A secret agent in Port Arthur
Date: 2026-04-08T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Russo-Japanese War; 1904-1905; Lüshun (China) -- History -- Siege

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Title: A secret agent in Port Arthur

Author: Wirt Gerrare

Release date: April 8, 2026 [eBook #78388]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Archibald Constable & Co Ltd, 1905

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78388

Credits: deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SECRET AGENT IN PORT ARTHUR ***

A Facsimile of the Author’s Instructions.

A SECRET AGENT IN
PORT ARTHUR

BY
WILLIAM GREENER

LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO Ltd
16 JAMES STREET, HAYMARKET
1905

PREFATORY NOTE

No one who has seen anything of the fighting between the Russians and the Japanese needs to make any apology when presenting to the public a truthful account of any events of which he was an eye-witness. Very little was actually seen by any newspaper correspondent, and every history of the war, and even of each campaign, must depend for many particulars upon official reports, with which the public are familiar. I do not profess to have attempted to compile anything like a detailed story of the siege. Instead, I have preferred to give merely my own experiences in Port Arthur and elsewhere in Manchuria and the Far East; to describe what I saw, to repeat something of what was told to me, to say what I thought of such happenings as interested me, and to write of the people whom I met when in quest of information. Some of the things I have set down may throw sidelights upon certain phases of the war, and if what I have written induces readers to think for themselves what ought to be the policy in the Far East of Great Britain and the United States, then my object will have been attained.

CONTENTS

I | Secret Agents, Correspondents and Spies | 1
II | Russia and Manchuria before the War | 18
III | Life at Port Arthur | 39
IV | War | 58
V | Hiding in Port Arthur | 78
VI | Last Days in Port Arthur | 114
VII | The Day’s Work | 136
VIII | In Neutral Territory | 158
IX | Consuls, Correspondents and Others | 179
X | The Battle of Tashichiao | 204
XI | The Japanese as Conquerors | 222
XII | Contrasts and Comparisons | 233
XIII | The Attack on Port Arthur | 249
XIV | The Defence of Port Arthur | 268
XV | Japan’s Requirements and China’s Future | 295

ILLUSTRATIONS

Facsimile of Author’s Instructions | frontispiece
Facsimile of an order in the Chinese Telegraph Office at Tientsin. | to face | 190
The Battle of Tashichiao. | | 207
The Russian Retreat | | 216
The Fortress of Port Arthur. | | 269

Addendum

In order to avoid misapprehension the Author wishes to state with reference to the notice re-produced at page 190 that he is satisfied that the notice was issued without the knowledge or authority of Reuter’s Agency Limited, or the Associated Press of America, and that none of the telegrams were communicated to them.

CHAPTER I
Secret Agents, Correspondents and Spies

Secret agents as practical workers in the field of journalism are little known to the public. The character and scope of my operations may be gathered from these pages, but it is not my intention to disclose here any details of the inner workings of newspaper offices. Much of the information which reaches the editorial offices of a great journal is neither published nor intended for publication. A foreign correspondent may desire the suppression of news he sends, yet require leading articles and the policy of the paper to be shaped upon a knowledge such as he possesses of events of no immediate concern to the public. Special circumstances and extraordinary conditions sometimes require services which cannot be rendered adequately by resident foreign contributors, or known special correspondents. In my case the instructions were simple and definite. I was to journey through Russia, Siberia and Manchuria; make myself acquainted with certain facts; obtain what information I could on the subjects specified; communicate same to my paper in the manner directed; and report myself at Peking for further instructions at a given date.

War between Russia and Japan was believed to be imminent; much of the information I sought related more or less closely to military affairs, but reports on these matters were neither published nor divulged. The Times office wished to obtain the truth, and to be the best informed—in that following a policy which has grown into a custom.

The status of the secret agent is that of a special correspondent travelling incognito. Amongst men of our own race whom I met on terms of absolute equality the chief were: officers of the British Intelligence Department; inquiry agents of the State Department, Washington; reporter-detectives of the U.S. Customs; paid spies of foreign governments, and tourists. Those of us who had a common object cultivated most the society of Russian naval and military officers and their associates; the Custom’s agents sought the shippers of contraband goods and immigrants intended for the United States, and the tourists all places of interest. When war began, the Intelligence officers withdrew to neutral territory; the secret agents and spies became avowed newspaper correspondents, and the tourists disappeared.

In the earlier stages of the war the distinction between spies and newspaper correspondents was a fine one. The difference consisted chiefly in the nature of the employment, but it mattered little to the power spied upon whether the reporter was paid by a newspaper or by the enemy. It was important that naval and military movements should be kept secret, and a plan was marred if a fleet were reported seen by a press despatch-boat or tramp steamer, or one of the enemy’s scouts. The presence of all newspaper men, and most civilians, was irksome to commanders. It is not surprising that newspaper correspondents were denied the facilities they expected, before an adequate censorship had been established; for, as a matter of fact they not infrequently acted as spies without intending to do so. For instance, in June, a correspondent landed at Port Arthur from a junk; he saw little there, and was sent back to Chifu at the first opportunity. He stated, amongst other things, that fresh provisions were not scarce in the besieged fortress, and immediately afterwards the junk supplies there appreciably diminished, for the Japanese watched the coast with greater vigilance.

The spies who acted as newspaper representatives do not call for special condemnation, since a spy is expected to do whatever will effect his purpose; and although his presence and behaviour may hamper the genuine correspondent, it is the newspaper which the spy pretends to represent that alone has a substantial grievance. Spies and correspondents are equally eager to obtain every item of information that has any interest, and in order to succeed one takes the same risks as often as does the other.

The treatment which would be accorded a spy and a correspondent by the military authorities would differ, but the difficulty has been to detect the spy and exculpate the correspondent. By the Russians it was, at first, deemed most satisfactory to regard both as though all were spies.

Some weeks after hostilities were commenced the Viceroy’s staff drew up regulations which were approved at St. Petersburg, and enforced. Their object was to lessen the number of newspaper representatives with the Russian army at the theatre of war, and to control them effectually apart from the restraint exercised by the censorship which was then established. The conditions imposed cannot be too widely known, as they show exactly some of the difficulties with which accredited correspondents had to contend.

Art. IV. Each war correspondent on arrival at the scene of action must sign a written compact binding himself:

(i.) Not to interfere in any way with preparations for war, or with the plans of the Staff, nor to divulge anything which should be kept secret, such as, the result of the action of the enemy, damages done to fortifications, losses of guns, etc.

(ii.) Not to communicate any information about the enemy, which, not being proved, nor having any foundation in fact, could awaken public uneasiness.

(iii.) Not to insert in any correspondence any criticism whatever concerning the decisions, or acts, of members of the Staff, but limit reports to facts.

(iv.) To carry out exactly all orders of the higher military authorities given through the officers appointed to explain to correspondents, and of those in charge of the censorship.

Art. V. The violation of any of the above published regulations, the non-observance or the disregard of the rules issued by the military authorities, immodesty, (indiscretion) lack of tact, will entail a caution in minor cases, or expulsion from the scene of military activity if serious, providing always that the correspondence or conduct does not of itself constitute a criminal offence.

Art. VI. Correspondents are bound to fulfil absolutely all the requirements specified in Arts. IV. and V., with regard to the acts, movements, and work of the fleet, during which all correspondents, without exception, are forbidden absolutely to enter the Admiralty, the docks, workshops, and other buildings of the Marine Administration, or be in boats in the harbour, or roads of the ports of Vladivostok and Port Arthur. Correspondents must not apply to the Admirals in command for any relaxation of this rule.

Art. VIII.... Each correspondent must be furnished with written permission to keep horses, vehicles, and servants, and these also must have a written certificate of identity. Correspondents are responsible for themselves and also for their servants.

Art. IX. Correspondents are bound to apply to the Chief of a detachment for permission to remain with that corps. In case the chief may find the presence of the correspondent undesirable for military considerations, the correspondent is bound to leave without delay.

Art. XI. Correspondents must carry always on their person their permits and those for their servants.

Art. XII. Correspondents must wear always on the left arm a broad red band with the letters B.K. in black.

Art. XV. Correspondence is permitted (a) in telegram form; (b) as separate articles, with marks and signs as intended for publication. Cipher messages are prohibited.

Art. XVI. Correspondents must endeavour to supply without delay to the Viceroy’s Staff two copies of each newspaper in which their correspondence is printed.

Some correspondents, following the instructions of their papers, signed the above conditions and more or less conscientiously adhered to them. Others were unwilling to forgo the privileges of the ordinary correspondent, and, in preference to being formally attached to the Russian army, awaited developments and remained within the Russian lines near the border of the neutral territory, where they were tolerated. No foreign correspondents were permitted to remain at Port Arthur. At Newchwang those who made a practice of dodging the censorship, and in their messages betrayed an unintelligent anticipation of events, were requested to leave. The newspaper free-lances for the most part frequented the territory between the Great Wall and the river Liao, and the treaty ports of Chifu and Newchwang, where the newspapers and news agencies already had their own permanent resident representatives.

The free correspondents might telegraph as news accounts of things seen, reports of things heard, and statements of imagined events. They were in a better position during the early stages of the war than the accredited correspondents accepted by either the Russian or the Japanese authorities, who were restricted to official communications. Of the actual fighting, most of these saw nothing at all until the battle of Liaoyang at the end of August; there were only Reuter’s representative, Lieut.-Col. Norris-Newman of the Daily Mail, and myself at Port Arthur on the occasion of the first bombardment, and only the Daily Mail representative, Col. Emerson and myself, at the battle of Tashichiao. Neither Etzel, who was shot, nor Middleton, who died, ever saw an engagement between the Russians and Japanese, only guerilla encounters of Russians and Chinese, which were of almost daily occurrence.

The treatment of the war correspondents by the authorities on both sides indicates that their presence on the field of battle is not only undesired but will not be tolerated. The men who wish to study the human side of the war at first hand, those who wish to witness how the soldiers advance under fire, carry a position, waver, or retreat, will have only accidental opportunities, as their views are not wanted by commanders any more than are the criticisms of independent military experts present at the engagements. In a word, the occupation of the war correspondent has gone. The foreign military attachés do not appear to have been afforded facilities denied to correspondents, and their accounts also must be based largely upon what they hear, supported by topographical knowledge gained by subsequent visits to the lines where the real fighting took place.

An American correspondent on the Japanese side informed me that he estimated the newspaper representatives there to have cost their papers in the aggregate over half a million yen, and it is certain that those on the Russian side cost theirs a quarter of a million roubles, in all £75,000—an outlay quite disproportionate to the value received.

It must be remembered that the expenses of a correspondent are very heavy, and that ordinarily he is well remunerated for his services. Even in the China coast ports, for instance Chifu, where there is no likelihood of attack and war prices consequently do not rule, the out of pocket expenses of a news-gatherer exceeded £300 in one month, and this exclusive of the cost of telegraphing. The remuneration of a correspondent at the port—not a man sent out specially, but a merchant’s clerk appointed in lieu of a journalist of experience—is £50 a month. This may seem high pay, but in North China salaries are at a higher level than at home and a well educated, competent, trustworthy man, if a British subject, rarely expects less, for even a soldier appointed as a railway guard receives from £15 to £18 a month, and has free quarters at each end of his day’s run and free meals whilst on his train.

In the war area, at Yingkow for instance, within the Russian lines, although Newchwang is a treaty port, provisions and all necessaries were at war prices, owing to the Russians buying all they could secure for transmission to Liaoyang. The cost of living was double and treble that current at Tientsin and Chifu, or even the much nearer Shanhaikwan—all being outside the war area. Some correspondents—indeed most—received the salaries of correspondents at the theatre of war, usually upwards of £100 a month, whilst the representatives of American newspapers, weekly periodicals, and even monthly magazines, received very much more.

The American newspapers are sending out additional men for the approaching campaign, but judging from the results already obtained it would appear at first sight that for the accounts of events the public must depend upon the official telegrams and the reports given by the news agencies’ services. This should not be so. I have proved that the official notifications can be beaten in time to even such near points as the China Treaty ports, and official messages to America and Europe require so much longer for transmission that the difference in point of time would be even more appreciable.

It is pardonable of Admiral Sir J. C. D. Hay to congratulate the shareholders of Reuter’s Telegram Company on the valuable character of the company’s news, and to instance what it has achieved, but it must not be presumed that perfection has yet been reached. Mr. John Cowen, of the China Times, which throughout the war has had the best service of any paper, remarks that, “Sir John Hay might have added, if he had prophetic vision, that Reuter’s Agency would first record, as it did on June 23, the capture of Liaoyang by the Japanese (not taken until September 3); also that Kaiping has been captured three times by the Japanese according to the same authority. The fact remains however, that without such services we should be very badly off.”

The war correspondents who had been through several campaigns, well-known authorities such as Mr. Bennet Burleigh, Mr. E. F. Knight, Mr. George Lynch, Mr. Douglas Story and Mr. H. F. Wigham, are to be counted amongst the smartest and most enterprising Britons it has ever been my fortune to meet, and their inability to surpass their former achievements is due entirely to the official restrictions they had no choice but to accept. Amongst the Americans, Mr. J. Archibald, Mr. R. H. Little, and Mr. F. Palmer are in the fore front as news correspondents, and they have the knowledge, the abilities, and the energy requisite to keep there. Of the other men, it may be said that most were of more than average ability, though some could not ride, others not write, and one was unable even to distinguish between the national flags of France and Russia. They lacked most a competent knowledge of the technics of their profession. Even those who did send perfect messages probably had learnt the knack from practical study of the best cables arriving at their offices, and knew not why they were cast in a particular form. This was a point on which the representatives of American newspapers had full knowledge.

If the reader imagines that a correspondent having seen an engagement, rushes to a telegraph office, scribbles out an account and straightway hands it in for transmission, he is very much mistaken. The man who acted in that way would be beaten by the expert every time. Mr. Bennet Burleigh drafts his messages with the greatest care, and accurate and precise though he is, he never fails to revise in a quite wholesale fashion before dispatching what may appear to be only a hurried account after all. Dr. Morrison writes and rewrites, and revises and rewrites and weighs the value of every word—the use of the exact word characterizes his style—then when he is finished the draft is usually type-written by his secretary. Even then, by the time the Chinese telegraph operators have completed their work upon it, the message may be in such a state as to need its reconstruction almost before it is fit to be forwarded to the next relay station. Hours are often spent by competent correspondents in drafting even a moderately long telegram, and the time required to write a serviceable message a column in length is much more than proportionately greater. The longest message I wired was immediately after my return from Port Arthur, and it consisted of only two hundred words—many correspondents rarely send important news in any telegram of more that half that length.

Possibly one of the most interesting personalities in the journalistic world of to-day is that of Dr. G. E. Morrison, the Times correspondent at Peking. He is an Australian by birth and education, a doctor of medicine by profession, an investigator by nature and a diplomat by predilection. Every one knows that he was born at Geelong in 1862, that he has walked across Australia and China, practised medicine in Spain, and is fond of shooting. In appearance he is unlike the average North China resident, though he is of medium height and build, is clean shaven and wears his ashen grey hair cropped short. There is something distinguished about Dr. Morrison, something he does not derive from his immaculate attire, from the nabob stick with which he toys as he walks, or from the forward inclination of his head, characteristic of thinkers. Indeed his manner at first suggests the pedagogue, but when you see the man you know you have something more; you have a man who can and does think for himself, a man who can scheme, and with dogged pertinacity peg away until that upon what he has set his heart upon having is obtained. He is hard as a Manitoba winter; a man of resolution and of power, a man devoted to an idea, or a principle, or a rule of life; a man who will go long lengths to gain a point, who will find out means with which to accomplish his self-set task, who will get at the right people and use them; a man who is unlikely to be generally loved, but may be esteemed, and cannot but be admired for what he is; a man who may not possess many real friends, but is certain to have enemies, and himself be an implacable foe. Though he has a nature which certainly is not running over with sweetness, there is probably no one in China for whom British residents there have more genuine respect, or one whom they understand so little. Dr. Morrison delights to puzzle the ordinary person, so that by some his commonest talk is regarded as a cryptic utterance, to be treasured and studied lest its true inner meaning escape observation. He is not a sinologue and has only a nodding acquaintance with Chinese, but is better informed than most people, has a trained power of observation and the gift of insight. Accustomed also to think, and being of a contemplative temperament, he reads signs which are to others without significance, so is able to surprise them, and cause them to ask of each other what it is he means. He is credited with having had a share in the work of bringing about the Anglo-Japanese alliance, and throughout the Far East the present hostilities are known as “Morrison’s War.” He cannot be said to be popular at Peking, and his visits to the Legations are so quickly followed by matters of moment, that he is regarded there as a very harbinger of unrest.

Dr. Morrison lives alone in a large, rambling, quaint Chinese house situated off the great boulevard and about midway between the east wall of the Forbidden City and the Telegraph Office. As do all the houses in Peking, his home faces south, and occupies the greater portion of a small and cheerless compound. There is a little room at the extremity of the west wing which serves as a study. In the main building there is a dining-room hung with Chinese built-up pictures, and crowded with curios and black-wood furniture. The larger part of the ground floor is devoted to his library, which is one of the finest collections of books on China in private hands. There are books on shelves, books in cases, books covered up, and books loose; there are rows and rows of books, and book tables and indexes and library fittings without end. Never until amongst them did I realize how cold, cheerless, and uninviting too many books render a dwelling house, how completely they destroy its homeliness. A near neighbour of Dr. Morrison, who is also a literary man living in a Chinese house, has improvised from even less promising media originally, a home suggesting cosiness, luxury, and real loveliness. The difference is that he has books everywhere in his home, whilst the other cannot find his home for the books. But books are to Dr. Morrison merely tools; he is not inordinately proud of his library; still less does he love it; but is full of regard for it as the means to an end.

Dr. Morrison speaks rapidly, using short words and somewhat long sentences, and there is an evenness in the tone of his voice which betrays that sentiment is lacking in his temperament. His address is somewhat stiff, but his phrases are never without point, and have the saving grace of being pertinent. I met him one day unexpectedly as he stepped from the train at Yingkow, and this was his salutation: “Hallo, Greener, what are these Cossacks doing here? How many are there of them? How’re you?”

People think that Dr. Morrison takes himself too seriously, and is too devoted to his work—it is that for which he lives—but none doubt his sincerity, and all admire his patriotism, which is deep, genuine, and predominant. The one trait in his character which makes him close kin with all is his sincere and undisguised liking for young children. The infants of his serving-men run loose about his rooms and are sure that he will pet them. Occasionally he will treat himself to real entertainment. He gives a children’s party, to which all are welcome. The courtyard is roofed over with sun-mats; there are flowers and sweets, music and games, jugglers, conjurers, tumblers and tricksters, and not one of the merry party enjoys the romp more than does the staid journalist who thus momentarily forgets his cares, his Chinese pictures, his curios, and even himself—a mandarin entitled to have twelve bearers for his chair and several clangs on the gong at the entrance gate.

