynasties, most of them brief, some long extended. In Japan the emperors lived in retirement, and it was the dynasties of shoguns or generals that suffered change. In China the emperors kept at the head of affairs, and were exposed to all the perils due to error or weakness in the ruler and ambition in powerful subjects.

The fall of the great dynasty of the Hans left the way clear for several brief dynasties, of whose emperors Yangti, the last, was a man of great public spirit and magnificent ideas. His public spirit was expressed in a series of great canals, which extended throughout the empire, their total length being, it is said, more than sixteen hundred leagues, Several of these great works still remain. His magnificence of idea was shown in the grand adornments of Loyang, his capital, where two million of men were employed upon his palace and the public buildings.

Yangti's son was deposed by Liyuen, Prince of Tang, and a new dynasty, that of the Tang emperors, was formed, which continued for several centuries at the head of affairs. The new emperor assumed the name of Kaotsou, made famous by the first emperor of the Hans. But the glory of his reign belongs to his son, not to himself, and it is with this son, Lichimin by name, that we have now to do.

It had been the custom of the founders of dynasties to begin their reign by the destruction of the families of their deposed rivals. The new emperor showed himself more merciful, by pensioning instead of destroying his unfortunate foes. His only vengeance was upon inanimate objects. Lichimin, on capturing Loyang, ordered the great palace of Yangti, the most magnificent building in the empire, to be set on fire and destroyed. "So much pomp and pride," he said, "could not be sustained, and ought to lead to the ruin of those who considered their own love of luxury rather than the needs of the people."

While his father occupied the throne the valiant Lichimin went forth "conquering and to conquer." Wherever he went victory went with him. The foes of the Tangs were put down in quick succession. A great Tartar confederacy was overthrown by the vigorous young general. Four years sufficed for the work. At the end of that time Lichimin was able to announce that he had vanquished all the enemies of the empire, both at home and abroad.

His victories were followed by a triumph which resembled those given to the great generals of ancient Rome. The city of Singan was the capital of the new dynasty, and into it Lichimin rode at the head of his victorious legions, dressed in costly armor and wearing a breastplate of gold. His personal escort consisted of ten thousand picked horsemen, among them a regiment of cuirassiers dressed in black tiger-skins, who were particularly attached to his person and the most distinguished for valor of all his troops. Thirty thousand cuirassiers followed, with a captive king of the Tartars in their midst. Other captives testified to the glory of the conqueror, being the vanquished defenders of conquered cities, whose abundant spoils were displayed in the train.

Into the city wound the long array, through multitudes of applauding spectators, Lichimin proceeding in state to the Hall of his Ancestors, where he paid obeisance to the shades of his progenitors and detailed to them the story of his victorious career. Unlike the more cruel Romans, who massacred the captives they had shown in their triumphs, Lichimin pardoned his. The principal officers of the army were richly rewarded, and the affair ended in a great banquet, at which the emperor gave his valiant son the highest praise for his services to the country. The rejoicings ended in a proclamation of general amnesty and a reduction of the taxes, so that all might benefit by the imperial triumph.

Yet there was poison in the victor's cup of joy. His brothers envied him, intrigued against him, and succeeded in instilling such doubts in the emperor's mind that Lichimin fell into disgrace and was strongly tempted to leave the court. The intrigues, which had first dealt with his good name, were next directed against his life, a plot to murder him being devised. Fortunately it was discovered in time, and the death they had planned for their brother fell upon themselves, leaving him the emperor's unquestioned heir. The same year (626 A.D.) the emperor retired to private life and raised his great son to the throne.

Lichimin, as emperor, assumed the name of Taitsong, a title which he made so famous that he fully earned the designation of Taitsong the Great. The empire was surrounded with enemies, the nomads of the north, extending from Corea to Kokonor, and the warlike people of the south, from Thibet to Tonquin. During the remainder of his life he was engaged in incessant conflict with these stinging wasps, whose onslaughts left him no peace.

Scarcely was he settled on the throne when the Tartar invasions began. Their raids were repelled, but they instigated Taitsong to an important measure. It had always been evident that the Chinese troops, hitherto little more than a raw militia, were unable to cope with the sons of the desert, and the shrewd emperor set himself to organize an army that should be a match in discipline and effectiveness for any of its foes. The new army embraced three ranks, each corps of the superior rank consisting of twelve hundred, and those of the others respectively of one thousand and eight hundred men. The total force thus organized approached nine hundred thousand men, of whom a large portion were used for frontier duty. These troops were carefully trained in the use of the bow and the pike, Taitsong himself inspecting a portion of them daily. This innovation roused bitter opposition from the literati, whose books told them that former emperors did not engage in such work. But Taitsong, on the theory that in time of peace we should prepare for war, went on with his reforms regardless of their cited precedents.

Taitsong's new army was soon put to the proof. The Tartars were in arms again, a powerful confederacy had been formed, and China was in danger. Marching into the desert with his disciplined forces, he soon had his enemies in flight, forced several of the leading khans to submit, and spread the dread of his arms widely among the tribes. To his title of Emperor of China he now added that of Khan of the Tartars, and claimed as subjects all the nomads of the desert.

The next great war was with Thibet, whose tribes had become subdued under one chief, called the Sanpou, or "brave lord." This potentate, who deemed himself the peer of his powerful neighbor, demanded a Chinese princess in marriage, and when this favor was refused he invaded a province of the empire. Taitsong at once put his army in motion, defeated the forces of Thibet, and made the Sanpou acknowledge himself a vassal of China and pay a fine of five thousand ounces of gold. Then the princess he had sought to win by force was granted to him as a favor. The Sanpou gave up his barbarian ways, adopted Chinese customs, and built a walled city for his princess wife.

The next act of the great emperor was to bring Eastern Turkestan, conquered by Panchow more than five centuries before, under Chinese rule. This country had admitted the supremacy of the emperor, but not until now did it become part of the empire, which it has since remained.

The last warlike act of Taitsong's life was the invasion of Corea. Here he won various great battles, but was at length baffled in the siege of a Corean town, and lost all he had gained, the gallant commandant of the town wishing the troops "a pleasant journey" as they began their retreat.

Taitsong did not confine himself to deeds of war. Under the advice of his wife Changsungchi, a woman as great in her way as he was in his, and celebrated for her domestic virtues, talent, and good sense, he founded the Imperial Library and the great College, decreased the taxes, and regulated the finances of the realm. The death of this good woman was to him a severe blow, and he ordered that she should receive the funeral honors due to an emperor.

His last days were spent in drawing up for the instruction of his son a great work on the art of government, known as the Golden Mirror. He died in 649 A.D., having proved himself one of the ablest monarchs, alike in war and in peace, that ever sat on the Chinese throne.



A FEMALE RICHELIEU.

Five years after the death of the great Taitsong, his son Kaotsong, Emperor of China, fell in love with a woman, a fact in no sense new in the annals of mankind, but one which was in this case destined to exert a striking influence on the history of an empire. This woman was the princess Wou, a youthful widow of the late emperor, and now an inmate of a Buddhist convent. So strong was the passion of the young ruler for the princess that he set aside the opposition of his ministers, divorced his lawful empress, and, in the year 655, made his new love his consort on the throne.

It was a momentous act. So great was the ascendency of the woman over her lover that from the start he became a mere tool in her hands and ruled the empire in accordance with her views. Her first act was one that showed her merciless strength of purpose. Fearing that the warm love of Kaotsong might in time grow cold, and that the deposed empress or some other of the palace women might return to favor, she determined to sweep these possible perils from her path. At her command the unhappy queens were drowned in a vase of wine, their hands and feet being first cut off,—seemingly an unnecessary cruelty.

This merciless act of the empress, and her dominant influence in the government, soon made her many enemies. But they were to find that she was a dangerous person to plot against. Her son was proclaimed heir to the throne, and the opposing officials soon found themselves in prison, where secret death quickly ended their hostility.

Wou now sought to make herself supreme. At first assisting the emperor in the labors of government, she soon showed a quickness of apprehension, a ready wit in emergencies, and a tact in dealing with difficult questions that rendered her aid indispensable. Step by step the emperor yielded his power to her more skilful hands, until he retained for himself only the rank while she held all the authority of the imperial office.

Under her control China retained abroad the proud position which Taitsong had won. For years war went on with Corea, who called in the Japanese to their aid. But the allies were defeated and four hundred of the war-junks of Japan given to the flames. The desert nomads remained subdued, and in Central Asia the power of China was firmly maintained. Now was the era of a mighty commotion in Southern Asia and the countries of the Mediterranean. Arabia was sending forth its hosts, the sword and the Koran in hand, to conquer the world and convert it to the Mohammedan faith. Persia was in imminent peril, and sent envoys to China begging for aid. But the shrewd empress had no thought of involving her dominions in war with these devastating hordes, and sent word that Persia was too far away for an army to be despatched to its rescue. Envoys also came from India, but China kept carefully free from hostilities with the conquerors of the south.

Kaotsong died in 683, after occupying the throne for thirty-three years. His death threatened the position of the empress, the power behind the throne. But she proved herself fully equal to the occasion, and made herself more truly the ruler of China than before. Chongtsong, son of the late emperor, was proclaimed, but a few days ended his reign. A decree passed by him in favor of his wife's family roused Wou to action, and she succeeded in deposing him and banishing him and his family, taking up again the supreme power of which she had been so brief a time deprived.

She now carried matters with a high hand. A nominal emperor was chosen, but the rule was hers. She handled all the public business, disposed of the offices of state, erected temples to her ancestors, wore the robes which by law could be worn only by an emperor, and performed the imperial function of sacrificing to Heaven, the supreme deity of the Chinese. For once in its history China had an actual empress, and one of an ability and a power of maintaining the dignity of the throne which none of its emperors have surpassed.

Her usurpation brought her a host of enemies. It set aside all the precedents of the empire, and that a woman should reign directly, instead of indirectly, stirred the spirit of conservatism to its depths. Wou made no effort to conciliate her foes. She went so far as to change the name of the dynasty and to place members of her own family in the great offices of the realm. Rebellious risings followed; plots for her assassination were formed; but her vigilance was too great, her measures were too prompt, for treason to succeed. No matter how great the rank or how eminent the record of a conspirator, death ended his career as soon as her suspicions were aroused. The empire was filled with her spies, who became so numerous as largely to defeat their purpose, by bringing false accusations before the throne. The ready queen settled this difficulty by an edict threatening with death any one who falsely accused a citizen of the realm. The improbable story is told that in a single day a thousand charges were brought of which eight hundred and fifty proved to be false, those who brought them being at once sent to the block. Execution in the streets of Singan, the capital, was her favorite mode of punishment, and great nobles and ministers died by the axe before the eyes of curious multitudes.