CHAPTER II
Russia and Manchuria before the War

The year 1903, whether reckoned by the Julian or by the Gregorian calendar, was ended before Russia realized that war was the only possible outcome of her protracted negotiations with Japan. It is the practice of diplomats to dissemble, and Russian statesmen, if they knew what the issue must be—and in my opinion very few of them even suspected war—hid it successfully from the Russian people. The Russian peasant neither knows nor is wanted to know anything of world politics or to take any interest in them; the military and civil officials have no voice in the direction of the foreign policy of their country and scarcely possess an opinion on the subject; Russian journalists are expected to express such declarations only as are indicated by official communications. The only articulate class, the only people in Russia who reflect the impressions produced by the absorption of news current in the world, is formed of those engaged in commercial and industrial pursuits. They are aware of the movements of the peace-barometer. To them the fluctuations in the stock markets, abroad and at home, showed the importance foreign speculators attached to the negotiations proceeding between Russia and Japan, but even the value of this indication was discredited by the great confidence the Russian merchant had in the ability of Russian statesmen to arrange with Japan, avert an immediate crisis, and force the issue at a season Russia would find favourable for war.

In European Russia I met no one who wanted war; many who were opposed to it. The merchants and manufacturers had Manchuria as a free market for their goods; imports from Japan into Manchuria, like all sea-borne goods, were taxed, and high duties were imposed on foreign goods brought into Siberian markets by way of the Manchurian ports and railways.

The state of affairs in the Far East was the chief, if not the only, topic of conversation. Moscow residents agreed that attention was riveted upon Manchuria, and they inferred that the trans-Siberian express trains were crowded with naval and military officers. They argued that although four trains ran every week, the three controlled by the State would doubtless be monopolized for Government servants, and that my best chance would be by the train of the International Sleeping-Car Company. I determined to leave Moscow by the first train, one of the State expresses. At the office of the Sleeping-Car Company I was informed that all trains were very full, and at the town office of the State Railways I was told the same, and that I could not book then by the next train, but might be able to do so at the station. I sent a messenger from the hotel to buy a through ticket at once, and he obtained it without difficulty. It will scarcely be believed that I was the only passenger going through to the Far East. A Jew merchant of Harbin was my only companion for days. He was utilizing the Christmas holidays to make his return journey, and had with him many of his purchases in Moscow, for he told me that although one should make the journey in less than a fortnight, the time required for the conveyance of goods was from four to five months, the average speed being less than 120 miles a day—about five miles an hour. The third day we were alone I called his attention to the fact that on the train and engines there were upwards of twenty-five men all engaged in running the train; that at great expense and with special effort the scheduled time was being kept—for one Englishman and one Jew! We represented the two races the Russian Government likes least; but for us the train would have been absolutely empty.

I have crossed Siberia by railway three times, each at a different season of the year, and not once without encountering a delay through some breakdown. On this occasion we had a broken rail, which made us nine hours late at Irkutsk; another in Trans-Baikalia, which delayed us hours before reaching the Manchurian frontier, and on the Eastern Chinese line, a military train ahead ran off the rails, blocked the line all day, and caused us to be twelve hours behind time again at Harbin.

The line is maintained regardless of cost, and allowance must be made for the many difficulties to be overcome. It is true that there is no need for so many miles of snow-sheds as the Canadian Pacific railway has found necessary, but for thousands of versts across the steppes snow-screens have to be set up parallel to the track, to keep the snow from drifting over the permanent way and blocking the line. In spring and autumn there are heavy floods, and not infrequently a “wash-out,” in summer the unballasted track is blown away from the sleepers and must be constantly renewed. In winter everywhere, and in summer on many sections, the supply of water is kept up at great expense, and a drought would threaten the running of extra traffic.

Two engines are required on heavy grades, and special twenty-wheel locomotives are used on the hilly sections. Hot water is kept night and day at most stations, and the trains suffer severely from the inclement weather. The double windows are permanently frosted; often the vestibule doors become fast, great patches of frozen snow adhere to the roofs, the sides and panels are hidden under a thick white hoar, and long streaming icicles hang from the roof to the bogie truck where the water from the tank for the heating apparatus in each carriage has splashed over during the day’s run. At every large station there is a special gang of attendants, who attack the train vigorously on its arrival; they use hammers and crow-bars, iron rods heated red, long flaming torches, scalding water, and even light fires of shavings under the carriages to free the breaks, and little by little thaw out the working parts of the frost-bound train, wringing, as it were, tears of anguish from the cold-hearted monster that has crossed the bleak plateaux of Siberia in winter.

The Baikal ferry was presumed to be the weakest link in the through chain of railway communication. At this date both of the ice-breakers were running daily, but were needing their periodical overhauling in dock. The larger steamer was capable of putting seven trains, or seven thousand men, across the lake every two days. The Angara could be counted upon to ferry across five hundred men every day. If goods were taken instead of troops, there would be an appreciable lessening of the number of voyages owing to the delay in loading and discharging. The Baikal can accommodate on deck twenty-four loaded trucks, or covered vans, and as these are simply run on board and off again on to the rails, a complete train can have quick despatch.

The ice was over three feet in thickness, but the Angara, much the smaller of the two steamers, not only crossed in good time, but on several occasions went out of the track, and cut a new road through the solid virgin ice of the lake.

In order to continue the traffic without interruption whilst the steamers were laid up, a horse ferry had been organized, and the contractors had undertaken to convey across the lake on sledges at least 750 tons of goods daily.

The railway across the lake was from the first fraught with danger owing to the enormous cracks always found in the lake-ice. The railway round the lake was being constructed with great speed, and would be ready for traffic early in 1905; but it has already been opened.

I am still of the opinion that the Trans-Siberian State Express trains afford the most comfortable railway travelling in the world. The cars are as luxurious but not so sumptuous as the Pullman Palace cars of America. They are wider, and give more accommodation; and as the trains are run solid through from Moscow to Irkutsk, meals are provided at every hour of the day, and it is not necessary to breakfast before seven one morning and after nine the next, as sometimes happens on the American through trans-continental routes. The piano in the saloon is a welcome addition; the exercising apparatus is useful, and the bath a convenience. The observation car was not much frequented in winter, and the raison d’être of the photographer’s dark room, with its dishes and trays, has departed, now that all photographing along the route is strictly prohibited.

Siberia is little altered the last three years; but in Manchuria there have been notable changes. The border-town of Manchuria, five miles east of the frontier, has been created by the railway. It possesses not only some fine brick buildings but a great market, intended for dealings with the Mongols in the produce of the great plains. The whole district is marked out into lots, like a new town that is booming in the west of America, and in addition there is a detached native town already inhabited.

The agricultural settlements of western Manchuria have developed rapidly, and appear to be thriving. They have also increased in number. It is interesting to note that Manchuria was exploited under the direction of General Grodekov, formerly administrator of Tashkand district, and the same method of founding Russian colonies was followed in Manchuria. Russian subjects obtain free grants of agricultural land, and, in some instances, of town lots. Elsewhere the Russian Government is obtaining high prices for building-sites in towns, and everywhere high rents to occupiers are the rule. In western Manchuria the tenure of land by the nomad tribes of Mongol graziers is of the slightest, and at present they seem to benefit by relinquishing the land in exchange for the better market the Russian settlements supply. In central Asia the landowners dispossessed of their domains by the Russian settlers made certain charges against the governor, and forwarded them to St. Petersburg. The charges were neither examined nor entertained; the villagers were punished and the governor promoted to a better post under the Crown.

Throughout Manchuria the Eastern Chinese Railway, following the lead of the Russo-Chinese bank and of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, has undertaken other work than transporting passengers and goods; through it the Russian Government has been exploiting the territory, trading, and deriving revenue from the direct development of the natural resources of the country.

Another change is the increase of military establishments along the railway route. The greatest is at Fu-li-ahdé, where the line crosses the Nonni, below Tsitsikar. Here the Russians have large barracks, extensive fortifications and a military colony. Everywhere, too, block-houses were in course of erection. The intention was to have them all along the route within three miles of each other. Up to the present time those finished are closest together between Pogranichnaya and Harbin, and on the branch line between Harbin and Port Arthur. The first to be erected were near large native towns, but the chain is almost complete now. They are of one type: a two-storied building, capable of accommodating a hundred men.

A compound is surrounded by a high wall, with two round towers, looped for musketry, diagonally opposite each other, and so commanding all four walls of the quadrangle. Another point: there are two qualities of brick in common use throughout Manchuria, red and blue, the blue being the more durable. The station buildings are mostly of red brick, the military quarters and block-houses mostly of the blue variety. Stone is freely used in districts where it is easily obtainable in quantities suited to building purposes.

Harbin has grown almost beyond recognition. Old Harbin, still the administrative and military centre, has changed but little, and is, if possible, rowdier and more blatantly banal than formerly; but the New Town, China Town, Lower Harbin, the Sungari Pristan, and the Middle Town, now contain massed buildings of fine proportions, where but four years ago, there was only an uncultivated plain, and all indicate the growing wealth and increased trade of the commercial capital of the new Manchuria.

In this district many square miles of arable land are under cultivation, and the wheat grown is milled in the vicinity. So enormous is the supply that I met an agent travelling to Singapore and India, in the hope of finding there a market for some of the surplus from the Harbin district.

As the 1904 crops have been properly harvested, and by this date probably are milled also, the Russian army in Manchuria ought not next year to be short of its staple food. The wealth derived at little cost of labour from the land is so enormous that the inhabitants are already comparatively rich. Prices are high. My travelling companion, the Jew merchant, informed me that he could journey to Moscow, buy what be needed there at retail prices in the shops, take them to Harbin, and not only defray the cost of his journey from the profits, but secure a satisfactory surplus.

Journeying farther east improvements are visible all along the route. The Southern Ussuri district of the Primorski territory has been developed. Nikolskoe has become an important military centre. Barracks to accommodate 20,000 men are in course of construction, and more land has been brought under cultivation. Vladivostok has grown and improved; it possesses a new cathedral, many new government buildings, three theatres and several additions to its business streets. Additional barracks have also been erected at Vladivostok, and its importance has increased rather than diminished since it ceased to be a free port.

There is no lack of amusement, gaiety, and “life” at Vladivostok, but the port has an appreciable commerce which gives it staidness and stability. It is not entirely a naval station as Port Arthur was, nor so absolutely in the hands of the naval and military commandants. It has a severe climate; in January it was painfully cold and out of doors life scarcely enjoyable. The harbour was frozen over solid, with the exception of the track kept open by the daily voyages of the Danish ice-breaker, Nadejni. The Rossia, Rurik, and Gromoboi, lay alongside the ice, gangways from the ships’ sides giving access thereto. The Cardiff steam coal from the British colliers, then discharging in port, was being carted across the ice to the cruisers.

The defences of the fortress had not been materially strengthened. Several new batteries had been prepared, for the most part on the land side, and they face the east, but the guns for them were lying at the harbour level, and those in the new forts were not mounted. On board the men-of-war, even in the dockyards, and on shore there was a general slackness. In the depth of winter, Vladivostok is not one of the busiest ports in the world. New Year festivities rather than war were uppermost in the minds of the society people to whom the existence of forts and batteries assured security apart from the apparently impenetrable barrier of the ice-girt coast. I learned that Vladivostok had not in hand at that time sufficient supplies to feed the garrison and inhabitants for a fortnight. They were dependent upon the stores and granaries in the neighbourhood of Nikolskoe, four to five hours distant by railway. In short, the defences of the place were so incomplete, and its resources so shallow, that I quite believed a Japanese Intelligence officer when he told me they could capture the port in a week.

The Russian military authorities were so slack and so confident in the strength of their fortress that when a Japanese squadron made a surprise visit in March, the guns still lay at the foot of the new forts, batteries were unmanned, and thus but a very feeble reply could be made to the Japanese bombardment, which, fortunately for Vladivostok, was not heavy, and damaged principally the Linevich fort.

Harbin is one of the coldest towns in Manchuria, and there the snow lies deep for months. Port Arthur is 607 miles to the south by railway, and in a different climate. The line crosses the Sungari for the second time at Da-la-Chiao, about seventy miles from the great bridge at Harbin. Tehling is forty miles north of Mukden; the Chinese town of 10,000 inhabitants is some miles from the railway station and Russian settlement, for in almost every instance the line has been constructed through unoccupied, but not uncultivated, country on the flat plain west of the hill range. Fengtien province is densely populated, and the flat land is carefully tilled by the industrious, thrifty Chinese. There is little snow, and it lies but a short time on the plains, where all through the winter the winds raise great clouds of dust from the village roads thronged with carts hauling produce to the railway stations and ports. The hills and the hill passes hold the snow, and a winter campaign there would entail many hardships, but on the plain, in the cold bracing air with a frozen surface giving a passable road everywhere, fighting might be continued with fewer delays from climatic changes than in the summer season with its frequent heavy rains.

The south and west gates of Mukden are only about two miles from the railway station and barracks; the Imperial Tombs are between the city and the line, although the latter now runs direct, the détour originally constructed having been abandoned since 1901.

Mukden, 275 miles from Port Arthur, is a quadrangular city, about four square miles in extent. The outer wall is of mud, the middle wall of earth faced with brick, and fifty feet in height; the inner wall has red gates and corresponds to the Forbidden City of Peking, being the administrative and executive centre with the old Royal Palace, the residence of the Tartar General and that of the Russian Commissary. The town is more generally and more densely populated than is Peking and its inhabitants must number nearly a million. There is, or was, a Russian hotel and restaurant in the town, having four small and very dirty, ill-furnished rooms for travellers. The Chinese inns were better, and the Green Dragon near the East Gate became the headquarters of the newspaper correspondents. The mission stations are near the Bund, on the Hun-khé river, and, as elsewhere in China, are the finest residences in the town. The Russians never maintained a large garrison within the town, but had sentries and guards at each gate and at the Russian establishments, with Cossack and infantry patrols of the streets. The gates were closed at sundown.

A few miles south of Mukden the railway crosses the Sakhé river; next the colliery district of Yentai is reached, and, further south, the station of Liaoyang. The capital of ancient Korea and one of the most picturesque walled cities of North China, is a few versts east of the railway. Haicheng, is a celebrated mission station further south. Tashichiao, where a branch line leads to Newchwang, is 106 miles south of Mukden, and 168 miles north of Port Arthur.

Kinchow is on the north-west of the narrow isthmus which connects the Kwan-tung peninsula with the mainland. The line runs first near the east, then along the western shore; from the train both shores could be seen fringed with ice, in some places a band only a few hundred yards in width, in others stretching out to sea apparently for miles. Here and there were rugged hills, their tops white-crowned and the higher reaches of the ravines blocked with ice and snow. These ravines, widened and worn by flood waters, constitute deep, crooked gullies traversing all the flat land between the hill sides, and the sea, affording excellent shelter for infantry and rendering the use of cavalry almost impossible.

At Nangalin the line branches, running eastward to Dalny, and winding south, and westwards through intermittent cultivation, to the rocky promontory on which Port Arthur lies. The line runs right through to the water-front, opposite the Tiger’s Tail, and to the west of Signal Hill, and east of the New Town. No station has yet been constructed; temporary sheds afford some slight shelter for passengers and goods. Such is the real terminus of the great Trans-Continental railway system.

All along the route the people most concerned in the political disagreement between Russia and Japan were the trading classes. They feared war, for war would interfere with commerce and might mean financial ruin to them. They, almost to a man, expressed themselves as opposed to the forward policy of Russia. The newer settlers professed to have little fear of the industrial competition of the yellow races; but the older settlers in eastern Siberia still cling to the earlier policy, which had for its object the ousting of Chinese, Koreans and Japanese from the territories more recently occupied by Russia. Few could comprehend the Anglo-Japanese alliance, and all accepted it as a purely political combination effected by England in order to thwart the plans of Russia in the Far East, and consequently evidence of the inborn hostility of the Briton to Russia. One merchant, an ardent admirer of Leo Tolstoy’s teaching, asked me how it was that the English people had such an inveterate hatred of Russians. I explained to him that there was no ill feeling existent against the Russian people, only against the policy of the Russian Government, and therefore against the Russian soldiers, who were the tools used in making the policy effectual. “Ah,” said he, “the soldiers? They are a different people.” In Russia, more than in any country, there is a detachment of the people from the army, and from the executive government it represents. People were anxious to explain that they disassociated themselves completely from everything the Government was doing by its executive officials, the servants of the Crown.

The army officers believed war to be imminent; they knew of no way in which it could be averted with honour to Russia. They thought a winter campaign would be most advantageous to them, whilst declaring that a spring campaign was more probable.

In Port Arthur every one expected war. If they knew it from no other event, the crowd of newspaper war correspondents from England and the United States must have indicated by their very presence in the port that an appeal to arms was foreseen abroad. Withal, the Russians pursued their fatuous policy, and even so late as the last week of January dispatched from Port Arthur a regiment of Cossacks and two regiments of infantry to the interior, thus strengthening the force threatening Korea.

It was at this period that I went on board one of the finest battleships in the harbour and conversed with one of the officers of the fleet on the probability of war. In his opinion war would be avoided; but after some argument, he admitted that war was possible. “But we will not fight,” he added significantly. I was so astonished at this remarkable assertion, that I asked him if he did not mean that Russia would not make war. “I mean we, the navy, will not fight,” he repeated. “Of course, as you say, the Japanese may make war; I may be killed even, but we will not fight.” He spake calmly, even sadly, and soon brought the conversation politely to a termination. As events proved, the officer was right, and particularly right with regard to that ship, which of all the fleet was probably poorest in defence, and never once attacked.

The Russian military authorities knew that war threatened, and made such preparations as they could in anticipation of an early outbreak of hostilities. If men and stores in excess of usual movements had been directed towards Manchuria, the act would have been construed by the Japanese as indicating a hostile intent, and of itself would have constituted a casus belli. To increase very materially the military force at the disposal of the Viceroy would have incommoded him seriously in dealing with the Japanese contentions. War could have been diverted, or at least delayed, if Russia had promptly abandoned her aggressive policy in the Far East, if only for a time. As it was the “Forward” party had attempted too much on the slight military resources at their disposal in Manchuria.

Opinions differ as to the number of troops east of Lake Baikal in January last. From information I obtained, the Russians had increased their force during the autumn of 1903 by about 50,000 men; they had in Manchuria and eastern Siberia, in the month of January, about 200,000 men, which force was being increased by new arrivals to the average number of 400 men every day. This force was distributed as follows:—

In Port Arthur | 20,000
Outside Port Arthur: Inchentse, Nangalin, etc. | 5,000
At Dalny and Talienwan | 6,000
At Feng-Huang-Cheng | 1,250
At Antung-Hsun | 500
At or near Kaichiao, etc. | 300
At Waffientien, Kinchow, Tashichiao, and Yingkow | 1,000
On the Yalu River | 5,000
At Haicheng | 3,000
At and near Liaoyang | 4,000
Along the Peking Road to the Yalu | 8,000
At Mukden | 600
At and near Tehling and vicinity of Mukden | 3,000
At Kuan Chentse and Kirin | 2,500
At Vladivostok | 12,000
At Nikolskoe, Spasskaya, etc. | 6,000
In Eastern Siberia, N.W. of Vladivostok | 8,000
At Harbin | 4,000
At Fu-li-ahdé | 1,000
At Blagoveshchensk, Stretensk and Chita | 8,000
Railway Guards | 70,000
Reserves in camp | 31,000
En route | 2,000
Total force | 202,150

The Railway Guards include the riflemen who accompanied each train; the patrol for about 1,400 miles of railway line; the garrisons of the block-houses at each tenth verst; and the details posted at every railway station and siding. The number is probably understated. At the commencement of the war the patrols were doubled and the number of guards was increased.

Russian military opinion seemed to indicate that the garrisons in Manchuria were sufficient for defensive purposes. The troops were being advanced towards the Yalu, that is to say, the Korean frontier, and the largest offensive force was being concentrated in Fengtien Province along the old Peking highway from Liaoyang to the mountain passes on the Manchurian side of the Yalu; thither munitions and stores were being conveyed all through the winter, averaging in January about 700 tons a day.

The Russian authorities grossly underrated the strength of their enemy. Not only the civilians, but the military and naval officers, were confident that Russia would win, and win easily. The Russians had a supreme contempt for the “yellow monkeys,” and only officers of the highest rank regarded the coming conflict as anything more serious than a “walk over” for Russia. Even in the Far East, the tone was buoyant; people were in high spirits, they spake in glad tones of war, business was brisk, and about everything there was the true ring of self-confidence, come what might.

CHAPTER III
Life at Port Arthur

As every one knows, Port Arthur was named after H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught. It consists of a small land-locked harbour, surrounded by hills, and runs north and south, at the extremity of the Kwan-tung Peninsula. It is entered from the east, between Golden Hill on the north and Weiyuen Hill tapering to the sandspit on which is the Tiger’s Tail fort to the south. Directly opposite the entrance is Signal Hill, formerly known as Quail Hill, a comparatively low bluff which divides the new from the old towns. On entering the harbour, to the right are, first, the Admiralty depôts, dock-basin, and dockyard, sheltered from the sea front east by the lofty Golden Hill and loftier Huang-chin, with the heaviest batteries of the fortress; next, the Bund, or water-front, and the commercial quarter; beyond, the old administrative quarter adjoins Signal Hill. On the left is the Tiger’s Tail, behind which are coal stores, and moorings for the torpedo-boat flotilla. The deep water of the harbour is between Signal Hill and the Tiger’s Tail, extending but a short distance to the south, the great sheet of water in that direction being little more than a mud flat, which in winter is covered with ice, and once had an outlet to the sea between Ching-tan Fort and Liaotishan—an egress long since silted up with the débris carried down from the hills by the mountain torrents during the spring floods.

The New Town is situated south of Signal Hill, on a plateau rising to the south and west. A magnificent city had been planned, a town on a grand scale, with long avenues, broad streets and fine vistas. A lofty and commodious Administration building had been erected, the Viceroy’s Palace was building; there was a colossal hotel—finished but never opened—a restaurant, hotel, theatre, various places of public entertainment, some naval and military barracks, many villas, and at least one large retail store. Not one-fifth of this town had been constructed when the war began; hundreds of buildings were being erected.

The Old Town lies behind the Bund, also on rising ground, on the north of which was a great quarry, and north of that the old Chinese town, the Chinese citadel, the market and the parade ground. On the east side of this hill, behind the Admiralty docks, were the old cathedral and the Viceroy’s Lodge; farther to the north-east lies the large freshwater lake, the overflow from which runs through the Admiralty docks into the harbour. On the west side of this hill there is another stream, and the commercial quarter extended along its banks. The new China town is on the north-east of Signal Hill, and the railway terminus on the south.

Around the towns were hill forts; in some places north of the town three lines of elaborately wrought defences. In the old town there was a military road leading to the battery and the hill forts, which served also to connect some of the barracks and stores lying north of the Viceroy’s quarters. With the exception of this road and the Bund, the old town did not possess any properly made thoroughfares. There was no real street or good roadway anywhere in the town; the tracks, unless frozen hard, which was unusual, were just troughs of mud through which horses splashed, and jinrickshas were forced by two men. The soil dries rapidly, there is generally a breeze, and dust clouds are common in summer and winter.

Most of the buildings in the Old Town were mean—little better than Chinese dwellings. The greater part of old China town had already been demolished, and it was intended, as the Admiralty works were extended, to absorb the site of the Old Town for government purposes. When war commenced, the Old Town consisted of bungalows, hastily built one-storied houses, go-downs, extemporized stores, and Chinese buildings and houses.

The old towns were sombre, dirty and inconvenient. The houses lacked style, the dwellings the ordinary conveniences of a modern abode. Excepting the Viceregal Lodge and the Naval Club there were no buildings possessing any pretensions to sumptuousness in their decorations or furniture; it may be stated without exaggeration that three-fourths of the houses were unfit to live in, and the remainder were made habitable by the genius and unceasing vigilance of the tenants.

The buildings, called hotels, available for travellers were as primitive as Siberian inns. Nikobadze’s in the New Town consisted of a series of half a dozen cottages, with small suites of rooms let out to residents; in the Old Town of a couple of rows of cubicles in a dingy Chinese house, which were also occupied by residents, but occasionally a furnished room was to be had there. The hotel of the town was Efimoff’s, a one-storied quadrangular building of about twenty-four rooms, of which more than half looked into a courtyard, filled with old packing-cases and miscellaneous effects. Each room was about ten feet by eight; the furniture consisted of a truckle or camp bedstead—no bedding—a small deal table covered with a dirty cloth, and a chair of bent-wood. An old packing case on end, with the lid hinged, formed the washstand; there was a small enamelled basin, a jug of water occasionally, an old petroleum tin served the double purpose of a slop-pail, and the ewer for fresh water. There was no mirror, no picture, rarely an ikon in the sacred corner, and a few wire nails knocked into the whitewashed wall constituted clothes-stand and hat-pegs. The door fastened with a hasp and padlock outside. Upon extra payment one might obtain the loan of a pillow, bed linen and a dirty coverlet. If the occupant wanted anything, he went into the corridor and shouted “Boika,” and in the fulness of time a Chinese coolie, speaking pidgin Russian, would call upon the ‘number,’ and, for an inducement, supply hot water, or a tumbler of weak and very greasy tea. The rent was three roubles a day, and, in peace time even, it was a combination of favour and luck which secured for the stranger this inadequate accommodation. There were other houses, known as hotels, ‘numbers,’ and furnished rooms, which provided superior accommodation at the same price, and there were houses which catered for travellers and new-comers by granting lodging at extortionate prices, fixed by the owners’ judgment of his guests’ ability to pay. Usually therefore European tourists made a short stay at Port Arthur, and business men most frequently resided in the private houses of their friends.

The chief restaurant was Nikobadze’s in the New Town, where excellent meals were served at moderate prices, and the furniture, decorations, and appointments were clean. At the restaurant in the Old Town there was scanty accommodation, inferior cooking, and less appetizing food. The commercial restaurant, much frequented by naval officers, was the Saratov, on the Bund, rough, ready, thoroughly Russian and the only establishment of its kind. There was no café; the only liquor shops were used solely by the nijni chin—soldiers, sailors, and dock hands—so but for private hospitality the stranger would have found time drag heavily during the long hours between meals.

The places of amusement were more numerous, but not entertaining. The circus, a permanent show, was the chief attraction. At the Chinese theatre there were performances in Russian occasionally; the music-halls, variety shows, tingle-tangles, and sailors’ grog shops were always open. Bands played most evenings during the summer; in winter there was an ice-rink, frequented chiefly by foreigners, and Port Arthur through their enterprise had its race meeting also. As there were few such societies as one finds in Siberian towns, life at Port Arthur would have been insufferably dull but for the lavish private entertainments by the inhabitants.

Russian residents, without exception, were very fond of Port Arthur, and all Russians, and many foreigners, regard the place with affection. It was symbolic of Russian expansion, of Russian dominion of the Pacific. The navy revered it; it was their only ice-free port: the soldiers were proud of it; as an impregnable fortress it appealed to their sense of power—and the Russian army officer is always conscious of the military might of the empire. Notwithstanding its violent wind-storms, its bleakness, cheerlessness, its dusty streets, dingy houses, and the rugged barren aspect of its hill-fortresses, Port Arthur was endurable—many found a sojourn there agreeable. All classes preferred Port Arthur to any other spot in Russian Asia.

The life there resembled that of Vladivostok, but had greater gaiety, and more noise. A more equable climate permitted of the round of social pleasures being continued more comfortably throughout the four seasons. Life at Port Arthur combined the lavish hospitality, generous toleration and practical bon-homie of Russian custom with the luxury, freedom, and pervading spirit of ease which characterize the orient. It was not Russian life run to riot, as some imagine; nor yet was it purely a combination of Russian and Chinese elements acting and re-acting upon each other. There was a little that was truly cosmopolitan about life in Port Arthur, and the asperities of Russian autocratic rule were tempered by the indomitable insouciance of the former residents in China treaty ports. There were many British subjects and American citizens at Port Arthur, whose ideas of making the best of this life were borrowed from the fashionable monde of Shanghai. They expected the conveniences of life; they wanted ease and pleasure, and time in which to enjoy both. Shanghai is the wonder of the world, and the admiration of every Russian who has travelled the orient. Russians were ready to copy the methods of those who had taken any part in building up or maintaining that great settlement of the British on alien soil, and the Shanghailanders quickly adapted themselves to the peculiarities of the Russian state metropolis, and their influence was soon manifested. These privileged settlers had a unique position, and enjoyed a certain social status pleasing to themselves. So much depended upon the individual. For instance, there was a half-caste, a British subject born in Shanghai, merely a book-keeper in a trading firm, but he kept his race ponies, got into the best social set, and was invited by the Viceroy to ordinary receptions and functions at the Government House. His principals were not; they never could understand why he should be preferred over them. It was merely because he knew better than they did how to ingratiate himself with Russian officials, and Russians are as dead as are the British to racial distinctions. A full-blooded negro, a Chinaman, or any other non-Caucasian would be welcomed as an equal in social intercourse so long as he possessed the instincts of a gentleman and behaved as became a guest in the company with which he mixed. The wonderfully select Naval Club, the rendezvous of the élite, had a Jew book-keeper amongst its members.

So the foreigners were making themselves felt, and were esteemed, not only for their personal worth, but because of the luxuries, the notions, and the manner of life they introduced.

The government of Port Arthur was such as told in their favour, for it was a too much governed place, with a somewhat lax executive. First, stood H. E. the Viceroy, personal representative of the Tsar, a privileged person, possessing almost autocratic power, but never accused of being a despot. An admiral, he thought first of the port, and was anxious to foster its interests, and zealous for its aggrandisement. He wanted a larger harbour, more docks, a better equipped naval station. These views naturally commended themselves to the commercial residents, each of whom benefited by the increased expenditure of government money in and about the town. Then there was the Port Admiral, an energetic and capable seconder of the Viceroy’s views. The Admiral of the Fleet was in a position of power and authority, so was the Commandant, and the Mayor, and the Chief of Police. A Russian subject, a direct employé of the government, might or might not be punished for an infraction of any rule or bye-law—it would depend largely upon his personal value in the position he filled. The commercial employé was in a better position. If a foreigner, although he had no consul to look to for protection, his employer would stand good for him in just so far as he was valuable to him, and the difficulty there would be experienced in obtaining some one else to do his work. The commercial man, whether contractor, caterer, or purveyor, might be, and generally was, of particular use to some one in one or other of the government departments. If the Police, or the Commandant, thought the town would be better for his absence, some port authority, perhaps, found him indispensable; and just as he was indispensable to the authorities, so were his employés indispensable to him. The entertainers and others trying to amuse the public had usually some influential friend who was ready to exert himself to protect them and their interests. Thus the police were always slow to take the initiative in any proceedings against a foreigner, and each authority was just as slow to instruct the police. There resulted a freedom and immunity from molestation probably unequalled in any Russian fortress.

With the personal appearance of Admiral Alexeiev the world is now familiar, and most people know a great deal concerning his character. He upheld the dignity of his position as Viceroy very successfully; to strangers he was invariably courteous, affable, and easy of approach. As an administrator he was not without faults, many traceable to his inordinate appreciation of the Russian navy and his determination to use that navy as the main factor in his policy of Russian expansion in the Far East. Years had steadied his impulsive temperament, but to the last he was subject to periodical fits of furious strenuosity, and at these times work in Port Arthur went ahead rapidly, only to slacken or stop as soon as the energy of the controller lessened, or his vigilance ceased. The Viceroy was popular with naval officers and the townsmen. The military officials did not appreciate his work, and often found it very difficult to work under him pleasantly. General Subotich, who succeeded General Grodekov as Governor-General of the Pri-Amurski Region, resigned immediately Admiral Alexeiev was appointed Viceroy. Incompatibility of methods was the real reason of this, but not every official had the courage of General Subotich, a man whose usefulness has been proved in Kouropatkin’s campaign.

Possibly the chief of the military forces at Port Arthur was worst placed with regard to the civilian population, for from the first there has been friction between the naval and military authorities. General Stoessel was generally disliked; he regarded Port Arthur as a fortress simply, not as a naval station even, and the civil and commercial circles were abhorrent to him. One day a half-caste, of quite different origin to the one already mentioned, had ridden down to the beach for a change of air and scene, when the General came up and wished to know what he was doing there. He answered that he came to look at the sea—for which he understood there was no charge made. The General said he was too near the forts, and the man retorted, that if the General wanted the whole place to himself he was welcome to it; then, to annoy the General still more, he called to the soldier who was leading his horse to and fro, “Fellow, bring me my horse!” Nothing irritated the General more than to have one of his soldiers ordered about by a civilian, and to hear him addressed as “fellow,” just as though he were a mujik, was still more galling. The General did nothing; he did not know whether the man belonged to the staff of a contractor, or perhaps to the Russo-Chinese Bank, and at any rate he must have been well protected to dare to be so impudent. The General changed all that when war broke out; he became a despot.

Once he struck an unsuspecting civilian across the face with his riding whip because the man had failed to recognize and salute him as he was riding through the town. Nor can it be said that General Stoessel was loved by his officers or their men. All dreaded him. Soldiers, seeing him approach, would turn up side streets, hide away behind go-downs, get anywhere out of his way. He careered through the town like a whirlwind, shouting, commanding, blustering. The sentries shook as he neared them. He would ask a soldier who he was, where he came from, when he joined the regiment, and if he saw nothing to complain of in the man’s appearance would command him to take off his boots there and then, so that he might inspect his foot-rags: if these were correct, as likely as not he would ask to see the extra pairs in the man’s kit—rarely indeed did a soldier so examined escape the interviewer without a punishment or a reprimand. It was said by many Russians that if war should come General Stoessel would be shot from behind by some of his own soldiers—so widely and so thoroughly was he hated. A strict disciplinarian, he regarded his men as so many fighting units whose duty it was in peace time to keep themselves in fighting trim; and in order that they might be found so when he should require them he did his best to keep them sufficiently fed, properly clothed, and in good health.

The conditions ruling in the port made his task hard, but he kept pounding away at rank and file. A man of excellent physique, fine courage and exuberant spirits himself, he thought every soldier ought to be as able and ready as he was himself to labour incessantly.

In ordinary times life at Port Arthur was different in degree, but not in kind, from that of the majority of garrison towns. Many exaggerated accounts have been circulated respecting the vices of its inhabitants, and the port has been represented as the modern equivalent of the cities of the plain, whereas of crime there was less than the average in other Russian ports, and the percentage of vicious and undesirable citizens not higher than at Vladivostok, or some other Pacific ports. Fast living and outrageous rowdyism were more noticeable, because confined to a small area. The garrison numbered about 20,000; add to this 5,000 for the onshore men of the fleet and the male civilians, and it will be apparent that females must have been comparatively few, and so were shown particular, even absurd attention. There was hardly a singer at a music-hall but received extravagant praise and had numerous admirers; a tight-rope dancer was equally certain of applause; and the officers, as all men of a class congregating together are prone to do, not infrequently were carried away by their enthusiasm and acted boisterously and foolishly. They were lavish with their money, particularly when amongst a gang of their equals in rank, and delighted in monopolizing attention, ‘closing the house,’ having a repetition of the performance for their own delectation, and in every way making themselves conspicuous by extravagant behaviour in public. All officers, whether on or off duty, wear their uniforms, therefore are constantly in evidence at music-halls, rollicking along the streets, or arguing when intoxicated before the public in a restaurant—glorying in doing the very obtrusive acts every British and American officer would be most careful to avoid when in uniform.

The ladies of Port Arthur were neither numerous nor much in evidence. The first woman to arrive at the port was the wife of the postmaster, and every Russian in the fortress went to the shore to greet her. The practice was kept up for a long time, but there were comparatively few present when the postmaster’s wife slipped away after the war had begun, for she was one of the first to leave. The first woman who died in Port Arthur, after the Russian occupation, was a Scotch adventuress named Dolly Andersen, who was cruelly done to death in the house of some Jews amongst whom she had fallen, long before any semblance of civil authority had been established. The women most conspicuous latterly were the large troupes of chorus girls brought in for the vaudeville halls, and these artistes were for the most part Jewesses from eastern Europe. No doubt the majority of the officials of all the services saw everything there was to be seen in the starai gorod and China Town too, but only a minority made a habit of riotous living. In Port Arthur, as elsewhere, the majority ordinarily went through their daily duties in humdrum fashion and occupied their leisure in following a simple hobby, visiting their friends, and waiting for the morrow. Very few took keen interest in their work; the really busy people were the commercial men, Russians, Jews, foreigners and Chinese—these men had no time to spare from the soul-engrossing game of money-making.

To me the officers and men of both services seemed decidedly apathetic, considering that almost everybody believed that war was probable, if not imminent, and that for weeks past Port Arthur had been visited continuously by special war correspondents from every country.

The Russians were insensible to the danger, but not because of their own preparedness to meet attack, for it cannot be said of them that they so conducted themselves in times of peace as to be ready for war if it came unexpectedly. On the contrary, they danced under the sword of Damocles, and set it swinging by sawing at the delicate thread by which it was suspended. And they are the more blameworthy inasmuch as Russia placed in their hands a trust they betrayed, unwittingly it is true, by their fatuous neglect. The handwriting was upon the wall, but they heeded it not, and, like their neighbours the Chinese, who threw up millions of hummocks to impress the foreign invaders with the vastness of their number and consequent invincibility, they relied upon the advertised strength and impregnability of their great fortress to ward off attack and secure for themselves immunity from danger. The authorities really believed that even if Japan did make war upon Russia, the great stronghold of Port Arthur would be one of the last places they would attempt to assault.

It would have been well for Russia had the authorities at Port Arthur inculcated the counsel given long ago by General Nogi, the man who was to carry the Sun-flag into their very midst. In that general’s opinion “the brilliant and faithful performances of a soldier on the battlefield are nothing but the blossoms and fruit of the work and training performed day by day in times of peace. The man whose life is in disorder during the days of peace would have a difficult task if he attempted to perform successfully and correctly the duties of a true soldier in the tumult of the battlefield.”