A Richelieu in her treatment of her enemies, she displayed the ability of a Richelieu in her control of the government. Her rule was a wise one, and the dignity of the nation never suffered in her hands. The surrounding peoples showed respect for her power, and her subjects could not but admit that they were well and ably ruled. And, that they might the better understand this, she had books written and distributed describing her eminent services to the state, while the priesthood laid before the people the story of her many virtues. Thus for more than twenty years after the death of Kaotsong the great empress continued to hold her own in peace and in war.

In her later years wars broke out, which were handled by her with promptness and success. But age now weighed upon her. In 704, when she was more than eighty years old, she became so ill that for several months she was unable to receive her ministers. This weakening of the strong hand was taken advantage of by her enemies. Murdering her principal relatives, they broke into the palace and demanded her abdication. Unable to resist, she, with unabated dignity of mien, handed to them the imperial seal and the other emblems of power. In the following year she died. For more than forty years she had been the supreme ruler of China, and held her great office with a strength and dignity which may well be called superb.



THE TARTARS AND GENGHIS KHAN.

In the northern section of the vast Mongolian plateau, that immense outreach of pasture-lands which forms the great abiding-place of the shepherd tribes of the earth, there long dwelt a warlike race which was destined to play an extraordinary part in the world's history. The original home of this people, who at an early date had won the significant name of Mongol, or "the brave," was in the strip of territory between the Onon and the Kerulon, tributaries of the upper Amur River, the great water artery of East Siberia. In this retreat, strongly protected from attack, and with sufficient herbage for their flocks, the Mongols may have dwelt for ages unknown to history. We hear of them first in the ninth century, when they appeared as a section of the great horde of the Shiwei, attracting attention by their great strength and extraordinary courage, characteristics to which they owed their distinctive title. For two or three centuries they were among the tribes that paid tribute to China, and there was nothing in their career of special interest. Then they suddenly broke into startling prominence, and sent a wave of terror over the whole civilized world.

The history of China is so closely connected with that of the nomad tribes that one cannot be given without the other, and before telling the story of the Mongols a brief outline of the history of these tribes is desirable. China is on three sides abundantly defended from invasion, by the ocean on the east, and by mountains and desert on the south and west. Its only vulnerable quarter is in the north, where it joins on to the vast region of the steppes, a country whose scarcity of rain unfits it for agriculture, but which has sufficient herbage for the pasturage of immense herds. Here from time immemorial has dwelt a race of hardy wanderers, driving its flocks of sheep, cattle, and horses from pasture to pasture, and at frequent intervals descending in plundering raids upon the settled peoples of the south.

China in particular became the prey of these warlike horsemen. We hear little of them in the early days, when the Chinese realm was narrow and the original barbarians possessed most of the land. We hear much of them in later days, when the empire had widened and grown rich and prosperous, offering an alluring prize to the restless and daring inhabitants of the steppes.

The stories we have already told have much to say of the relations of China with the nomads of the north. Against these foes the Great Wall was built in vain, and ages of warfare passed before the armies of China succeeded in subduing and making tributary the people of the steppes. We first hear of Tartar raids upon China in the reign of the emperor Muh Wang, in the tenth century B.C. As time went on, the tribes combined and fell in steadily greater numbers upon the southern realm. Of these alliances of tribes the first known was named by Chinese historians the Heung Nou, or "detestable slaves." Under its chiefs, called the Tanjous, it became very formidable, and for a thousand years continued a thorn in the side of the Chinese empire.

The Tanjous were dominant in the steppes for some three hundred years, when they were overthrown by a revolt of the tribes, and were succeeded by the Sienpi, who under their chiefs, the Topas, or "masters of the earth," grew formidable, conquering the northern provinces of China, which they held for a century and a half. Finally a slave of one of the Topa chiefs, at the head of a hundred outlaws, broke into revolt, and gathered adherents until the power of the Sienpi was broken, and a new tribe, the Geougen, became predominant. Its leader, Cehelun by name, extended his power over a vast territory, assuming the title of Kagan, or Khan.

The next revolt took place in the sixth century A.D., when a tribe of slaves, which worked the iron forges of the Altai Mountains for the Great Khan, rebelled and won its freedom. Growing rapidly, it almost exterminated the Geougen in a great battle, and became dominant over the clans. Thus first came into history the great tribe of the Turks, whose later history was destined to be so momentous. The dominion of the Khan of the Turks grew so enormously that in time it extended from Central Siberia on the north to Persia on the south, while he made his power felt by China on the east and by Rome on the west. Ambassadors from the Khan reached Constantinople, and Roman envoys were received in return in his tent at the foot of the Altai range.

The Turks were the first of the nomad organizations who made their power felt throughout the civilized world. On the eastern steppes other tribes came into prominence. The Khitans were supreme in this region from 900 to 1100 A.D., and made serious inroads into China. They were followed by the Kins, or Golden Tartars, a tribe of Manchu origin, who proved a terrible foe, conquering and long holding a large section of Northern China. Then came the Mongols, the most powerful and terrible of all, who overthrew the Kins and became sole lords of the empire of the steppes. It is with the remarkable career of this Mongol tribe that we are here particularly concerned.

The first of the Mongol chiefs whose name is preserved was Budantsar, who conquered the district between the Onon and the Kerulon, the earliest known home of the Mongol race. His descendants ruled over the clan until about the year 1135, when the first step of rebellion of the Mongols from the power of the Kins took place. This was under Kabul, a descendant of Budantsar. The war with the Kins continued under later leaders, of whom Yissugei captured a powerful Tartar chief named Temujin. On returning home he learned that his wife had given birth to a son, to whom he gave his captive's name of Temujin. This child, born probably in 1162 A.D., afterwards became the famous conqueror Genghis Khan.