Russia is represented conventionally in pictorial art as a bear, but the figure of an ostrich would be more appropriate, for, like Russia, that has wings but cannot soar, only run, and like the ostrich Russia thinks by hiding danger from its sight it thereby secures safety.

By the end of the first week in February 1904 the relations between Russia and Japan were so strained that the official representatives of both countries left their posts. An act so indicative of danger as this has always been held to be, ought to have been received in Port Arthur either with gladness or with consternation. It was accepted by the officials with indifference: the public knew nothing until the Japanese came. Elsewhere such news would of itself be sufficient to cancel all private engagements made by members of the fighting services, but at Port Arthur so slight a matter would not warrant even the postponement of a social function. Monday, February 7, was the name-day of the Port Admiral’s wife and daughter. The invitations were out, the reception was given. Officers of all grades flocked to the residence from the forts and the ships. Those who had to make but a duty call, for the most part concluded the day by visiting some place of amusement. More intimate friends stayed to the reception. The social life of the port continued without a moment’s intermission. Midnight came, and shortly after midnight the foe attacked.

Even then Port Arthur was slow to exert itself. It did not realize the danger that threatened. Some naval officers on shore said, and believed, that the firing in the roadstead was because of ‘naval manœuvres.’ Harbour, forts and town, for an hour or more, were absolutely at the mercy of the enemy, but the enemy did not know.

The Russians had ignored sign after sign: the withdrawal of Ministers, the flight of the Japanese, the presence of the Japanese consul directing their embarkation, even the firing of their own guns against the invading enemy seemed insufficient to notify some officers that a state of war existed. That was just what could not be believed.

The foreign residents knew. At the sound of the first shot one woman jumped into a two-horse carriage and drove from the New Town right down to the beach, a distance of four miles, to make sure that the war she had been so long expecting had at last really commenced.

CHAPTER IV
War

Just before sundown on Saturday, February 5, I entered Mukden by the south gate, in a covered Peking cart drawn by three tired mules. That day I had travelled over forty miles across country, arriving by way of Ma-tsian-tsia, and it was my intention to remain in the city over Sunday and continue my journey towards Kirin as early in the week as circumstances allowed. I put up at the Russian guest-house—a dreary, dirty building. That same evening, tired though I was by the constant jolting of the springless vehicles in which I had been lying, sitting, squatting and tumbling—mostly tumbling—for fourteen consecutive hours, I started out to make inquiries as to the Russian troops quartered there and their exact location. I learned also that Mr. Bennet Burleigh and other war correspondents had been in the town very recently.

I noticed that the Sikh watchmen—and there were many of them in Mukden—invariably saluted me, although they never acknowledged any of the Russian civilians. As I was wearing Russian clothes, from fur cap to high boots and overshoes, and had on me enough Russian leather to proclaim my presence for half a li around, the Englishman must have been sticking out of me very prominently somewhere, or the Sikhs have a special faculty for recognizing people of the only race for which they have any regard.

That same evening the news of the departure of the Russian and Japanese Ministers had been sent to Manchuria, but no one in Mukden knew of it. The only news current of the world’s affairs was derived from Harbin and Port Arthur journals, neither of them well informed and both two days old by the time they reached Mukden.

The next morning I was astir early. I went through and round the town, interviewed British, American and foreign missionaries, all of whom, though they thought war probable, did not believe it to be imminent. Some had been warned by their consuls to send the women and children into China, and to be prepared for an outbreak of hostilities themselves. The news promulgated from the Russo-Chinese Bank was of a reassuring character: war, if war there should be, was still apparently for future months.

In the afternoon I visited the Russian settlement and the railway station, and saw the south-bound train pass through. On board there was a Japanese tradesman with his wife and family. That was the only disquieting indication I observed. Less than a fortnight before, when in Port Arthur, I recognized that the Japanese merchants were selling off their stocks at reduced prices and leaving the port—but there seemed no immediate hurry. This fresh evidence of the continuous withdrawal of the trading Japanese from Manchuria aroused my suspicions, and caused me to doubt whether it were wise just then to travel into the wilds of north-eastern Manchuria, where I should be cut off from all news for days and possibly weeks together, and leave Port Arthur uncovered, for I knew that no other Times correspondent was likely to be there for some time.

The evening I spent with one of the European staff of Messrs. Bush Brothers, of Newchwang, who was in Mukden on business, and would leave on the morrow. We had the usual Chinese dinner of chopped chicken and rice, sharks’ fins, sea-snails, giblets, frogs’ chitterlings, bean sprouts, sugar cane and monkey nuts. We talked of the probability of war, and of the Chinese of Fengtien province, who—according to my informant, and he of all men was most likely to know—showed no apprehension of war commencing at an early date, and were concerned chiefly with local happenings, such as Hunghus raids and highway robberies, the usual concomitants of commerce in that neighbourhood. He said nothing to alarm me, but before I reached my inn I had resolved to start on the morrow for Port Arthur instead of going in the directly opposite direction towards Kirin, as I had been ordered to do.

Next morning I sought everywhere for evidence which would be enough to convince any one that I was warranted in adopting the course I intended to pursue, but I found nothing. On Monday no news of a disquieting nature reached Mukden; there were no indications that the usual course of things would not continue always. The little world of Mukden, with its swarming population, its Russian Commissary and executive, its Tartar General and Russian garrison, was totally absorbed with its local affairs. There was no moving of troops, no indication of change.

I took the post-train south. On board were a missionary and his family returning to England at the end of his term; another missionary and his wife from the south on a social visit to Newchwang; the usual Russian officers and Russian immigrants; the wives and children of Russian officers stationed at Port Arthur, going thither to take up their residence; a sprinkling of adventurers; some local European and Chinese travellers, and two Japanese families on their way back to their own country. The passengers were such as one expected to meet, the same classes as had been represented on every post-train south for weeks past, and the train, like all trains in Manchuria, was crowded. Some were bound for Newchwang, more for Dalny, but most, as myself, were going through to Port Arthur.

About midnight all the British travellers but myself left the train at Tashichiao. The train rolled on slowly through the darkness; the Cossacks patrolled the line, the riflemen guards played cards; the soldiers and gendarmes at the small stations talked with the conductors and brakesmen; the passengers slept. War had already begun at Port Arthur, but none of us knew.

I was early astir, and at the first stop got off to take tea. The train was late—we had lost hours during the night. The day broke cold and clear. There was a brisk, biting wind, which now and again drove clouds of dust before it. First to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, the blue sea could be seen beyond the white fringe of ice which clung about the coast.

The train was late and I sought the cause. It was of little use asking an official, for Russian officials invariably say they know nothing, and as often as not they are right. There is a somewhat true story told of me in Manchuria, to the effect that one morning when I was standing on a railway platform, a traveller asked the station-master if that day there was an express train to Harbin, and he replied in the negative. Whereupon I interrupted, “Excuse me, but there is, and here it comes.” Then the express drew up at the station. As a matter of fact, as soon as I got into Manchuria, I secured a station-master’s time-table of all the trains running over the Eastern Chinese Railway. This gave the days and the time of all arrivals and departures; showed, not only the passenger service, but the connexions of military, freight and construction trains. It was easily understood by any one who could use a Bradshaw. From an American passenger who had come from Newchwang and joined the train at Tashichiao, I learned how much we were behind time there; from the brakesman I ascertained that there had not been a breakdown; there was nothing so severe in the weather that the train could have been delayed through its inclemency, consequently a freight train out of Port Arthur was the most probable cause of our slow running.

Of course, the freight train might have been delayed by one of hundreds of causes other than war, but it was of war, and war alone, that I was apprehensive. The American, who but on Monday evening had left Newchwang, where telegraphic news is received without intermission, informed me that there was no change in the political situation, but that he was sure there would not be war, because the Japanese were not ready, and the Russians did not want more trouble—there would be peace for years.

At the next station my suspicions were increased, for on the door of the booking office was a written notice stating that telegrams could not be accepted for transmission. The reason for this order was not stated. If it were due to the cutting of the wires by the enemy, war was meant—but it was improbable that the wires would have been cut both north and south of that station, and the same reason applied if there had been an accidental breakdown on the lines of communication. Moreover, the trains were running, and they are run on a telegraphic check system, so this proved that the wires were intact. It was clearly only a peremptory discontinuance of a public service, and due either to war, or to some calamity or occurrence which had necessitated the use of the public, the railway and the government wires for State messages.

I felt as certain that a state of war existed as I should have done had I heard the rifle bullets whizzing over my head and the booming of distant artillery.

The irony of the position was that although I was confident hostilities had commenced, I was precluded by the very order which had given me the news from sending out any information by telegram, and there was no train north until our own returned from Port Arthur.

My theory was confirmed soon afterwards by seeing a Russian military officer receive a telegram at the railway station. At Nangalin junction I should have to change trains, and, pre-supposing that a state of war already existed in the fortress of Port Arthur, it was unlikely that I should be allowed to continue my journey there if recognized as a foreigner, so I kept as much as possible to my compartment. But I need not have had any fear on that point. The news itself so astonished the officials, both railway and military, that they failed to act, and merely performed their routine work in a perfunctory manner. They neither thought nor realized in what way the outbreak of war affected the train and its passengers. Without definite instructions from some high authority, they would not act in any way different to their ordinary mode. No one took notice of anybody; women with babies, children, Japanese, were neither informed that war had begun, nor warned to remain outside the sphere of military operations, and all, at their ease and unsuspecting, ran right into the fortress during the bombardment.

My first verbal confirmation of the news I received from one of the Riflemen. Our carriage, like those of all the through trains on the Eastern Chinese Railway was constructed of armour-plate, and the internal fittings were so arranged that at short notice they could be differently fixed in order to convert the train into practically a covered and protected moving rifle-trench. The officer who had received the telegram was closeted with four others in one of the compartments, and suddenly came out, stared at the two Japanese at the other end of the corridor, shook his clenched fist at them, then went in, grasped hands with his brother officers, all talking very rapidly and together. A Rifleman came, hoping to borrow a light for his cigarette, but they had retired and drawn the door close. I tendered him a box of matches and asked him if there was any news. He informed me sotto voce that his captain had received a telegram to the effect that the Japanese had attacked the Russian fleet that morning, that three ships were struck by torpedoes and that one was already sunk. More he did not know.

Outside patches of snow covered the red-brown hills, and ice clung to the rugged sides of the gullies through which tiny streams still trickled. Slowly, very slowly, the train rolled into the station at Inchentze, and there waited long, but no one alighted, no one spoke of war, none who knew of it wished to turn back. Then the train started, crawling along the few versts of valley to the port, and everywhere watched—but without particular interest—by the Cossack sentries patrolling the track. At last the outskirts of the town came into view, to disappear again behind Signal Hill, and the passengers commenced to get their packages together as the train wound its way to the terminus on the harbour brink.

As we bustled about the corridor, reaching down bundles, and passing along bags to their owners, I overheard part of the conversation of the army officers: “It is war now;” “I’m glad of it;” “Da, I also,—we shall show them;” “They will be sorry;” “Certainly—they must be mad.” It was indeed a relief from the uncertainty that had prevailed for months. There was now a clear course open; no doubt as to the issue. But it was only a brief respite, the uncertainty of peace was soon succeeded by the more dreadful and paralyzing uncertainty as to which side would emerge victors after the conflict.

At the terminus a deathly stillness reigned in place of the usual clamour and turmoil which accompanied the arrival of the post-train. Slowly, more slowly than customary if that be possible, the train rolled to its point. The place was deserted. Not an official was to be seen. There were no carriages in waiting, no jinrickshas, not a porter, a gendarme, a policeman—not even a coolie! Far, far away behind, up at the cross-points, a solitary soldier stood sentinel with bayonet fixed, hugging himself in his great-coat and turning his back to the cold wind.

I hauled my baggage on to the platform. The American was the only passenger who followed me, the others stood huddled in the vestibules not knowing what to do, scarcely daring to move, and the army officers called half-heartedly for assistance. I went into the empty shelter, and crossed to the deserted station-buildings and buffet. Not a man, woman or child could I see. Then I went into the quarry, where a station site is being excavated, and from a cleft drew a Chinese gamin of the coolie class; making him shoulder my bags and walk before me, I wended my way into the town.

I have no recollection of passing or meeting any one en route. The road was deserted, so too were the quays, the steps to the railway buildings and the terraces on the cliffs. As we proceeded I heard the booming of guns and bursting of shells.

In the harbour some of the warships were snugly moored, a number of torpedo-boat destroyers lay alongside the wharves on the Tiger’s Tail. In the entrance to the harbour I saw the Retvizan, nose down and heeling over; the Tesarevich, with tugs and launches fussing round her, all down by the stern and with a heavy list to starboard, another vessel lay farther out in the narrows, and right away at sea, just discernible as specks near the horizon were the warships of the enemy’s fleet bombarding Port Arthur. The many sampans and other small craft which ordinarily plied from shore to shore were absent and the port seemed almost as lifeless as the town.

The busy wharves under the terraces were deserted but for the Sikhs watching the immense stores of vodka and other provisions. The Field Telegraph Office on the Bund was wrecked and the Bund looked as lonesome as other parts of the town, the only human creatures in evidence being the Sikhs before Ginsburg’s offices and the premises of the Russo-Chinese bank. I turned up the Pushkinskaya, passing the unoccupied premises of the Novy Krai, and it was not until I reached the post office that the first group of people appeared—they stood talking nervously, and looking first one way and then the other, as though shells might take the direction of vehicular traffic along the streets. Of carriages, jinrickshas, carts, Chinese, and troops I saw no sign whatever.

Turning into Efimoff’s I found everything in confusion. Neither proprietor nor manager was to be found; the cook had disappeared, the two Chinese boys remaining were too scared to answer a question. Ascertaining myself from the register that the inn was full, I went along the Artilleriskaya to Nikobadze’s, where the confusion was even worse than at the other inn. Leaving the boy to take care of my baggage, I went farther into the town in search of quarters. Everywhere the people were hurrying—for the most part in directions away from the harbour and town. In the Strielkova I had noticed an inn which had been newly painted, so presumably was less dirty than any of the many second and third rate hostels in the old town. It was closed, and I knocked loudly and long before any one opened. I learned at length that there was a room vacant, and that the house belonged to a soldier, a young non-commissioned officer in an infantry regiment. Having established myself and belongings there I went out to see what was happening, and to find out how I could get messages out of the town, now that the telegraph was closed to us.

Arriving at the Bund I saw some of the havoc already wrought by the bursting shells. Goods had been hurled hither and thither by the force of the explosions; the double glass windows of the buildings along the water-front had scarcely a whole pane remaining. On the Bund near the water-edge a shell had burrowed a hole large enough to hold an omnibus and team, the gravel and earth had been scattered everywhere and mixed with a heap of coal dust being discharged from lighters. Walls were down here, the plastering from house sides there, and in the garden of a house built on a terrace cut into the hill side a spent 13-inch live shell had dropped and was now guarded by a sentry. The shells had all been directed from the maximum range at the ships in the harbour. Some had struck the parapet below Golden Hill fort, but most had dropped in or near the harbour. The maximum lateral deviation—that is from north to south—was less than fifty yards, and the elevation was good. It was in fact excellent shooting considering that the range was never less than eight, and sometimes over twelve miles. Very few shells failed to explode, some fell innocuously in the deep water of the harbour. Two of the last fired burst right amongst the merchant shipping and caused great consternation, and some slight injuries to those on board the steamers at anchor. The bombardment which commenced about an hour before noon, lasted scarcely two hours, and was slack after mid-day.

In this bombardment the townspeople, but not the naval authorities, were taken by surprise. About 8 a.m. the enemy’s squadron was sighted to the south-east of Liaotishan, and reported. Vice-Admiral Stark’s flag-ship, the Petropavlovsk, the Poltava, the Sevastopol, and the Peresviet, the flag-ship of Rear-Admiral Prince Ukhtomsky, with a number of cruisers, were under steam. The cruiser Boyarin went out to scout, and at about 10.30 a.m. returned to report having sighted the enemy approaching, and shortly afterwards a fleet of twelve sail were descried on the horizon. A few minutes later the enemy opened fire from 12- and 13-inch guns. The Russian fleet thereupon formed into parallel lines, the cruiser Askold leading one south towards Liaotishan and the Boyarin, the other north towards the Lutin point.

I cannot state that the glimpse I had of the naval battle impressed me deeply. As a matter of fact it did not come up to my expectations, and in appearance was less effective and less theatrical than some naval manœuvres I have seen. Upon the vessels engaged it must have been much more exciting, particularly to those on ships which were made the aim of the enemy’s fire. I doubt very much whether the conditions on board a battleship are either so terrible, or so dangerous, as imaginative writers have pictured them. A modern warship, anything of a class superior to a small cruiser, is not to be sunk by a single shot, and though she may sink as the result of a torpedo attack, yet she will not sink immediately. If the shell fire is very hot, then indeed some alarm may be felt, but there are so many places of comparative safety on board an armoured vessel, and the result of one bursting shell is so local in its effect, that not only can the majority of the crew be kept unharmed through a long fight, but a well fought ship will last long after she has been struck before she is put out of action by the aggregation of damages sustained. In one instance only during the war has a shell struck a vulnerable part; that was when a shell entered between the sides and the cover of a conning tower. The Russian forts opened fire on the enemy’s fleet, the chief part being taken by the Golden Hill fort, and by the Electric battery on the crag below it. The firing was from 10-inch guns, and fell short, and was watched by the Viceroy from Golden Hill.

The fleets approached each other, the distance varying from six to as close as three miles, and the Japanese in turning again to the south were engaged by the cruisers Askold, Novik and Diana, who, it was stated, inflicted some injury on the enemy and themselves sustained some slight damage. The Japanese, having made a reconnaissance in force, to ascertain the result of the torpedo-boat attack which had been made in the darkness, again headed south and disappeared behind the Liaotishan peninsula.

The Russian official account of the losses was: on the fleet—Killed, 21 men; wounded, 4 officers, 97 men; on the forts—killed, 1 man; 1 man severely and 3 men slightly wounded. The losses from the torpedo attack were announced as: killed, 2; drowned, 5; wounded, 8—in all only 142 casualties for three engagements.

The immediate effect of the firing upon the town was general consternation. At first, when the enemy was approaching and their fire was directed upon the ships outside, some of the inhabitants went up on to Signal Hill to have a better view of the latter. A party of ladies and gentlemen gathered on the terrace before the Mayor’s house for the same purpose. A shell fell immediately below that terrace and scattered the party. One little company of foreigners on Signal Hill was also dispersed by a shell which burst within a quarter of a mile of them. Two Americans made for the nearest hollow, where one, to use his phrase, “was sick to death;” a third ran, and ran, until, hatless and breathless, he was stopped by a sentry miles from the water-front and taken to the guard house and detained, until some of his friends promised to take care of him.

Doubtless the first effect of shell fire upon a civilian population is terrorizing in the extreme, and especially is this the case when it is unexpected. Imagine yourself looking at a fire-work display from the terrace of the Crystal Palace; you hear, as it were, the shhh! of an enormous rocket; there is a blaze of light, a bang, a clatter, a deafening noise such as would be caused by the instant and entire collapse of the immense iron and glass buildings behind you. For a moment you are dazed; then you feel that as if by a miracle you had escaped instant annihilation; you hear a roar as of a near clap of thunder, see a slight cloud of yellowish smoke, and are sufficiently recovered to know that a shell has burst, and able to look for the effects of the explosion.