The birthplace of the future hero was on the banks of the Onon. His father, chief over forty thousand families, died when he was still young, and many of the tribesmen, refusing to be governed by a boy, broke loose from his authority. His mother, a woman worthy of her race, succeeded in bringing numbers of them back to their allegiance, but the young chief found himself at the head of but half the warriors who had followed his father to victory.

The enemies of Temujin little knew with whom they had to deal. At first misfortune pursued the youth, and he was at length taken prisoner by his enemies, who treated him with great indignity. He soon escaped, however, and rallied his broken forces, shrewdly baffling his foes, who sought to recapture him by a treacherous invitation to a feast. In the end they attacked Temujin in his own country, where, standing on the defensive, he defeated them with great loss. This victory brought the young chief wide renown, and so many allies gathered under his banner that he became a power in the steppes. "Temujin alone is generous and worthy of ruling a great people," was the decision in the tents of the wandering tribes.

The subsequent career of the Mongol chief was one of striking vicissitudes. His power grew until the question of the dominion of the steppes rested upon a great battle between the Mongols and the powerful tribe of the Keraits. The latter won the victory, the Mongols were slain in thousands, and the power which Temujin had gained by years of effort was in a day overthrown. Nothing remained to him but a small band of followers, whose only strength lay in their fidelity and discipline.

Yet a man of the military ability of Temujin could not long remain at so low an ebb of fortune. In a brief time he had surprised and subdued the Keraits, and next met in battle the powerful confederacy of the Naimans, whom he defeated in a stubborn and long-contested battle. This victory made him the unquestioned lord of the steppes, over all whose inhabitants the Mongols had become supreme.

And now Temujin resolved to indicate his power by some title worthy of the great position he had gained. All the Mongol chiefs were summoned to the grand council or Kuriltai of the tribe, and around the national ensign, composed of nine white yak-tails, planted in the centre of the camp, the warriors gathered to hear the opinion of their chief. It was proclaimed to them that Temujin was not content with the title of Gur Khan, to which its former bearers had not given dignity, but would assume the title of Genghis Khan (Very Mighty Khan). It may be said here that there are almost as many spellings of this name as there are historians of the deeds of him that bore it.

Genghis made princes of his two principal generals, rewarded all other brave officers, and in every available way cemented to his fortunes the Mongol chiefs. He was now about forty-five years of age, yet, instead of being at the end, he was but little beyond the beginning of his career. The Kins, who had conquered Northern China, and whose ruler bore the proud title of emperor, were the next to feel the power of his arms. The dominions of the king of Hia, a vassal of the Kin emperor, were invaded and his power overthrown. Genghis married his daughter, made an alliance with him, and in 1210 invaded the territory so long held by the Kins.

The Great Wall, which had so often proved useless as a barrier of defence, failed to check the march of the great Mongol host, the chief who should have defended it being bribed to desert his charge. Through the opening thus offered the Mongols poured into the territory of the Kins, defeated them in every engagement in the field, overran the rich provinces held by them, and obtained a vast wealth in plunder. Yet the war was now waged against a settled and populous state, with strong walled cities and other fortified places, instead of against the scattered clans of the steppes, and, despite the many victories of the invading horde, it took twenty years of constant fighting to crush the Tartar emperor of Northern China.

In truth, the resistance of the emperor of the Kins was far more stubborn and effective than that of the nations of the south and west. In 1218 Genghis invaded Central Asia, conquered its oases, and destroyed Bokhara, Samarcand, and other cities. He next subjected the whole of Persia, while the westward march of the armies under his lieutenants was arrested only at the mountain barrier of Central Europe, all Russia falling subject to his rule. In four years the mighty conqueror, having established his rule from Armenia to the Indus, was back again and ready to resume his struggle with the Kins of China.

He found the kingdom of Hia in revolt, and in 1225 assembled against it the largest army he had ever employed in his Chinese wars. His success was rapid and complete. The cities, the fortresses, the centres of trade, fell in rapid succession into his hands, and in a final great battle, fought upon the frozen waters of the Hoang-ho, the army of Hia was practically exterminated. This was the last great event in the life of Genghis Khan. He died in 1227, having by his ruthless warfare sent five millions of victims to the grave. With his last words he deplored the wanton cruelty with which his wars had been fought, and advised his people to refrain in future from such sanguinary acts.

Thus died, at the age of about sixty-five years, one of the greatest conquerors the world has known, the area of whose conquests vastly exceeded those of Caesar and Napoleon, and added to the empire won by Alexander a still greater dominion in the north. The Chinese said of him that "he led his armies like a god;" and in truth as a military genius he has had no superior in the history of the world. The sphere of no other conqueror ever embraced so vast a realm, and the wave of warfare which he set in motion did not come to rest until it had covered nearly the whole of Asia and the eastern half of the European continent. Beginning as chief of the fragment of a tribe, he ended as lord of nearly half the civilized world, and dozens of depopulated cities told the story of his terrible career. He had swept over the earth like a tornado of blood and death.



HOW THE FRIARS FARED AMONG THE TARTARS.

The sea of Mongol invasion which, pouring in the thirteenth century from the vast steppes of Asia, overflowed all Eastern Europe, and was checked in its course only by the assembled forces of the German nations, filled the world of the West with inexpressible terror. For a time, after whelming beneath its flood Russia, Poland, and Hungary, it was rolled back, but the terror remained. At any moment these savage horsemen might return in irresistible strength and spread the area of desolation to the western seas. The power of arms seemed too feeble to stay them; the power of persuasion, however, might not be in vain, and the pope, as the spiritual head of Europe, felt called upon to make an effort for the rescue of the Christian world.