Individual experiences vary greatly. Personally I was merely excited by the first series of bursting shells, but then I was elated at finding myself in the midst of the fighting instead of being jolted in a Peking cart over desolate country in North Manchuria, where easily I might have been. As each successive shell burst I felt more and more glad; I grew bigger and bigger, and walked on air. As for the danger and the risk—no thought of either even occurred to me. I was seeing a fight, seeing as much of it as I could, and wanting badly to see more. I think I would willingly have changed a pair of legs for an extra pair of eyes just then. That feeling of general elation was long in passing, it lasted hours after the last shell had been fired; it never recurred with the same intensity. Subsequently the roar of cannon, the noise and nearness of approaching battle failed to rouse me—the din became a nuisance, especially when it disturbed my slumber, and the trouble of hunting for views of the fighting even grew irksome.

On the whole I think the few English people in Port Arthur were less visibly excited by the bombardment than were the people of other nationalities. The Americans were less phlegmatic; some were just bundles of nerves, others as ready to go off as a handful of fireworks. I remember one, the manager of a large business, coming into the office with a rush, his tie flying, his hat half-off and his hands wildly waving, “Boys, I’m off! I shan’t stand for this! Take my sticks, divide them as you like. I’m going!”—and he went, that was the last the office and staff saw of their manager.

Whilst the firing was on men ran anywhere for shelter. The business centre of the town was quite forsaken, and it was not until hours later that people congregated in small groups to recount their own experiences, compare impressions, and discuss plans. That same evening saw the first rush for the railway station, and crowding to the passenger steamers in the harbour. The hurried exodus of all classes continued without intermission for days.

Loss of life and limb was not much in evidence. A few civilians were taken to the hospital in carriages; more were seen with bleeding faces resulting from broken glass and scoriation from the earth scattered by the shells which struck the Bund and the rocks. It was late in the afternoon before the lines of stretcher bearers made their appearance conveying the wounded from the port to the lazaret, and that night the harbour, forts, and town were in total darkness. Not the glimmer of a light through the shutters was permitted, not the smallest, dullest lantern in the streets. That night there was no performance at the circus, no public at the music-halls, and no house parties for pleasure. Even the Saratoff closed before the usual hour for supper. Port Arthur had then been frightened into realizing the seriousness of war.

CHAPTER V
Hiding in Port Arthur

The morning after the first bombardment was a rough snowstorm and blizzard. It was impossible in the forenoon to distinguish any living form across a narrow street, and useless to attempt to inspect the harbour. The wind blew in from the sea, and when the storm had moderated a little and the snow fell thickly in large flakes it was ideal weather for a torpedo attack. Relying upon fictitious advice Japanese friends had given me that their forces would follow up every attack with another quickly, and take Port Arthur—town, forts and harbour—within a fortnight, I wandered round the shore looking eagerly for, and expecting momentarily, the torpedo attack which was never attempted. It was during these hours of watching that I met the British officer—also peering seaward for some sign of an invading squadron.

On a subsequent occasion, when we also met by accident, being on the same quest, we went together round the town and as far as possible made the circle of the inner line of fortifications. In this peregrination I asked him to choose for me the safest quarter in which to reside during future bombardments, and he pointed out a somewhat thickly populated district immediately behind the town gravel pits, to the north of the Bund. Later I secured a room in a Chinese house in that vicinity. It opened on to the Poyarova, and had on the opposite side an exit still nearer the shelter of the quarry. About the same time also, I was offered the use of rooms in the flat of a foreigner, who had left them in order to be nearer his work.

The torpedo attack and the subsequent bombardment had astonished the Russians; the only word which expresses adequately the condition of the authorities is “flabbergasted,” for they were rendered defenceless by their unlimited bewilderment. A few well-armed, daring troops landed immediately after the torpedo attack, or simultaneously, would have captured the town, the staff and the heads of the naval and military departments, and might have carried at least one of the forts. At any time within the first week the Russians would have been surprised by an attack, and probably would have succumbed to a vigorous and well-organized offensive movement. At every hour we two were expecting to hear the rattle of rifle fire from the direction of Pigeon Bay, and as the days went by could scarcely credit that no invasion had even been attempted.

At first everything in Port Arthur was in hopeless confusion. The defence of the place had to be organized, and even a special staff got together for the direction of the general plan. The naval and military authorities did not work together harmoniously, and General Stoessel, who in a sense was outside both factions, did not succeed in getting the unlimited authority the duties of his position necessitated until after the Viceroy had departed north accompanied by the staff. The town was in a state of chaotic confusion. All the Chinese servants left; the Chinese tradesmen and coolies tried to leave. The trains were closed to them, but the ships in the harbour gave them room and were overcrowded. Sampan men asked and obtained from five to fifteen dollars for ferrying a passenger from the wharf to the ship—a service for which as many cents was ample reward ordinarily. The public carriage drivers were equally extortionate, and demanded fifteen dollars for a journey between the old and the new town; the jinricksha men disappeared, their vehicles too, and the melting snow and deep mud made the roads impassable.

Leading merchants and the heads of firms had sudden important business calls to visit Newchang or Harbin, and they secured places on the trains which left more or less regularly every day. The retailers thought the present the best opportunity to make a fortune by realizing their stock at famine prices. On some goods the retail prices were doubled in a day, and quadrupled within a week.

Having trusted to Chinese workmen for their preparation, at once provisions ran short when their services could not be obtained. There were no bakers and no butchers at work, until the masters organized fresh staffs from among the troops. Within the first week I had to buy half a loaf at the Saratoff restaurant in order to have bread for breakfast the next day. Two days afterwards I had purchased the whole stock of plain biscuits the storekeepers possessed. There was plenty of water in the wells, but no coolies to carry it; the public baths were closed because there were no Chinese to keep the fires going; coals were cheap enough at the compounds but, again, no means of getting them home. All the horses and carts which had not been requisitioned by the authorities were earning double their cost each day in taking the more valuable household effects of residents to the wharf, the station, or by road to Dalny. There were no boys to wait on one, or to do housework; cooks were at a premium; restaurant waiters and carriage drivers were in the army reserve, and doing their turns of sentry go. The sanitary corps broke down completely. Laundries ceased to exist. Never in so short a time did the social organization of a civilized community go so completely to pieces. To make matters worse, there was a dearth of ready money. The Russo-Chinese bank, the only bank permitted in the town, had been damaged during the bombardment, and was removed to fresh premises in the New Town. When finally it was duly installed there and opened its doors for business, it would receive money only, and pay none away! It was long weeks before it again got into proper working order; when that was accomplished most of the staff were transferred north to Newchang, Mukden and Harbin, and disorder was again manifest.

The confusion and disorder in the town were not worse than the derangement of routine and subversion of order in the official departments. When the Post Office reopened, one could scarcely get within its doors so great was the crush. Inside there was little chance of getting even a stamp delivered to one, or to get a letter accepted for registration.

The guns in the forts were fired in desultory fashion night and day at almost every object seen moving on the water. It was unsafe to take a boat in the harbour, for there rifle fire at people in sampans and ship’s gigs was both frequent and disastrous.

Of all the departments those connected with the administration of the affairs of the commercial port were undoubtedly in the most hopeless state of muddle and remained so. In the private houses everything was topsy-turvy owing to all of the assistants being absent from duty. In the official departments the confusion was often due to there being too many engaged in each division, as every department worked its full staff overtime or obtained additional hands. The departments were on a war footing. There were many zealous persons without sufficient duties assigned to them to keep them fully employed who interfered in matters outside their own business, and there were some who insisted upon doing other people’s work and only attempting to do their own.

All matters connected with mercantile shipping were now helplessly mixed. After the torpedo attack no vessels were allowed to move in the harbour, but the Columbia escaped from the quarantine station and sailed away unnoticed and unchallenged. We were informed that she was sunk at sea by the enemy—quite untruly. The Foxton Hall was abandoned within the inner harbour and allowed to drift; the Wenchow was detained once because she had Japanese on board, next because she had no Japanese on board; the Pleiades, with many thousand sacks of flour for a consignee who had run away, was allowed to sail, conveying from the port provisions all needed.

One knew not what to do. The first vessel given full permission to leave port, papers granted after the bombardment and after official inspection and all other formalities and requirements had been complied with absolutely, was fired upon by the guardship as soon as the captain attempted to obey the Port Admiral’s commands. The shells from the guardship killed two of the Chinese passengers, a girl had both legs blown off by the shot, and several Chinese were wounded severely.

All these vessels were British-owned steamers sailing under the protection of the British flag. The Fuping was fired upon in broad daylight, when she was within the harbour, and had her flag and signals flying. The firing was just as much a mistake or an outrage as was the unprovoked attack upon the Dogger Bank fishermen by Admiral Rojdestvensky’s fleet nine months later. It was unnecessary, unwarrantable, and only explicable by assuming that each bungler holding office disregarded every authority but himself, and acted as he thought best for the defence of the port according to his own lights and on his own responsibility.

The British officer was highly indignant at the incident, and wished me to make the most of what had happened, informing me that he was forwarding a strongly worded report of the proceeding to his chief for transmission to the Foreign Office. I was astonished subsequently that so little importance was attached to the affair at home, and I am of the opinion that if the incident had been handled diplomatically by our Government, the Knight Commander and the Hipsang would not have been sunk, our Indian mail would not have been tampered with between Brindisi and Port Said, the North Sea trawlers would not have been molested, and the British flag would be regarded by Russia with the same respect that it used to receive from people of other nationality.

The guardship Razboinik—“razboinik = robber, highwayman, cut-throat, moss-trooper, scourer, ruffian, bandit, brigand.—Alexandrov”—was commanded at Port Arthur by Prince Lieven, an experienced officer, whose culpability for the affair must not be assumed, as I was not able to ascertain for certain whether or not he was on board his ship at the time of the attack upon the Fuping. Prince Lieven was a well-known figure in society, and typical of a small but worthy section of the Russian navy. A Baltic Russian by race, he had little of the impetuosity of the Slav and much of German staidness; his brain was contemplative rather than initiatory. He was a devout Lutheran, and scrupulously conscientious, able to give a reason for every act he committed, even though that reason would not suffice to convince any one but himself of its absolute righteousness. He was sober, frugal, and plodding The gallant captain had fascinating manners, and though a ladies’ man was essentially of the domestic type, but his life was far from being devoid of romance, as every one in Port Arthur knew. For some reason or other the Prince was chary always of being left alone, and was nervous when in the presence of strangers. It was rumoured that he was one of the “watched,” that he feared he was being followed by some one who had determined to take his life. This feeling is of course too common among a certain class of officials in Russia to be mistaken for hallucination, as there is often good grounds for the assumption that they have bitter enemies. In this case the haunting was due to an old romance. The Prince has been twice married—and one of his admirers, a sprightly, dashing, intelligent woman—whom I saw sometimes when I was wandering through the almost deserted town—follows him everywhere. Subsequently I saw her in different treaty ports, which she left for Japan, hoping from thence to reach Port Arthur at its fall. When Prince Lieven escaped on the Diana, she sailed for Saigon, where the crew is interned. Upon this man many important duties devolved—for some of which possibly he had no time.

Another trouble arose through the ships in harbour being unable to get supplies of water, and for days the unfortunate passengers had neither water nor food—but the position of the civilians in town was not much better.

Of all the Government departments, the best managed during this trying period was the railway. The staff was less affected by the war than were some others. Trains ran regularly, and for one day only was communication with Russia interrupted. Many trains were requisitioned for military use, nevertheless some passengers were forwarded each day, and General Stoessel ordered the people to be patient in attempting to get away, as 20,000 seats were wanted, but the station-master had only one train with which to meet the demand. On the military side the railway was used to the full extent and much was accomplished. Troops were sent to guard inland positions, stores were brought in, heavy guns were sent to the outlying fortifications, and everything was worked without any show of haste.

The outgoing passenger trains were at first crowded to their fullest carrying capacity, and people even stood outside the cars on the platforms between them. Only first and second class tickets were issued, and the greater part of the accommodation was third class. No Chinese were conveyed by train at all.

Port Arthur recovered from the first shock of war in a comparatively short time. The restoration of calm was due chiefly to non-molestation on the part of the enemy. Sixteen days elapsed after the first bombardment before another serious attack was attempted. In the meanwhile the defence had been organized; a more careful watch was kept seaward; the batteries were fully manned, big guns were got into position, the damaged cruisers were docked and repaired, and the fleet utilized to some extent in supporting the fire from the forts. And the morale of the citizens improved; the bombardment had injured but a few personally, the damage to property was not so very serious, and people found courage, being more confident of immunity from immediate danger.

In the town there was an amelioration of the conditions which ensued when the Chinese servants absconded. For one thing, just as the Port Arthur Chinese made haste to reach Dalny, the Dalny Chinese simultaneously sought safety at Port Arthur. Servants were less scarce, and the Russian soldiers were engaged upon all kinds of necessary work, both in houses, and at the docks and on the wharves.

The extent to which the Russian soldiers invaded every domestic domain with their useful services was astonishing. It was excellent training, too, for the long siege which followed, as when there was really little at stake, beyond the sanitary conditions, if the ordinary work were not done for a time, they filled the places formerly occupied by the Chinese and so made the defending force absolutely independent of the assistance to which the coolie immigrant had accustomed the town.

One snowy morning I turned into a short street formerly occupied almost exclusively by Japanese barbers. Their shops were closed, but I saw that one of the Russian houses was open. I entered, and found the place empty. The soldier who had been patrolling the now unfrequented street followed me into the shop. I explained to him that I had only intended to get a shave. “Si-chas,” he answered quickly, putting his rifle, with bayonet still fixed, in a corner. Then he unwound the bashlik from about his head, took off his great-coat and cap, hung them up, and—shaved me. When he had finished, pocketed the half rouble, and put away the tackle, he again donned his uniform, shouldered his rifle, followed me into the street and resumed his turn of sentry go, until the next customer should appear.

An advance was made in restoring public confidence with the return of business men to the direction of their affairs in the port. There were sinister rumours respecting some of them. It was said that the authorities, during their absence, had whilst guarding their offices discovered evidence of the payment of secret commissions to Government officials, and one statement affirmed that a “monthly pension list” of premiums regularly paid by one firm to certain naval officers had been seized and delivered to the Viceroy. No credence was attached to these stories, for it was incredible, not that payments were made, but that the businesslike people who paid them kept any written record of their secret transactions. Another side really merits publicity. From my own knowledge I can write of the great generosity of the head of the firm of Ginsburg & Co., a firm of whom I never asked or received any favour. Mr. Moses Ginsburg was willing and seemed able to help any one in need. Those who wished to leave Port Arthur and had not the means to do so went to him for assistance, and he advanced money without security to all sorts and conditions of people. He took over and paid cash for stores he did not need, in order that foreigners and others might close out of business quickly and without loss. He was a good man of affairs who had made a fortune by commerce, and might easily have made another in this time of stress, but he was not sordid by nature and his conduct was exemplary. It contrasted favourably with that of some men in responsible positions, whose every care was for themselves. They sacrificed the goods of their firms in order to obtain ready money, went away with all they could obtain, and left their clerks and menials without friends or goods to shift for themselves as well as they could. Nor must it be supposed that the men who acted so meanly were invariably Russians. Some foreigners are not wholly free from blame in this particular, though others behaved as became men when heavily embarrassed with difficulties not of their own creation.

The first brunt of war brought out character. On the whole the Russians stood the test well: stood to their duties manfully and without complaining, seemingly inured to hard fortune, and capable of winning through the troubles with which they were beset. And there is much that is good in the Slav character, and best is their ever-ready and eager response to the goodness inherent in human nature, a trait so marked that if only the Tsar, or his advisers, knew how to appeal to the people every true Slav would rally to the call. At Port Arthur the common people, when they realized the position, knew the need there was for their services, almost without exception accepted the inevitable with excellent grace and rendered what aid they could. Port Arthur would beat off the enemy; until victory was really theirs they must make the best of what fortune had in store for them. The proprietor of the Saratoff restaurant, a rough fellow with many faults, in harmony with the spirit of the day advanced his prices—for one day only. On reflection he went back to his old prices, did his utmost to cater successfully for his customers, and when you asked for something not on the bill of fare and he was able to serve it, his gratification was pleasing to witness. It said, as plainly as if spoken, “Maskee the enemy, I give you what you want.” It manifested the spirit of defiance, was earnest money of the victory that was to come.

One of the first important orders given by the Viceroy fixed the prices of the necessaries of life in the town. The rise in prices had not been justified by what had happened, there was in truth but a slight change in the exact value as the result of the war, and the retailers who thought to benefit by making exorbitant charges were checked at the very outset. The legitimate prices of bread, flour, rice, salt, tea and such commodities were but slightly in excess of those current in January, and any one could go into the market, or any shop in which such provisions were on sale, and insist upon having a quantity at the price scheduled.

The Commandant, General Stoessel, was very busy interesting himself not only in strengthening the defences but in the welfare of the inhabitants. He issued orders almost every day: their general purport may be judged from the following specimens, all promulgated on February 3 o.s. (16th).

GENERAL STOESSEL’S COMMANDS

ORDER No. 61

Recently I saw on the pavement two or three men, and trotting, notwithstanding that this is forbidden, as every soldier knows. Therefore, on and after the 5th inst., everyone so offending will have the horses transferred and himself be subjected to a fine.

ORDER No. 62

This day I saw in the street two or three drunken men, and all of them our people. Notice is therefore given that from the 6th inst. every drunken person found on the street will be arrested and taken to the lock-up, and set to hard labour on the fortress. It is impossible for anything to be done now with drunkenness allowed.

ORDER No. 63

The Staff Commander will institute performances of high-class MUSIC on the Boulevards from 3 until 5 p.m. twice a week.

H.E. The Viceroy, Admiral Alexeiev, was not so much in evidence; occasionally he drove through the town, and with him always were many of his staff. His notices were of the usual Court order; official acknowledgments of congratulatory telegrams, and notifications of the receipt of Imperial commands. The Tsar’s manifesto was not published until Valentine day.

The Commandant knew how to revive the patriotism of the inhabitants. His appeal for volunteers to the militia was answered immediately—nearly every one capable of bearing arms was enrolled. Later, when the investment was complete, and full military duty was required, the service became irksome. As one of them told me, fourteen days in the trenches, alternating with ten days off in which to attend to private business was unbearable, as the military service unfitted him for any rôle but that of patient in a hospital. So he left Port Arthur, as did many others.

It must be borne in mind that for five days after the first attack the inhabitants were without news of any sort from the outside world. On Saturday evening the Novy Krai published a bulletin containing the Tsar’s manifesto, and an account of the torpedo attack and first bombardment. After that date bulletins were issued regularly for some weeks, but the news allowed to become public did not truthfully represent the progress of the war.

There were many optimistic rumours current, in addition to the fanciful statements respecting Japanese losses published in the bulletin. For days every one believed that as the result of the Russian cannonade on the first day six Japanese vessels were damaged; that three Japanese warships were ashore at Chifu, and one officer informed me in good faith that although in all twelve Russian ships were lost or damaged, at that date sixteen Japanese war vessels had been put out of action by the Russian fire. Again, although on February 11 the Enisee had been lost at Dalny, I was informed four days after by an officer who had just arrived from Dalny, that he had seen her the day before, that no accident had happened, and that the story of her loss was an infamous concoction.

The Russian loss of life at Port Arthur was invariably understated. Every one could see the lines of stretcher bearers conveying the wounded, knew of the funerals of twenty corpses at a time in trenches, could follow to the graves the remains of officers killed in action, yet the published totals of the dead, wounded and missing numbered less than the bodies interred that same day. Possibly this manipulation of figures helped to allay public uneasiness, and the town certainly recovered its accustomed gaiety very quickly. The places of public amusement attempted to reopen, but it was merely the last flicker of the burnt-out candle. With a town in total darkness after nightfall, and a rapidly decreasing attendance, paying performances even at small music-halls became impossible, and the artistes left the town.

The circus horses were requisitioned by the authorities; the circus became a Red Cross emergency hospital; some of the minor performers and the attendants became drivers of public carriages, their horses being those rejected from military service on veterinary examination. As long as they could run, or haul any sort of load, they were worth more to their owners than those accepted, for these were all taken at one price, an order for 125 roubles, a sum any horse in private hands could earn in a few days.

An Englishman, very fond of riding, managed to retain a saddle horse long after all others had been taken, by the simple method of riding about on it all day, and housing it in a different stable every night. Another foreigner secured a donkey and cart, which earned him a livelihood for weeks. The donkey was seized in the stable, but three men could neither coax nor coerce that donkey into making a journey to the examination depôt, so they themselves decided that such a beast was of no value to the military authorities.

The destitute Chinese gave considerable trouble to the possessors of stores lying on the wharves.

One afternoon, just as it was growing dusk, on a day when there had been some firing from the forts, a loud report was heard near Signal Hill. At once people rushed that way, and the attention of all the watchmen was directed to the same quarter. It was merely a preconcerted signal. From every nook and corner, as though by magic, a crowd of coolies appeared, and proceeding to a stack of flour on the Bund they took off the mats, and with their accustomed ejaculations started to carry away the whole parcel just as if they had been ordered to remove the flour to one of the go-downs up town. The ruse succeeded for a short time, when the bold theft was discovered, the gang dropped the flour and ran. Some of the bags were recovered half a mile from the Bund, and some were never seen more.

But the Chinese were not the only people ready to loot. Some of the deserted Japanese shops contained goods of considerable value. Of these the police took charge, and they employed soldiers to pack and convey them to a place of safety. More than one attempt was made by well-to-do foreigners to secure an object of art at first cost, and I have a recollection of a smart young American careering fearfully along a street with soldiers in close pursuit. Some valuable effects were also left behind by rich Chinese merchants who abandoned their homes. The foreigners mostly shipped their valuables to one of the China treaty ports, or deposited them at the Russo-Chinese bank, where they doubtless remain.

It is common knowledge that throughout the East the Chinaman is treated by Europeans everywhere as an inferior. Possibly the Russians do not offend more grossly than others, but to those who are not Russians their cruelties seem more barbarous. Port Arthur was not an exception to the rule. The lower classes, the coolies, were regarded as slaves. Once, a Russian, who habitually treated the jinricksha men with unusual harshness and occasional ferocity, was taken by men he had abused to a deserted part of the town, and there fearfully and cruelly mutilated. The perpetrators of this outrage were never discovered. The authorities were so enraged at being baulked in their attempt to find the criminals that they sentenced all the ’ricksha men in the port to a long term of imprisonment, but in order to avoid inconvenience to the public, the men were divided into two lots, each of which went to prison alternate weeks.

A few days after the bombardment most of the respectable Chinese had left the port; there remained many improvident coolies and some Chinese of the worst type. There is no doubt that they broke the laws and offended in many ways, but I doubt if they committed any crime which justified the severity with which they were treated. Persons merely suspected of wrongdoing were most brutally handled by the military police. I have seen men cruelly kicked because they could not lift heavy loads no man could carry; I have seen them beaten and mauled for no other offence, that I could discover, than that they were Chinamen. I have seen ears torn, and queues lugged until the scalp has been ripped—preliminary punishment by the street police when conveying unresisting coolies to prison, there to answer a charge. And these assaults were common, in even the leading and most thronged thoroughfares of the town, and were so usual as rarely to collect a crowd or call for remark from an officer or any other disinterested person.

One heard of Japanese spies being captured, but I never saw one taken. In fact, I saw but few Japanese in the town, except refugees in charge of a guard, but there was one at least who remained long and escaped without detection. There was also a Japanese amah at large about the town for weeks; she wore Russian clothes of loud colour, and rather unusual fashion, but herself seemed not to attract attention; when last I spoke to her she said she was in the service of a Russian officer’s wife.

As a check upon the admittance or sojourn of undesirable persons the passport system is useless, even in a fortress town such as Port Arthur, where the regulations are strictly enforced. Otherwise I had been discovered and notified to leave the town forthwith. Simply by living quietly and unostentatiously, moving hither and thither unobtrusively, and keeping quiet, I was allowed every liberty within the town limits. It was impossible to photograph; the mere possession of a camera, if known, would have led to inquiry and arrest—and Russian officers even were arrested for being found with a camera in hand in the street. It was not easy to use binoculars, for no sooner were they levelled at a ship in the harbour, than some sentry would inquire of you what it was attracted your attention.

Nor was it so difficult to get news—of an unimportant kind—or to get that news away. Several ships left for Chifu; the German cruiser Hansa called to take away German subjects, and women of all nationalities, who wished to leave; one passenger train left almost every day, and was never without passengers—or letters and dispatches.

At the very outset I was informed curtly by the telegraph clerk that the cable to Chifu was cut—a statement I had then no reason to doubt. A week or so later, messages for Russia were accepted by the railway company, and for Manchuria at the town office, but neither was of use to me.

Much of the ordinary life of the town continued as usual. The war seemed to make little difference immediately. Even at the time of the first bombardment there was a wedding at the cathedral; a Russian wedding is a tedious ceremony, and this one lasted longer than the bombardment. The same night the bridegroom left with his regiment for the Yalu. That indicates how little change war made with regard to some matters, and how greatly altered other relations were by the state of war. As long as I kept to the streets and open ground I could go anywhere; at any and every hour of the day and night I have walked between the old and the new towns. I never approached so near to any of the forts as to be challenged by the sentries, but in the daytime I walked into and through the Admiralty dockyard, inspected the ships undergoing repairs, and even saw into the workshops. On the last occasion I was stopped at the gates as I left the Admiralty enclosure, but a word satisfied the officer, and, of course, the sentry, that I had been on permissible business. I said that I would return later, but found it inadvisable to keep the promise. Without going into the yard at all one could see which ships were in dock, what progress was being made with the repairs, and which ships were lying in the basin waiting to be docked, for the hill near the Viceroy’s house commands an uninterrupted view. If one did not recognize the ship, or could not read her name, one had only to ask either the naval sentry, or some passing sailor, to be told, and given full particulars. Such information had no news interest, and I certainly was not sufficiently concerned to pass it out for the enlightenment of the enemy. There were things which, as long as I was in Port Arthur, I liked to know.

Once only was I accosted by a soldier. It was in the very early hours of the morning, the night dark and cloudy with some snow falling. I had passed the railway when a Cossack, leading his pony, came to me to ask if I knew where the telegraph office was. He had been looking for the steps up the cliff for more than an hour without success. And this was the Cossack! The scout of scouts, the man who could go direct to any spot at any time—and I, a foreigner and a stranger, had to conduct him to the town telegraph office!

It was open for any one to see the troops who left the fortress, to note the regiment, number of companies, and the physique of the men; it was as easy to go to the railway station and check the number of trains arriving and departing, to find the military trains and ascertain what they brought and what they took away. There was no secret made of anything. Then one could go to the drill ground and see the troops being exercised, and the recruits put through barrack-yard evolutions and parade-ground displays. The march past in review order, wheeling in line, forming into columns, and the simplest manœuvres seemed to be the usual order of the day. Woe to the man who failed to keep his dressing, who advanced too rapidly, or fell behind. A running kick from the drill sergeant was the first notification he had of his error. As in every drill yard of Russia in time of peace the troops rehearsed their cheers. At Port Arthur, and elsewhere in Manchuria, there as in Russia, the cheer was the performance of an order, done as mechanically and precisely as the movement of shouldering arms, or turning right about; and it was always given in the same tone of voice, jerked out in sharp, staccato fashion, a succession of disconnected syllables; not, “Long live the Tsar! Horray!” but: “Da—zdrav—stouett—nash—obo—jamie —goc—u—dap—im—per—at—or—ura!”

During the whole of my stay at Port Arthur I heard but one genuine, spontaneous cheer in connexion with the war. It was on the first day when the little cruiser Novik returned from being under fire from the enemy. The crowd of Government employees on the Admiralty quay to greet the vessel, cheered lustily and long. The Askold also received an ovation, and so did some of the torpedo-boat destroyers. Captain Essen, of the Novik, was one of the most dashing officers of the Russian navy, and was repeatedly mentioned in dispatches. Another fighting commander was Zalyesski of the Askold, and Lieutenant Kouzmin-Korovaiev, of the Serditi, both of whom distinguished themselves on the occasion.

The small cruisers and boats of the torpedo flotilla were soon repaired, but large ships like the Pallada had long to wait, and the injuries to the battleships were very severe.

The Retvizan, torpedoed, had a hole on the port side over forty feet in length, and twenty in depth. Seven compartments were full of water, and as she lay beached the tide rose and fell in her holds. The bodies of a number of drowned sailors were in the filled compartments, and not recovered until after many days. The Russian engineers put a patch of wood over the hole, covered it with tarpaulins, and started to pump out the ship. When the depth of water inside had been reduced several feet, the pressure outside was so great that the patch burst in, and the ship filled again. The services of a Scotch engineer were then requisitioned. He found the appliances at Port Arthur primitive in design and wanting in quantity. The port was even short of hose. The authorities also opposed the suggestions he made for salving the ship. He wanted to make a hole in the side of the vessel above the water line, so that instead of having to pump up the water thirty feet, five would suffice. This proposal was negatived, as was also one for removing the turret guns, the anchors, cables, and other heavy gear forward in order to lighten the ship. Ultimately some of his suggestions were tried, and the ship was refloated.

The Tesarevich had been torpedoed on the starboard quarter, had lost the propeller and boss, and though not sunk was kept afloat only by constant pumping. There was no dock at Port Arthur large enough to take the big warship, and but for the advice of a Hollander she could not have been repaired at all. He suggested that a deep hole should be excavated on a mud bank in the harbour, the vessel backed into the hole, then mud walls built up amidships, and the water from the excavated hole pumped out, thus leaving that half of the vessel which needed repairs in a dock of mud, and the fore part in the shallow water of the harbour. This plan was tried with success. A new propeller was sent by railway from St. Petersburg and the vessel repaired, seaworthy, and in good fighting trim eventually escaped to Kiaochow, where the German authorities detained her until the war should end.

So far the war had proved several things; one was that a modern battleship is practically indestructible both by torpedoes and shell fire unless sunk in deep water. The tremendous poundings some of the ships received caused damage which made the vessel resemble a wreck, but in a few days, or weeks at most, the ship would be out of dock, spick and span, in fine fighting trim, and to all appearances equal to new. Even the Retvizan, lying beached and waterlogged, used her guns with effect at that time, and was ultimately patched up and made as fit as any ship of the fleet.

Some experts contended that with the fleet Port Arthur would prove invulnerable. The ships were to manœuvre outside where protected by the guns of the forts, and snatch advantages from the attacking fleet of the enemy. As it turned out the naval guns of the Japanese were better than the fortress guns of the Russians, and were used to better purpose. From the first the fleet, instead of being an aid to the defence of the fortress, was an immovable incubus, an inert dead weight, a crushing load which the forts had to protect always.

If Russia had possessed a fighting navy in the Far East, the plan of campaign might have been different, or, if the same, the results might have been otherwise than they are. But a fighting navy Russia does not possess. I have already expressed the surprise I experienced when this was told to me; that surprise was equalled by the proof I subsequently received of its accuracy. I have overheard Russian naval officers state that they did not intend to fight, that they could not take this risk, or that, or some other. It has been on other occasions a subject of conversation amongst officers when I, a foreigner, was present; and I have even been told by certain officers that, at least, so far as they themselves were concerned, dying or being wounded in the defence of their country was just the last thing they intended to risk.

These men had a different conception of their duties, their calling, and their status to that possessed by officers of our navy. In fact, some seemed to think it was wrong that their navy should ever have been called upon to fight, that fighting was a purpose for which it was never founded, and that, like a British gunboat, it was intended for diplomatic uses only. I do not assert that the officers who thought and spoke and acted in this way were a majority of the Russian navy, or even that they were fairly representative of the whole service; but I do believe they were as numerous as were the men who were keen for fighting, who were ready for battle, and wished to be engaged in struggling against the enemy’s fleet. The bulk of the sea-forces, so far as the officers are concerned, were more or less indifferent, inclining to prefer peace, and always to avoid personal risks.

The men, like the soldiers of the Russian armies, are just simple fellows, doing their duty in war and peace because they are ordered to do certain things. The engineers and the gunners both were, I think, more inclined to shirk the risks, and to find excuses for absence on particular occasions, than anxious to distinguish themselves by gallant conduct in battle. Such men do not merit praise, but they must not be condemned too hastily, nor are they necessarily cowards.

Men who have risked their lives in battle, men who have been actually under fire, are affected by the circumstance in different ways. When the excitement of the fight is over, I think there are few who are really anxious for a renewal of the risks for the sake of the excitement, but they may be willing to engage again as bravely as before for other reasons—patriotism, for instance. If there is a certainty, or even probability, of those same or like risks being run again, or many times, then, in the intervals of repose, men see other things and other circumstances than the war and their own immediate surroundings out of proper focus. Self-preservation being the highest law, secondary laws, including all moral obligations, suffer a seeming decrease in value. The man whose life has been and at any moment may again be risked in battle, is not likely to consider that he owes the ten shillings in his pocket to some person far away, and that he ought to remit, but his one idea is the value of that ten shillings to him just then, where he is. What pleasure will it obtain for him at the moment, seeing that sooner than he can realize its value he may be dead? Quickly recurring risks of sudden death cause a deterioration of what may be called the moral fibre of the individual, and at the same time produce a marked hardening of character. The man whose life is in jeopardy, or soon may be, wants to find a way out into safety. He whose whole being is in danger of immediate extinction is unlikely to have any particular care for his reputation. Life is worth more than reputation; the latter may be retrieved if the former is saved, and at the moment life seems better worth saving than honour.

Another feature is the growth of recklessness due to the greatness or number of the risks run. The man who has faced bullets with grim determination not to waver, will skate over the thinnest ice with a glad smile on his face. The greater excludes the less. The respectable man who has been forced to commit a murder for which he will be hanged, is not going to be deterred from assaulting a policeman through fear of incurring seven days’ imprisonment.

Now the individual units which constitute the Russian navy are not drawn chiefly from a true fighting race. In the aggregate esprit de corps means to them something else than it does to the members of a fighting regiment, and is concerned chiefly with matters of etiquette and other little things. Then they are not imbued with the traditions of a glorious past, as are, say, men of the British navy. There is not much reputation to lose, and the glory of achievement they have never experienced. Worse than all, the Japanese delivered the first blow, a heavy blow, one that damaged and for a time paralyzed the navy—it showed that fortune was with them. From the very first the Russians were disheartened—too badly beaten to retrieve their position.

In the circumstances it is not surprising that some of them—from one or other of the causes already explained—in order to find distraction, turned to such allurements as Port Arthur possessed. There were carousals, wild parties intent on devilment; there was shirking of duty, courting of pleasure; there was dissipation, debauchery, and degrading licentiousness, a disregard of warnings, of orders, and of restraint. Some places of amusement were closed; those which remained open were thronged with boisterous, distraught, and reckless men of every rank, and although naval officers were the worst offenders, they had as company their equals from other services. Port Arthur after the commencement of hostilities was in these particulars far worse than the somewhat gay but always enjoyable town in the days of peace. As time wore on the men of the services became more and more suspicious of civilians, particularly of foreigners, and most of all of British and Americans. One of the foreign firms, intent upon possessing a competent stevedore, had engaged a British master mariner in that capacity. He attended to his duties assiduously, was so successful, so resourceful, and moreover so quiet and entirely wrapped up in the heavy work upon which he was engaged, that they became sure he was a spy. For so good a man to be a simple stevedore was incredible; his like should be of admiral’s rank at least. So he had to go.

Their dislike sometimes took an offensive direction. A quiet young American, a clerk in the employ of one of the firms, was struck by a naval officer in the Saratoff restaurant for no other reason than that he was an American. There was no apology asked, nor was one ever tendered. That man also had to go.

A chinovnik, one of my best-informed newsmongers, told me that the officers of high rank were no longer sure of the superiority of Russia’s power. They thought Russia might be beaten on land as well as at sea, even that she might lose Port Arthur. Later this change of opinion permeated through the lower ranks of officers, and to the men. The commandant had to issue an order that workmen and others must not be allowed to leave the town without written authority. My informant thought it best to go.

Some of the foreign firms closed out rapidly; their clerks were ordered to go. One of them, a Russian subject, of the type that assumes to know everything, made up his mind to stay on in the town. In order to obtain the necessary permission he interviewed General Stoessel, proffering him a plan for strengthening the fortifications of the fortress. General Stoessel thought him a most dangerous man to have in the town. Forthwith he had to go.

It became increasingly difficult to obtain trustworthy information concerning anything of importance, and not easy to meet one’s informants, as though by accident, at the time when they had information, and were willing to communicate it. The results of the desultory firing day by day were not distinguishable, and the Novy Krai became a newsless sheet.

Between the naval and military authorities the dissensions long existing, and bitter even before the war, suddenly became acute. Differences were discussed openly, the army and navy were at variance, and the diplomatic body seemed unable to make peace between them. Matters were not much improved when it was known that the Viceroy would leave Port Arthur, placing Admiral Stark in full command, and take the diplomatic corps and executive of the Administration to new headquarters at Mukden.

General Stoessel was to be in chief command of the land defences; General Smirnov to be his assistant, and in full charge of the southernmost forts, both east and west. From the beginning the two did not work well together, and as the enemy gained advantage after advantage by their attacks on the land side, whilst General Smirnov’s forts escaped serious injury from different bombardments by the enemy’s fleet, this lack of harmony changed into discord, and later developed into something of the nature of mutual antagonism. General Stoessel strengthened the outer line of fortifications by every means devisible. Land mines innumerable were sunk below the soil of all the slopes; the workshops were working night and day preparing fougades from lengths of any iron tubing procurable, wire entanglements were erected, German firms and others having foreseen the possible need, and laid in large stocks in anticipation of the demand, and, last of all, a trench was dug all round the outer line; its length was seven miles, and its depth twenty feet, and width in some places nearly fifty feet.