Tartar hordes were then advancing through Persia towards the Holy Land, and to these, in the forlorn hope of checking their course, he sent as ambassadors a body of Franciscan friars composed of Father Ascelin and three companions. It was in the year 1246 that these papal envoys set out, armed with full powers from the head of the Church, but sadly deficient in the worldly wisdom necessary to deal with such truculent infidels as those whom they had been sent to meet.

Ascelin and his comrades journeyed far through Asia in search of a Tartar host, and at length found one on the northern frontier of Persia. Into the camp of the barbarians the worthy Franciscan boldly advanced, announcing himself as an ambassador from the pope. To his surprise, this announcement was received with contempt by the Tartars, who knew little and cared less for the object of his deep veneration. In return he showed his feeling towards the infidels in a way that soon brought his mission into a perilous state.

He was refused an audience with the Mongol general unless he would perform the ko-tou, or three genuflections, an act which he and his followers refused as an idolatrous ceremony which would scandalize all Christendom. Finally, as nothing less would be accepted, they, in their wise heads, thought they might consent to perform the ko-tou, provided the general and all his army would become Christians. This folly capped the climax. The Tartars, whom they had already irritated, broke into a violent rage, loaded the friars with fierce invectives, and denounced them and their pope as Christian dogs.

A council was called to decide what to do with these insulting strangers. Some suggested that the friars should be flayed alive, and their skins, stuffed with hay, sent to the pope. Others wished to keep them till the next battle with the Christians, and then place them in front of the army as victims to the god of war. A third proposition was to whip them through the camp and then put them to death. But Baithnoy, the general, had no fancy for delay, and issued orders that the whole party should at once be executed.

In this frightful predicament, into which Ascelin and his party had brought themselves, a woman's pity came to the rescue. Baithnoy's principal wife endeavored to move him to compassion; but, finding him obdurate, she next appealed to his interest. To violate in this way the law of nations would cover him with disgrace, she said, and stay the coming of many who otherwise would seek his camp with homage and presents. She reminded him of the anger of the Great Khan when, on a former occasion, he had caused the heart of an ambassador to be plucked out and had ridden around the camp with it fastened to his horse's tail. By these arguments, reinforced with entreaties, she induced him to spare the lives of the friars.

They were advised to visit the court of the Great Khan, but Ascelin had seen as much as he relished of Tartar courts, and refused to go a step farther except by force. He was then desired, as he had been so curious to see a Tartar army, to wait until their expected reinforcements arrived. He protested that he had seen enough Tartars already to last him the rest of his life; but, despite his protest, he was detained for several months, during which the Tartars amused themselves by annoying and vexing their visitors. At length, after having been half starved, frequently threatened with death, and insulted in a hundred ways, they were set free, bearing letters to the pope ordering him to come in person and do homage to Genghis Khan, the Son of God.

At the same time that Ascelin set out for the south, another party, headed by John Carpini, set out for the north, to visit the Tartars then in Russia. Here they were startled by the first act demanded of them, they being compelled to pass between two large fires as a purification from the suspicion of evil. On coming into the presence of Bathy, the general, they, more terrified perhaps than Ascelin, did not hesitate to fall upon their knees. To heighten their terrors, two of them were sent to the court of the Great Khan, in the heart of Tartary, the other two being detained on some pretext. The journey was a frightful one. With no food but millet, no drink but melted snow, pushing on at a furious speed, changing horses several times a day, passing over tracts strewn with human bones, and the weather through part of their journey being bitterly cold, they at length reached the court of the Mongols on July 22, 1246.

They arrived at an interesting period. The election of Kujak, a new khan, was about to take place, and, in addition to great Tartar lords from all quarters of the Mongol empire, ambassadors from Russia, Persia, Bagdad, India, and China were at hand with presents and congratulations. The assembled nobles, four thousand in all, dazzled Carpini with their pomp and magnificence. The coronation was attended with peculiar ceremonies, and a few days afterwards audience was given to the ambassadors, that they might deliver their presents. Here the friars were amazed at the abundance and value of the gifts, which consisted of satin cloths, robes of purple, silk girdles wrought with gold, and costly skins. Most surprising of all was a "sun canopy" (umbrella) full of precious stones, a long row of camels covered with Baldakin cloth, and a "wonderful brave tent, all of red purple, presented by the Kythayans" (Chinese), while near by stood five hundred carts "all full of silver, and of gold, and of silk garments."

The friars were now placed in an embarrassing position by being asked what presents they had to give. They had so little that they thought it best to declare "that they were not of ability so to do." This failure was well received, and throughout their visit they were treated with great respect, the khan cajoling them with hints that he proposed publicly to profess Christianity.

These flattering hopes came to a sudden end when the great Mongol ruler ordered the erection of a flag of defiance against the Roman empire, the Christian Church, and all the Christian kingdoms of the West, unless they would do homage to him; and with this abrupt termination to their embassy they were dismissed. After "travailing all winter long," sleeping on snow without shelter, and suffering other hardships, they reached Europe in June, 1247, where they were "rejoiced over as men that had been risen from death to life."

Carpini was the first European to approach the borders of China, or Cathay, as it was then called, and the story he told about that mysterious empire of the East, gathered from the Tartars, was of much interest, and, so far as it went, of considerable accuracy. He was also the first to visit the court of those terrible warriors who had filled the world with dismay, and to bring to Europe an account of their barbaric manners and customs.