CHAPTER VI
Last Days in Port Arthur

One morning I was taking my early breakfast at the Saratoff, when a carriage pulled up. Almost immediately afterwards Mac, Reuter’s representative whom I had met in Port Arthur before the war, entered the restaurant and, thirsting as I was for trustworthy news of what had happened outside the fortress, I lost no time in inviting him to be seated at my table. Mac was equally eager to know what had happened in the town whilst he had been absent. We fenced phrases a short time, and I was so intent upon drawing Mac that I had not noticed an officer who had followed him into the restaurant, then seated himself at a near-by table and engaged in conversation one of the civilians of the Port who was breakfasting there. In a few minutes Mac drew my attention to him, and told me that he was the officer of Gendarmes who had him under arrest. That he had come into the fortress with an escort and was furnished with special permission to get what belonged to him, and leave the fortress again within forty-eight hours. When he told this I felt that it was the beginning of the end of my stay at Port Arthur. I learned from Mac that up to the present the military activity of the Japanese was confined to operations in Korea. The way out north was still open, and likely to remain so.

Later that morning, I met Mac again. He had shaken off the police escort and was in the company of an Anglo-Russian resident correspondent, and some civilian foreigners. We took tiffin together at the Saratoff, all of us intent upon getting news of the outer world from the new arrival. Again, as luck had it, Tsintsius, the plain-clothes detective of Port Arthur, came in, shook hands with Mac, and took stock of the company. Me, of course, he did not know, and inquired. Mac obligingly introduced me—he could not do otherwise—and told me consolingly that Tsintsius was the man who had arrested him originally, and he wished him anywhere but there.

The detective was watching Mac and noting those with whom he had any conversation, and of course would want to know all about me, and probably would obtain some information before the day was out. I had seen him many times about the town, for he was a conspicuous figure. He wore a moustache—unusual amongst civilians—a light coloured slouch hat, a very gaudy scarlet neck cloth, sailor shirt, and a light grey sack suit. Tsintsius would recognize me again anywhere as easily as I could recognize him, for that was his profession. I foresaw much trouble looming up for me, and, as the Americans say, got up against myself to find a way of escape. Sooner or later, I should have to own up, and, just as a person who is about to be discharged from his employment scores by getting his resignation accepted first, I deemed it best to go to some one in authority who would listen to me, then cross my legs and tell my right name and real business, or I would be taken and treated as a spy.

Clearly, there was no one in authority more likely to listen to me than was Major-General Floog, then unknown to world fame, but who had a responsible position on the staff of the Viceroy, and was assumed to be occupying himself with the claims of newspaper correspondents. I drove over to the New Town at once, and called upon the General. Of course, he would not see me—it was a case of “come again—to-morrow morning at nine o’clock”—but I got my name registered there, without any mention of the business on which I wished to interview the General. Then I went out towards White Wolf Hill, and back by the upper road into town.

On the Serpionaya there was a curious joint, frequented more or less by every one who was anybody in Port Arthur, a house Mac was most unlikely to visit. I went there for an hour or two, and just as I was leaving, I opened the door to Tsintsius!

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Round to the Saratoff for supper.”

“I’m going there too. I have a carriage here; jump in. I’ll drive you round.” Then he called to the driver, “Straight on!”

At the first corner, I shouted, “To the right!”

“Straight on, straight on!” called Tsintsius. Then he explained, “We’ll go over the hill, it is not much farther, and it saves many turns.”

“All right.”

“The Anglo-Russian correspondent”—he mentioned his name—“told me where I might find you!”

I should not have thought it of him; the boy had guessed right the very first time, and really he never had enough sense to creep in under cover out of the rain. The newspaper pose never suited him, and he is doing better work now as secretary to an Archimandrite of the Orthodox Church.

“Do you know many people in Port Arthur?” asked the detective.

“Very few,” I answered promptly.

“For instance?”

That was too easy. “For instance? Those correspondents and their companions with whom you saw me taking lunch to-day?”

“Ah, you are going to have supper with them? But whom else do you know?” He fidgeted uneasily by my side.

“Some business men in the town,” I answered, without interest.

“Do you happen to know the chief of police?”

“I am not personally acquainted with him.”

“He is a very fine man.”

“Everyone praises him.”

The horses were toiling slowly up the ascent, splashing through the ice, snow, and mud; the night was dark as the inside of a money-safe.

“You ought to know him. He lives close by.”

I knew very well where he lived—at the top of the hill—which we were nearing, for the horses were trotting again. I ignored his remark.

“That’s right. I shall be glad to get some supper. I am very hungry.”

“I should like to introduce you to him now.”

The conversation did not please me at all. “Some other time,” I protested. “I want supper.”

“It will not delay us a minute. Stop, driver!”

“Well, where are we now?” I asked.

“At the Chief’s. Come, just a minute! You will find him an excellent friend.”

He got out of the carriage.

“Don’t be long. I’ll wait for you,” I remarked casually.

“No, no! Come in! You must! I insist! He is a charming man. We need not stay a minute and perhaps I’ll not have the opportunity again.”

“To-morrow morning, then. Now is not the time to make a social call.”

“The hour does not matter; I’m one of the staff. Come along!”

He spoke pleadingly. I guessed what was in store for me, but deemed it wisest to agree, so followed him into the house.

“Tell your master I wish to see him.”

We entered a small reception room on the right. It was comfortably furnished for a Port Arthur house, and had a large writing table and a telephone.

We had been seated only a few minutes when the Chief of Police entered the room. He is a tall, handsome, Baltic Russian, with a courtly manner, and a charmingly frank countenance. The Tsar has no more honourable or devoted servant than the clever Chief of the Port Arthur police.

He acknowledged my bow with a slight inclination, and strode across to the telephone, and rang up.

“This is an Englishman I have just arrested on the Serpionaya,” explained the detective.

“Take him to the lock-up,” commanded his chief.

That was all. As the telephone was ringing in answer, we left the room—and the house.

When we were again seated in the carriage it was the detective’s turn to have the conversation take an unpleasant turn.

“What about our supper at the Saratoff?” I began.

He was silent.

It would have been better had I remained silent too, but that was impossible. I upbraided him with his deceit, his treachery, his unfriendliness, called him störer, schürke, and lump, schuft, verrather, and hundsfott; the German language had not bad names enough for him, and I relapsed on mujik’s Russian. When he protested I called him lugner, and he took it with composure. It did not occur to me then that he had done his business in a masterly manner.

The horses plunged into mudholes in the darkness; the carriage swayed and groaned; we were crossing unmade ground, going round to the back of the jail by a way with which I was not familiar. At last the carriage stopped near the edge of a rough declivity. We groped our way round the gable of a building and by-and-by reached the porch.

Inside was one large room with some smaller offices opening from it, and a corridor leading in the direction of the jail. There was the usual stove, some policemen idling about, and a clerk busy with printed forms at a table in the corner.

Tsintsius spoke a few words with some officer in one of the inner rooms, then left the building. I asked if it were permissible to smoke, and having leave to do so, walked back and forth in that room—it seemed for hours. Luckily I had my identification and other papers on me, for I had then no invention to concoct any sort of plausible story.

People came and went, policemen marched through the room; officials arrived, hung their great-coats on the wall, disappeared in the inner rooms, re-appeared, put on their coats and went out into the darkness. The clerk filled in the printed forms, and smoked cigarettes with equal assiduity. It was the sort of thing that might continue without change as long as the Russian empire endures.

At last there was a diversion. Tsintsius arrived with the Anglo-Russian correspondent and Mac—the energetic man had arrested both of them.

The Anglo-Russian correspondent recognizing me, and cognizant that he had been the cause of my arrest, opened with an apology, and I, full of resentment towards him, started on a wordy attack. Mac looked on silently, pityingly, wonderingly, and full to the eyelids of his own woes.

“If you were asked where I might be found, it would have been easy to say that you did not know—and, if you were born and raised in Russia and have not learned to say, ‘I don’t know,’ to any and every question asked you, I should just like to meet the people with whom you have associated?”

He is a good-hearted, generous fellow, always acknowledging his fault, blaming himself, and apologizing profusely—the sort of man who gets on my nerves at once.

“Yes, yes, I know I ought to have said, ‘I don’t know,’ but I didn’t know, and——”

“Oh, don’t talk to me! And don’t get new—for I can’t stand that.”

We were interrupted by a new arrival—none other than the officer of Gendarmes who had Mac in his charge. He strode to Tsintsius, and began a clamorous altercation, which almost immediately developed into a fight. The enraged officer clutched the detective by the throat, twisted him over backwards and commenced belabouring him unmercifully. Tsintsius would then and there have suffered the half-death he merited, had not the officials separated the combatants. Truly, Russian officials have great affection for each other.

The trouble had arisen from the officiousness of Tsintsius in arresting Mac; the officer declared he had him in charge all the time; the detective declared that he had not. Their difference ended with the arrival of the Chief of Police, and soon Mac was through, the officer undertaking to get him out of Port Arthur by the next train. Then my turn came.

Fortunately my papers were found to be in order. My passport had been duly registered, but the police had not been notified of changes of address. I informed the chief that I had produced my passport when I engaged rooms, but had been informed by the proprietors that as it had already been endorsed no further formalities were necessary. If they were, the proprietors, who were Russians, were in a position to know of what had been ordered better than myself, a stranger.

As to my business, my visit to Major-General Floog earlier in the day decided that. The chief made me promise that I would call on the Major-General the next morning, and follow his directions. Meanwhile I was at liberty to go wherever I pleased in either the Old Town or the New.

It was past midnight before I took supper at the Saratoff. Tsintsius was not present, but I noticed a change in the attitude of the company towards myself. The police interlude had enveloped me with an atmosphere of uncertainty; people doubted whether they might converse with me, without bringing suspicion upon themselves.

Mac left during the night. Early the next morning I once more took up my abode at Efimoff’s, now crowded with Russian officers of inferior rank, horribly mismanaged and many times more filthy than when the proprietor was directing in person.

Then I went again to visit Major-General Floog.

On this occasion I did not see that irresponsible officer at all. First he wished to know the nature of my business with him. My papers explained it to him, or to his secretary. I awaited the reply with some misgiving. On one occasion when I interviewed an officer with reference to facilities for newspaper correspondents, I was answered by an inferior possessing the proportions of the conventional alderman, who came close to me, bowed slowly until our foreheads almost met; then straightened himself up suddenly, and as I took a step backward he repeated the manœuvre, and continued the ceremonial, until, against my intention, I was outside the room. And all he said was that the high authorities intended to make it so difficult for correspondents that few would care to remain with the army—if, even, they got so far as to be permitted to reach the Russian forces. By that time I was on the mat outside, experiencing a numb sensation of absolute soullessness pervading my whole being.

The Russian officials told off for this special duty have such an excellent address, and are so adroit, yet gracious in their manner, that an undesired visitor is bowed out in less time than it takes him to say good-day. Another correspondent of the Times had occasion to call on the Russian Administrator of Newchwang. It was his first visit, and before he had time to mention the purpose of his interview he was gladly received—and dismissed—finding himself on the mat, and the sentry holding open the hall door for his exit, before he realized that he was in the presence. Having experienced similar treatment, this time I was prepared for the excessively polite attack which ensures speedy and complete defeat. And first I walked across the room and took a seat near the wall farthest from the door.

Lieut.-Col. Maximovich was the official to whom my application was entrusted. He came in expecting to find me in the place usually taken by casual callers. In one hand he held out my documents, in the other I noticed a printed paper, the like of which I seemed to have seen before. He informed me, courteously enough, that all applications by correspondents must be made through the correspondent’s own Minister of State for Foreign Affairs recommending him to His Excellency the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs, who would transmit the recommendation to His Excellency the Viceroy, who might consider favourably such an application for permission to be accredited to one of the Russian armies in the Far East.

There was a great deal of circumlocution attached to this course, in which so many Excellencies had to be interested. I begged the Colonel to be kind enough to put that information in writing for me. He complied, using an abbreviated form and omitting various Vuisokoprevoskhodityelstvo’s, and other titles. He reached me at once, on concluding, with the order: “You must now leave Port Arthur forthwith.”

“Yes,” said I; “where may I go?”

He suggested Chifu.

I had no more business with Chifu than Russia could have. I suggested Mukden.

“No, not Mukden.”

“Dalny?”

“Not Dalny.”

“Harbin?”

He shook his head.

“Newchwang?”

As to that he could not say. Newchwang might be possible.

There and then I determined that it should be Newchwang.

“Au revoir, Colonel,” I said cheerily.

“Good-bye,” he answered icily.

As I left he handed the printed form to an orderly, giving instructions that it should be forwarded immediately.

Next I called upon the Anglo-Russian correspondent, but his flat was forsaken—he had gone into hiding for a few days. The remainder of my stay in Port Arthur was apportioned to getting rid of my responsibilities as to other persons’ property, learning something respecting the present state of the warships in the harbour, the personnel of the new appointments to the Viceroy’s staff, the probable date of their departure north, and arrange for the transmission of further news to me at Newchwang. The programme was carried through in its entirety; I spent the early hours of the evening with some officers in the New Town, and it was long after dark before I directed my steps homeward. I had still one call to make. That was interrupted by the brusque entrance of Tsintsius, with a summons for me to attend at the police-station at once. His manner was different from that he had shown previously. He was abrupt and churlish. There was a third person in his carriage when I stepped into it, and we drove along in silence.

At the police-station I took the initiative; went into the inner room, and requested the clerk to ring up the Chief of Police. I explained the position in a few words, expressed my intention of leaving by the next train, and told the police-master he would find me at Efimoff’s whenever he needed me. I was ordered to be allowed to go, and the clerk accordingly endorsed the order—the one I had noticed in the hand of Colonel Maximovich that morning. The action of the authorities was explicable. Having discovered the presence of a newspaper correspondent in the fortress, they were anxious for his immediate departure. He could not leave quickly enough to satisfy them.

The next morning my baggage and myself were at the railway terminus in good time. That day the train was late; at the moment no one could say whether or not there would be a train leaving. It was a matter of indifference to me—longing for a fresh attack by the Japanese fleet, or any event which would prolong my stay. But at last the train came, and I had an unexpected diversion.

I was entering the booking office when a captain of the railway guards tapped me on the shoulder.

“Are you the war correspondent who is ordered to leave?”

“I am,” I answered.

“Have you a permit?”

“No,” I said, astonished. “I am ordered to go.”

“Ah, but you must have a permit.”

The ever officious Tsintsius was at hand to explain. His explanation did not satisfy the captain.

“Get one for him, then,” said Tsintsius.

The captain consented. He wrote an order, gave it to one of his men and told him to conduct me to his quarters.

When we arrived there, the clerk in charge made a lengthy business of his work. He drew up a petition to General Stoessel, stating who and what I was, where I wanted to go, specified that I had with me a Gladstone bag, riding whip, etc., etc., and required a permit to leave Port Arthur. The captain himself came and assisted in drafting the document. Then I was dispatched with the guard to the commandant of the fortress.

General Stoessel was not at all pleased to see me, or gratified at the nature of the communication. He stamped, and fumed, and abused the captain and his men; the guard meanwhile standing strictly to attention. No permit was necessary to leave Port Arthur—only to enter the town.

“Still,” I said, “they won’t let me leave without a pass.”

“Stay! I will give you something which will satisfy that imbecile.”

He scribbled a few words on paper and handed it to me.

When we were in our carriage, the guard asked me to loan him the paper, and he studied it carefully.

“You see our captain was right. It is a permit.” That was well, but when we reached the station the train had gone—there was no other until early the next morning, so I had another day in Port Arthur.

In the afternoon I met the Chief of Police on the Bund.

“Why have you not gone?” he asked.

I explained what had happened.

He looked very serious. “You will go to-morrow. Good. Now go to your room; eat, drink, smoke, sleep, do not come out until the train is ready. I speak for your own good. Do that.”

The police-master had not mentioned the purpose for which I was staying in Port Arthur. I knew that he meant the Anti-British feeling was so intense that my nationality alone might suffice to get me into trouble with some of the more rowdy officers in the fortress. I took the risk and that day again visited every accessible place of importance. I did not visit the police-station, but as evening drew near it occurred to me that Tsintsius would again be busy. I thought I might avoid him for one night. At that time there were in Port Arthur two foreigners having the same surname, say Smith. Harry was an American; Will was British. Harry had invited me to spend the week end with his mess in the New Town, and although I could not do that now, it would serve me to spend the night there. Accordingly I looked him up. He was sorry, but one of his messmates, a Russian, thought that if they in any way were known to be associates of mine, they might have trouble with the authorities, and certainly would be suspected. He thought his namesake would be pleased to give me a bed, and he knew he had a spare room.

Will was not at home. Close by there lived an American who kept open house, and Harry suggested we should go there for a time. So we paid an afternoon call, took tea, and made the acquaintance of other visitors, including a naval officer whose turn it was to take duty on Golden Hill fort in charge of the naval gunners then stationed there. He was due in the battery at dusk, but seemed in no hurry to get away. We returned to Will’s house, where Harry left me.

After dinner Will proposed that we should go to the American’s again and take a hand at cards. When we arrived I was told that shortly after I had left the police called, searching for me. They were informed that I had left with Harry Smith, and to his house they hurried. He had not reached home. They visited his office, called upon all of his associates they could find, but none had seen me recently. The police then searched the Old Town thoroughly from the Bund to the market, from the Hotel de France to the hop-joints of far away China Town.

When I left that house at midnight the naval officer was still there, determined to remain until morning. Half a dozen other officers had joined the party; the piano was going; corks were popping; fresh packs of cards and chalk, glasses and crisp rouble notes crowded the green-cloth tables. That was Port Arthur.

Outside was utter darkness: the oppressive silence of suspense—broken at long intervals by the reverberation of cannon presaging a more anxious morrow.

As I walked down from the New Town to the railway before dawn, only a few Chinamen were astir, tripping ghoul-like hither and thither silently. Sentries paced to and fro, their great-coats and bashliks tight around them; rugged Cossacks patrolled the gloomy snow-flecked road; the half-finished buildings seemed ghastly ruins in the murky obscurity of awful night and awoke memories of horrid dreams—dreams of baffled efforts, dashed hopes, and numb despair.

Before catching sight of the ever vigilant Tsintsius I noticed that the train of dining-saloon and sleeping cars, which had long been in a siding, had now an engine attached, and that engine under steam. Crossing the rails I saw huddled on the platform a party of about 200 Japanese refugees. Most were women, and crouching and huddled into groups for warmth. The few men were being unmercifully cuffed, beaten and kicked by the armed soldier guard in charge of them. All were bundled into covered waggons attached to the train, but I did not see what became of them. Probably they were sent by way of Dalny and Chifu to their own country.

Even that morning the authorities were not anxious to convey me; at least, did not wish me to travel in the only car in which there was room. I told them they might put me off the train if they wished. I was indifferent and did not argue. I left that to Tsintsius. He maintained the discussion successfully until the train left the station and he passed from my horizon.