Shortly after (in 1253) a friar named Rubruquis, with two companions, was sent to Tartary by Louis IX. of France to search for Prester John, an imaginary Christian potentate supposed to reign in the centre of Asia, to visit Sartach, a Tartar chief also reported a Christian, and to teach the doctrines of Christianity to all the Tartars he should find. Rubruquis did his work well, and, while failing to find Prester John or to convert any of the Tartars, he penetrated to the very centre of the Mongol empire, visited Karakorum, the capital of the Great Khans, and brought back much valuable information, giving a clear, accurate, and intelligent account of the lands he had seen and the people he had met, with such news of distant China as he could obtain without actually crossing the Great Wall.

After his visit information concerning these remote regions ceased until the publication of the remarkably interesting book of Marco Polo, the first to write of China from an actual visit to its court. The story of his visit must be left for a later tale.



THE SIEGE OF SIANYANG.

In the year 1268 the army of Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis the famous conqueror, made its appearance before the stronghold of Sianyang, an important city of China on the southern bank of the Han River. On the opposite side of the stream stood the city of Fanching, the two being connected by bridges and forming virtually a single city. Sianyang, the capital of a populous and prosperous district, was the most important stronghold left to China, and its fall would be almost fatal to that realm. Hence Kublai, who had succeeded to the empire of the Kins in Northern China, and was bent on making the rest of that country his own, made his first move against this powerful city, which the Chinese prepared with energy to defend. In all the history of its wars China showed no greater courage and resolution than in the defence of this important place.

The army of Kublai consisted of sixty thousand veterans of the Mongol wars, with a large body of auxiliary troops, an army large enough to occupy all the neighboring heights and form an intrenched camp around the city ten miles in length. This done, and all communication by land cut off, steps were taken to intercept all supplies sent by water. The Mongols had no vessels, but they set themselves with their usual activity to build a fleet, and in a short time had launched upon the Han fifty junks larger than those used by the Chinese.

Meanwhile Lieouwen Hoan, governor of the two cities, was strengthening their works and vigorously repelling every assault of his foes. The city was surrounded by thick and lofty walls and a deep fosse, was amply garrisoned, and was abundantly supplied with provisions, having food-supplies, it was said, sufficient "for a period of ten years." Thus provided, the gallant commandant, confident in his strength and resources, defied the efforts of the enemy. Threatened by the Mongols with massacre if he should continue a vain defence, he retorted by declaring that he would drag the renegade general in command of their troops in chains into the presence of the master to whom he had proved a traitor.

These bold words were sustained by brave deeds. All the assaults of the Mongols were valiantly repulsed, and, although their army was constantly reinforced by fresh troops, the siege made very slow progress. The position of the besiegers was several times changed, their lines were here extended and there withdrawn, but all their efforts proved vain, they being baffled on every side, while the governor held out with unyielding fortitude.

A flotilla of store-ships on the Han was met by the Mongol fleet and driven back with serious loss, but this success was of no great service to the besiegers, since the cities were still well supplied. Thus for three years the siege went on, and it was beginning to languish, when new spirit was given it by fresh preparations on the part of the two contestants. Kublai, weary of the slow progress of his armies, resolved to press the siege with more vigor than ever, while the Chinese minister determined to do something for the relief of the garrison.

A large Chinese army was put into the field, but it was placed under the command of an incapable officer, whose dilatory movements promised little for the aid of the valiant defenders. Nothing would have been done had not abler and bolder spirits come to the assistance of the beleaguered host. Litingchi, governor of Ganlo, a town on the Han south of Sianyang, incensed by the tardy march of the army of relief, resolved to strike a prompt and telling blow. Collecting a force of three thousand men, from which he dismissed all who feared to take part in the perilous adventure, he laid his plans to throw into Sianyang this reinforcement, with a large convoy of such supplies as he had learned that the garrison needed.

The attempt was made successful through the valor of the Chinese troops. Several hundred vessels, escorted by the band of devoted warriors, sailed down a tributary of the Han towards Sianyang. The Mongols had sought by chains and other obstacles to close the stream, but these were broken through by the junks, whose impetuous advance had taken the besiegers by surprise. Recovering their spirit, and taking advantage of the high ground above the stream, the Mongols soon began to regain the ground they had lost and to imperil the success of the expedition. Seeing this, and fearing the defeat of the project, Changchun, at the head of one division of the escort of troops, devoted himself and his men to death for the safety of the fleet, charging so vigorously as to keep the Mongols fully occupied for several hours. This diversion gave the other Chinese leader an opportunity to push on to Sianyang with the store-ships, where they were joyfully received by the people, who for three years had been cut off from communication with the outside world.

So great were the excitement and joy of the garrison that they flung open the city gates, in bold defiance of their foes, or as if they thought that the Mongols must be in full retreat. Their enthusiasm, however, was somewhat dampened when the mutilated body of the heroic Changchun came floating down the stream, in evidence of the continued presence and barbarity of their foes. The work of reinforcement done, Changkone, the other leader of the party of relief, who had succeeded in bringing to the garrison certain needed supplies, felt that he was not wanted within its walls. Outside, Litingchi was hovering near the enemy with a force of five thousand men, and the gallant admiral of the fleet resolved to cut his way out again and join this partisan band.

Calling together his late followers, he extolled the glory they had won and promised them new fame. But in the midst of his address he perceived that one of the men had disappeared, and suspected that he had deserted to the Mongols with a warning of what was intended. Changkone, however, did not let this check him in his daring purpose. Gathering the few war-junks that remained, he set sail that night, bursting through the chains that crossed the stream, and cutting his way with sword and spear through the first line of the Mongol fleet.

Before him the river stretched in a straight and unguarded course, and it seemed as if safety had been won. But the early light of the dawning day revealed an alarming scene. Before the daring band lay another fleet, flying the Mongol flag, while thousands of armed foes occupied the banks of the stream. The odds were hopelessly against the Chinese, there was no choice between death and surrender, but the heroic Changkone unhesitatingly resolved to accept the former, and was seconded in his devotion by his men. Dashing upon the Mongol fleet, they fought on while a man was left to bend bow or thrust spear, continuing the struggle until the blood of the whole gallant band reddened the waters of the stream. The Mongol leader sent the body of Changkone into the city, either as a threat or as a tribute of admiration. It was received with loud lamentations, and given a place in burial beside that of Changchun, his partner in the most gallant deed that Chinese history records.

This incident, while spurring the garrison to new spirit in their defence, roused the Mongols to a more resolute pressure of the siege. As yet they had given their attention mainly to Sianyang, but now they drew their lines around Fanching as well. The great extent of the Mongol dominion is shown by the fact that they sent as far as Persia for engineers skilful in siege-work and accustomed to building and handling the great catapults with which huge stones were flung against fortified places in the warfare of that age. By the aid of these powerful engines many of the defences of Sianyang were demolished and the bridge between the two cities was destroyed.

This done, the siege of Fanching was vigorously pressed, and, after a severe bombardment, an assault in force was made. Despite the resolute resistance of the garrison, the walls were forced, and the streets became the scene of a fierce and deadly fight. From street to street, from house to house, the struggle continued, and when resistance had become utterly hopeless the Chinese officers, rather than surrender, slew themselves, in which they were imitated by many of their men. It was a city of ruins and slaughtered bodies that the Mongols had won.

The engines were now all directed against the fortifications of Sianyang, where the garrison had become greatly dispirited by the fall of Fanching and the failure of the army of relief to appear. Lieouwen Hoan still held out, though he saw that his powers of defence were nearly at an end, and feared that at any moment the soldiers might refuse to continue what seemed to them a useless effort.

Kublai at this juncture sent him the following letter: "The generous defence you have made during five years covers you with glory. It is the duty of every faithful subject to serve his prince at the expense of his life; but in the straits to which you are reduced, your strength exhausted, deprived of succor, and without hope of receiving any, would it be reasonable to sacrifice the lives of so many brave men out of sheer obstinacy? Submit in good faith, and no harm shall come to you. We promise you still more, and that is to provide all of you with honorable employment. You shall have no grounds for discontent: for that we pledge you our imperial word."

This letter ended the struggle. After some hesitation, Lieouwen Hoan, incensed at the failure of the army to come to his relief and at the indifference of the emperor to his fate, surrendered, and thenceforth devoted to the service of Kublai the courage and ability of which he had shown such striking evidence in the defence of Sianyang.



THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF CHINA.

Never in its history has China shown such unyielding courage as it did in its resistance to the invasion under Kublai Khan. The city of Sianyang alone held back the tide of Mongol success for full five years. After its fall there were other strongholds to be taken, other armies to be fought, and for a number of years the Chinese fought desperately for their native land. But one by one their fortified cities fell, one by one their armies were driven back by the impetuous foe, and gradually the conquest of Southern China was added to that of the north.

Finally the hopes of China were centred upon a single man, Chang Chikie, a general of unflinching zeal and courage, who recaptured several towns, and, gathering a great fleet, said to have numbered no fewer than two thousand war-junks, sailed up the Yang-tse-Kiang with the purpose of attacking the Mongol positions below Nanking. The fleet of the Mongols lay at that point where the Imperial Canal enters the Kiang on both sides. Here the stream is wide and ample and presents a magnificent field for a naval battle.

The attack of the Chinese was made with resolution and energy, but the Mongol admiral had prepared for them by sending in advance his largest vessels, manned with bowmen instructed to attach lighted pitch to their arrows. The Mongol assault was made before the Chinese fleet had emerged from the narrow part of the river, in which comparatively few of the host of vessels could be brought into play. The flaming arrows set on fire a number of the junks, and, though the Chinese in advance fought bravely, these burning vessels carried confusion and alarm to the thronging vessels in the rear. Here the crews, unable to take part in the fight and their crowded vessels threatened with the flames, were seized with a fear that soon became an uncontrollable panic. The result was disastrous. Of the great fleet no less than seven hundred vessels were captured by the Mongols, while a still greater number were burnt or sunk, hardly a fourth of the vast armament escaping from that fatal field.

The next events which we have to record take us forward to the year 1278, when the city of Canton had been captured by the Mongol troops, and scarcely a fragment of the once great empire remained in the hands of the Chinese ruler.

The incompetent Chinese emperor had died, and the incapable minister to whose feebleness the fall of Sianyang was due had been dismissed by his master and murdered by his enemies. The succeeding emperor had been captured by the Mongols on the fall of the capital. Another had been proclaimed and had died, and the last emperor of the Sung dynasty, a young prince named Tiping, was now with Chang Chikie, whose small army constituted his only hope, and the remains of the fleet his only empire.

The able leader on whom the last hopes of the Chinese dynasty now rested selected a natural stronghold on an island named Tai, in a natural harbor which could be entered only with a favorable tide. This position he made the most strenuous efforts to fortify, building strong works on the heights above the bay, and gathering troops until he had an army of nearly two hundred thousand men.

So rapidly did he work that his fortifications were completed before the Mongol admiral discovered his locality. On learning what had been done, the Mongols at once hurried forward reinforcements and prepared for an immediate and vigorous assault on this final stronghold of the empire of China. The attack was made with the impetuous courage for which the Mongols had become noted, but the works were bravely held, and for two days the struggle was maintained without advantage to the assailants. On the third day the Mongol admiral resumed his attack, and a fiercely contested battle took place, ending in the Chinese fleet being thrown into confusion. The result would have been utterly disastrous had not a heavy mist fallen at this opportune moment, under cover of which Chang Chikie, followed by sixteen vessels of his fleet, made his way out to sea.

The vessel which held the young emperor was less fortunate. Caught in the press of the battle, its capture was inevitable, and with it that of the last emperor of the Sung dynasty. In this desperate emergency, a faithful minister of the empire, resolved to save the honor of his master even at the sacrifice of his life, took him in his arms and leaped with him into the sea. This act of desperation was emulated by many of the officers of the vessel, and in this dramatic way the great dynasty of the Sung came to an end.

But the last blow for the empire had not been struck so long as Chang Chikie survived. With him had escaped the mother of the drowned prince, and on learning of his loss the valiant leader requested her to name some member of the Sung family to succeed him. But the mother, overwhelmed with grief at the death of her son, was in no mood to listen to anything not connected with her loss, and at length, hopeless and inconsolable, she put an end to her own existence by leaping overboard from the vessel's side.

Chang Chikie was left alone, with the destinies of the empire dependent solely upon him. Yet his high courage sustained him still; he was not ready to acknowledge final defeat, and he sailed southward in the double hope of escaping Mongol pursuit and of obtaining means for the renewal of the struggle. The states of Indo-China were then tributary to the empire, and his small fleet put in to a port of Tonquin, whose ruler not only welcomed him, but aided him to refit his fleet, collect stores, and enlist fresh troops.

Thus strengthened, the intrepid admiral resolved to renew the war without delay, his project being to assault Canton, which he hoped to take by a sudden attack. This enterprise seemed desperate to his followers, who sought to dissuade him from what might prove a fatal course; but, spurred on by his own courage and a hope of retrieving the cause of the Sungs, he persisted in his purpose, and the fleet once more returned to the seas.

It was now 1279, a year after Tiping's death. The Mongols lay in fancied security, not dreaming that there was in all China the resolution to strike another blow, and probably unsuspicious that a fleet was bearing down upon one of their captured ports. What would have been the result had Chang Chikie been able to deliver his attack it is impossible to say. He might have taken Canton by surprise and captured it from the enemy, but in any event he could not have gained more than a temporary success.

As it was, he gained none. Fate had destined the fall of China, and the elements came to the assistance of its foes. A sudden and violent tempest fell upon the fleet while near the southern headland of the Kwantung coast, hurling nearly or quite all the vessels on the shore or sinking them beneath the waves. The bold leader had been counselled to seek shelter from the storm under the lee of the shore, but he refused, and kept on despite the storm, daring death in his singleness of purpose.

"I have done everything I could," he said, "to sustain the Sung dynasty on the throne. When one prince died I had another proclaimed. He also has perished, and I still live. Should I be acting against thy decrees, O Heaven, if I sought to place a new prince on the throne?"

It appeared so, for the winds and the waves gave answer, and the last defender of China sank to death beneath the sea. The conquest of China was thus at length completed after seventy years of resistance against the most valorous soldiers of the world, led by such generals as Genghis, Kublai, and other warlike Mongol princes. In view of the fact that Genghis had overrun Southern Asia in a few years, this long and obstinate resistance of China, despite the incompetence of its princes and ministers, places in a striking light the great military strength of the empire at that period of its history.



THE PALACE OF KUBLAI KHAN.

In the middle of the thirteenth century two eminent Venetian merchants, Nicolo and Matteo Polo, of noble birth and adventurous spirit, left their native city for a long journey to the East, their purposes being those of ordinary travel and also of barter, for which they took with them a stock of jewels, as the commodity of most worth with least weight. Visiting Constantinople and several Russian cities, they journeyed to the capital of the khan of Kaptchak, where they remained three years, trading and studying the Mongol language. Subsequently they met in Bokhara a Persian ambassador on the way to the court of Kublai Khan, and were persuaded to keep him company as far as Kambalu (the modern Peking), the capital of the Mongol emperor of Cathay, or China.

Their journey led them through Samarcand, Cashgar, and other cities of the far East, a whole year passing before they reached the capital of the great potentate, by whom they were graciously received. Kublai asked them many questions about their country, and was very curious about the pope, to whom he in the end sent them as ambassadors, bidding them return to him with a hundred Europeans learned in the arts and sciences, for the instruction of his people. They reached Venice in 1269, after an absence of fifteen years.

In 1271 they set out again for China, bearing despatches from the pope, but without the learned Europeans they were to bring. Marco, the young son of Nicolo, accompanied them on their journey, which occupied three and a half years. Kublai, though he had nearly forgotten their existence, received them as graciously as before, and was particularly pleased with young Marco, giving him a high office and employing him on important missions throughout the empire. In truth, he took so strong a fancy to his visitors that they were not suffered to leave China for years, and finally got away in 1291 only as escort to a Mongol princess who was sent as a bride to Persia.