My troubles were not quite at an end. We stayed at Nangalin junction. In the restaurant there were many officers and a few civilians. I was telling the latter some of the gossip of Port Arthur; how the circus had been broken up, the ponies drafted into Cossack stables, and how they danced in the streets when the band began to play, and so threw off their riders. I proceeded with other small talk, when I was interrupted by a bearded, be-spectacled officer behind me, asking suddenly in my own tongue, “You—are—English?”

“Yes, thank God!” I answered.

“Where are you going?”

“Up north.”

“Ah! Have you a permission?”

“No. I have a ticket.”

“Ah—no permission.”

He retired to a corner, conferred with a number of officers, then returned to the attack.

He would know why I left Port Arthur, why I was going to Newchwang, and a hundred other matters of no concern, all of which I answered with great candour. In the end, he and his council agreed that I might be allowed to proceed.

On the platform outside, a large station guard had been drawn up. In addition there was a draft of the 13th Siberian Rifles, and a number of civilians carrying old Mauser rifles, belts, bayonets and ammunition pouches. They rallied round a triangular white standard on which the cryptic letters M.D. were embroidered in red.

The officer who had questioned me was walking the platform leisurely. It was my turn to inquire. I had given him such information as he asked of me, and I determined that he should not escape my attentions. At once his English became very meagre, but I plied him so vigorously as to these troops and those, the number, intention, and destination of the armed militia; the how, why and where of their enrolment and condition of service, and other matters that he really deserved to be excused, after supplying so much information, when he declined to state anything respecting the special train which was following mine north.

Luck favoured me a little, for later I had to change trains at Tashichiao, and whilst waiting there the special arrived, with the Viceroy and his staff. My attempt to board the train was frustrated by the cordon of sentries, but from my own car I saw the company foregather, dine, make merry, and converse. I recognized first one officer, then another, knew that a tour of inspection was being made and that the generals of the different divisions were receiving instructions or suggesting alterations. Then the train pulled out of sight and I journeyed to Newchwang without further incident but in possession of some news, and the story of events in Port Arthur to that date, which was cabled immediately.

CHAPTER VII
The Day’s Work

Many suppose that because the special war correspondents achieved so little they had a comparatively easy life, pleasantly passed under the Sun-flag in the beauteous isles of the Orient. This was not so for those whose luck it was to be accredited to the Russian army in Manchuria, and still less for those newsgatherers who hovered on the frontier of the neutral territory.

There the day’s work was long, often arduous, and seldom satisfactory. It had its dangers. Mr. Etzel, of the Daily Telegraph, the only correspondent shot during this war, was of us, and I intend now to describe the life we two led together at Yingkow, in the months of March and April. We were not alone, from first to last more than two score correspondents used Yingkow as temporary or permanent headquarters.

If we had not been disturbed during the night we would be out early, and from a glance at the main roads east and west ascertain whether there had been any movement of troops during the hours of darkness. If there were tracks, we followed up the clue after breakfast. We had also to visit the hotels to see whether there were new arrivals from Port Arthur or the north, as the Russian train usually arrived very early in the morning, and the Chinese train left the station on the opposite side of the river at seven o’clock, so it was sometimes possible for a through passenger to travel from one station to the other without a stay in Newchwang, and correspondents could not afford to allow one to slip by unquestioned.

In the forenoon we rode out to the Russian settlement, to Niuchatun, to the Russian fort on the south-west, or to their entrenchments further out, near the salt-pans at the river mouth. Etzel was an excellent scout. On several occasions I was out with him alone, tracking Russian movements, reconnoitring their outposts, or observing what changes they were about to make in the disposition of their military forces around the town. The facility with which he got from point to point without being observed was as excellent as the inimitable manner in which he carried through the examination of the particular business he had set himself to investigate. He had an acute perception of military movements which might have an important bearing on the plan of campaign, and foresight so remarkable that it seemed to me he had a special faculty which enabled him to divine the intentions of the Russian officers directing the troops and superintending the construction of defensive works. Then, in scouting, he found the right clues quickly and followed them with unerring accuracy and admirable precision.

In the afternoon we usually tried to see people who were in a position to have news, and when we saw them we worked to get the news. Between four and five o’clock the couriers came in by the west gate, and they had to be met personally or by a trustworthy Chinaman in our service.

Last of all we wrote our telegrams and took them to the office at the Chinese railway station. This apparently simple matter was sometimes the most difficult part of the day’s work. When the river was hard frozen and the weather fair, we went on a piza, that is, a pair of sledge runners connected by some rough boards upon which a few reeds are fastened. The sledge is propelled by a Chinaman who stands with each foot on one runner and propels the contrivance with a boat hook. In this way, the two miles, in most favourable circumstances, might be accomplished in fifteen minutes. Then there was only the discomfort, the terrible cold and the incessant jolting over the rough ice to be endured but when the ice was bad, when there were cracks and pools to be avoided, and the probability of the ice breaking at any moment, then the journey had its dangers as well as discomforts. It might require forty minutes, or more, and as happened more than once to myself, the rider might slip through a crack in the ice and have an unrequired ducking. The risks were always increased when the crossing was made in the darkness, as ours were.

By way of variety one might walk across the ice, or even ride over on horseback, or send a messenger. But the messenger could always be held up by a European, and the message be read before it was returned to him. Another way, if we were in time, was to post our messages across the river through the Imperial Chinese Post Office.

When the river broke, great masses of packed ice and large floes floated up and down stream for weeks. The only possible way to cross then was by boat; a strong sampan hauled and pushed through the loose ice by three to half a dozen men—that done in the darkness was as unpleasant as it was dangerous. It was very slow, often requiring hours, and with tide and ice both against the boat almost impossible. The cost of the ferry instead of being the usual few cents amounted to dollars. Etzel on the night of March 27 had to pay seven dollars to be ferried across with his message; I was the last correspondent to cross the ice on a piza and the first to be ferried over the river in a boat, and the highest charge I had to pay was six dollars for a ferry after dark.

With the despatch of the telegram our day’s work was over, and that of the next began. There was the crossing of the river to be made again, people to be interviewed, and when the tired correspondent got to bed, he might be disturbed by the noise of passing artillery or troops—movements we deemed it a part of our duty to watch—of rifle fire, even the booming of big guns. One morning I was aroused at two o’clock by a knocking at my door and the startling information that the expected bombardment of Newchwang had at last commenced. I was out in the dark, in the salt marshes, tumbling into mudholes and tiring myself needlessly until daybreak. It was a false alarm. The Russians mistook a pilot’s flare on the bar for the enemy, and fired so furiously that they sunk a helpless Chinese junk with thirty-five hands, killed three men and wounded seven on another, and succeeded in working the native population into a state of panic.

By unflagging energy and unceasing vigilance we were able to keep ourselves au courant with local changes and passing events in our immediate neighbourhood. This was insufficient. We wished to be informed as to the progress of the war. Many rumours reached us of the propinquity of the Japanese forces, and as the Russians would not permit us to wander beyond the neighbouring villages we were forced to rely upon native newsmongers.

Messrs. Bush Bros. had agents and correspondents throughout Southern Manchuria, and such news as they received they generously placed at the disposal of all newspaper representatives. Generally this news was ahead of that which reached Newchwang by other means, and as often as any it was correct. But it was insufficient in detail, and too irregular in appearance to satisfy all needs of impatient news correspondents. We determined to have our own men investigating, and our own messengers. I do not know what arrangements Etzel made. My relations were with two respectable business men in the town, both Englishmen, and neither acquainted with what the other was doing in the matter. Both had an intimate knowledge of Chinese methods, one was the most proficient Anglo-Chinaman in the country, and they, if any, knew where to get trustworthy Chinese and how to deal with them advantageously. Both sent out men in different directions. These men wrote back what they saw on their journey, and their letters were posted to Newchwang or conveyed by messengers. They were written in Chinese, and had to be translated on arrival.

Here are some extracts from the letters of Kongkwang-tsa, who left Yingkow for the Yalu, on the 27th of the first moon: “I see four Russian guns at Yuan-Pao mountain; I see many troops of Russians there; I see guns at An-chu, and troops; and troops at mouth, at Chang-tien, and 700 at Takushan, and 800 at Talung-kow. There was bobbery; the merchants of Antung-Hsien district have been pleased that Magistrate Kao has suppressed rioting. I see twenty li from Hsiu-yen, twenty Russian carts, with men and material—there they put up a telegraph. I go to——”

From another: “Near Fen shui huan I meet blacksmith; he tell me Russian messenger pass his forge every day. I go Yalu, at Chala cheng; I see all Russians cross river; I see Japanese spies, see Japanese troops.”

And this from another correspondent: “I see one or two Japanese soldiers; Russians see many. Suddenly see many Japanese soldiers; look again, but none there. Went ——; there Russian soldier cross Yalu river, come back this side. He no wait. He go thirty in small sampan; no can; boat lost; Russian man all lost. Russian man take big boat; make him very full; big boat lost; only one Russian man come this side. Russian man take another big boat, make too much full; Russian man all drown. Russian man no can wait.”

In the hurried crossing of the Yalu after the battle of Pin-yang, more than three hundred Russians were lost at this ferry.

The following are of later date (May 2): “The Russians have posted everywhere placards explaining away the advance northwards of the Japanese troops who crossed the Yalu, and give accounts of the successes the Russians have gained in fighting the Japanese army elsewhere, and saying that soon they will attack and drive back the Japanese far from these places, for Russia is strong. The Chinese do not believe these placards, because the Japanese are every day coming farther and farther into the country.”

Then I received accounts of the landing of Japanese troops at Takushan; and at Pitsewo, and acting in conjunction with the force landed at Kinchow, on the other side of the peninsula, succeeded in cutting the line, and isolating Port Arthur. Here the forces joined, captured a train from Port Arthur; stopped another, but allowed it to proceed when the Red Cross flag was shown, and tried ineffectually to stop it again by rifle fire when they found they had been deceived, and that it was the special train used by Admiral Alexeiev. It was known afterwards that both H.I.H. the Grand Duke Boris and H.E. the Viceroy were in the train, and narrowly escaped capture. The Japanese have never ceased blaming themselves for their laxity in allowing this train to pass them. We got news of the Japanese movements, of the forward rush of the Takushan army after the battle of Puliantien, but it must be stated that the cross marching of the Japanese between Takushan and Kinchow completely baffled the Chinese reporters. They were marching towards Tashichiao not Kaiping, and keeping to the east of the railway instead of taking the shorter route to Newchwang.

This scheme of newsgetting worked excellently for some weeks. The agents went right on to the Yalu, and fell back as the invasion of Manchuria progressed, and they reported intelligently and frequently. On the whole matters went well until the agents got shot, or were taken prisoner, or wanted to come home, or were recalled.

In addition to all this, there were Chinese constantly arriving in Newchwang from Port Arthur, Dalny, and other places where fighting was going on, and these always had some news to sell—something which if not worth telegraphing, was worth knowing. The American consulate was a great centre for news and for newspaper men, both British and American, but the British consulate was like a shooting man’s fox coverts, always drawn blank. It was MacCullagh of the New York Herald who first discovered a new variety of lady missionary from the north who had a fund of entertaining conversation and plenty of interesting information, so, quite outside of the usual official channels, we had numerous sources of news and spent much time in collecting the best.

The newspaper correspondents themselves were, often without intending it, the most frequent cause of my troubles. Only once did I call upon the Russian administrator; it was a small matter of routine business he had to adjust for me, and he volunteered the information incidentally that in a few days he thought it would be his duty—he did not qualify it with “unpleasant”—his duty, to order me out of Newchwang. As a matter of fact I stopped long enough to see him turned out—by the Japanese. I thought it advisable to keep quiet for a few days, for I was not ready just then to pass out of the Russian lines.

At this critical juncture I had a disturbing message from Dr. Morrison: “Greener, Yingkow.—Japanese Legation disbelieves Carter’s story and proximity forces.” The Russian authorities inspected all our telegrams, and for it to be known to them that what I sent was submitted to the Japanese at Peking did not improve my position or make it easier for me to extract news from Russians in authority.

The next disturbing incident was far more easily settled. One morning an officer from H.M.S. Espiègle came to me post haste to know what I meant by a telegram in the Times of February 17, then just received in Newchwang. I had my horse saddled and rode up the river bank to the gunboat’s dock, when the following was read to me:—

“Yingkau, February 16.*

“The Civil Administrator of Newchwang with his family is proceeding to Tientsin. He has been making every effort to arrest the Russian soldiers guilty of offences against foreigners, and has assured Mr. Miller, the United States Consul, and Commanders Barton and Sawyer of the British sloop Espiègle and the American gunboat Helena against whom menacing demonstrations have been made, that full reparation shall be made.”

“What of it?” I asked.

“There has been no menacing demonstration, therefore no reparation can be made—that is all.”

“Not quite,” I answered. “If you will look you will see an asterisk after the date, and at the bottom of the column you are informed that it is a Reuter’s message. You have called the wrong man.”

It was too much to expect me to be answerable for what was sent to the paper by the news agencies, but soon afterwards I was called to book over a paragraph in a message sent from Peking on March 4, and published in the Times of March 7, as follows:—

“All the coal supply at Newchwang has been purchased by the Russians, including 22,000 tons belonging to the chief British firm. A contract was signed on the very eve of the war, when war was assured. Delivery is not yet complete, and has been taking place daily ever since the war began. The Russians speak favourably of the assistance thus rendered at a critical time, when coal was urgently needed for the Manchurian railway, by a British firm, who, unless the port is blockaded, can presumably render equally valuable service in the future by importing food stuffs for the Russian troops.”

This is with reference to a matter which Dr. Morrison might have stated differently. In the first place all the coal stocks at Newchwang were not then purchased: in April the late United States Marshal sold some large parcels, and there were others. The 22,000 tons of Kaiping dust formed a portion of a consignment from the Chinese Engineering and Mining Company. It was in Newchwang, which was ice-bound. That coal, and all other supplies in store, could have been commandeered by the Russians after the war began under the martial law they proclaimed. The Russian authorities would not buy the dust from the British firm of Bush Bros., who sold it before the war to the Danish East-Asiatic Company, a Copenhagen firm of shipowners and traders, from whom the Russians acquired that portion which was being delivered when Dr. Morrison was at Newchwang. The Russians may have spoken favourably of the assistance thus rendered by a British firm—which was avowedly, openly and consistently pro-Japanese throughout—but I never heard them, though I did hear many abuse the firm very often. The Russian authorities showed their appreciation by not buying food stuffs from Messrs. Bush, who had them at a time the Russians wanted them badly, and Mr. McGlew, a member of the firm and brother-in-law of its principal, was the only foreign resident the Russian authorities requested to leave Newchwang. The firm had to dispense with his services until the Japanese occupation of the treaty port had been effected.

The war provoked correspondents into making mistakes, the most careful and capable were at times at fault, and those who trusted to official information probably more often than any. Only the agencies can reveal how many times their distraught correspondents have telegraphed in such manner as—“Kill dispatch, given officially but untrue.” “Suppress after —— last message, official now untalk.”

Obtaining an exact and truthful account of any occurrence even from an eye-witness of the event is a matter of great difficulty, as Sir Walter Raleigh experienced, but the difficulty is exceedingly great with reference to all things connected with the war, as every informant is more or less biassed in favour of one of the belligerents. Sift, and probe, and examine, and compare as carefully as we might, we were rarely quite satisfied that we had the real unvarnished plain statement of fact. On the few occasions we did succeed we did not always get credited even. I know that once I met a man of learning and position, one of the best informed, most intelligent and highly respected foreign residents in Vladivostok. He was on his way from that town to communicate something of importance to his Legation at Peking. We had long been acquainted, and although, as he explained, he could not give me all the information he had about Vladivostok yet he would give me something of general interest respecting the recent Japanese bombardment of that port, and of the extent of the damages. Part of that information I cabled home at once—to be informed curtly from Peking, “You are not justified in wasting Times’ money upon wild reports reaching you from Vladivostok.”

The newspaper men had no opportunities for lotus eating in the wilderness of Newchwang, but some of them had not enough of danger there to satisfy them and must needs seek extra risks by attempting extraordinary adventures. There was Colonel Emerson, an American, who with insufficient papers pushed on to the Russian headquarters at Liaoyang, and there got his marching orders to proceed home by way of Moscow and report himself to the authorities at Mukden, Harbin and other places en route. He went as far as Mukden, did not report himself, but got carried through the Russian lines to Hsinmintun by one of the Chinamen in the employ of Bush Brothers, a man who has rendered other correspondents signal service but whose identity must not be revealed as long as any are liable to need his assistance. The Russians, missing Emerson, concluded that he must have tried to escape and consequently must be dead, for nobody could pass out of the Russian lines. So his death was reported in the Harbinski Viedomosti, and the authorities telegraphed in Emerson’s name for his effects to be forwarded to Mukden. As it happened, Emerson, who had not sent the telegram, was back again in Newchwang at the time.

There was another American who determined to go from Newchwang to Port Arthur in a junk, and told so many people about it that the junk was stopped; and there was Etzel, who did get away, but only to be shot before he was out of Chinese waters. That disastrous termination put an end to similar enterprises, but only for a time.

In Newchwang we had General Kondoratovich, the youngest man of his rank in the army. The Commandant of our division was a good type of officer, intrepid, resourceful, open-hearted and open-handed; the correspondents just made him tired, but he was always courteous to them. He was a free liver, absolutely disregardful of public opinion and capable of minding his own affairs and of guarding Russian interests.

Newchwang was also visited by General Linevich, the leader of the Russian expedition to Peking; by the Commander-in-Chief General Kuropatkin, who reviewed the local troops numbering about 6,000, and decided that the port must be evacuated. Newchwang was also visited by the Grand Duke Boris, who viewed its defences, inspected the port, and after being bored by the authorities as a matter of duty was fêted by them as a token of their esteem, and enjoyed himself in his usual manner.

On Palm Sunday, March 27, the authorities suddenly announced that the treaty port of Newchwang was under martial law. All residents must remain within the gates of the town; the Russian settlement, Niuchatun, and other villages in the suburbs were out of bounds, and not to be visited without special permission. The Chinese railway station in neutral territory could be visited between sunrise and sunset; during the hours of darkness all river traffic was prohibited. The Chinese, who, until that day, if they were found after dark without carrying a lantern were fined, were fined now if they had a lantern, or if the least glimmer of light showed through their doors, windows, or cracks in the walls of their compound.

All the foreign consuls with the exception of the British acquiesced in the order. The British consul would not do so without instructions of the British Minister at Peking to whom he had referred the matter, and who, naturally, never gave instructions. It was a mere verbal quibble, all British subjects were advised to accept the situation; the protection of the consuls could indeed be claimed, but as they had relinquished their power, their consulates were no longer legal sanctuaries for their own nationals.

The work of correspondents was made more difficult; and they were regarded with increased suspicion by the authorities. Colonel Telshin and Lt.-Col. Dabovsky were appointed censors, and the Chinese Imperial Railway Telegraph offices were placed in charge of Mr. Pancheka, who had with him a commissioned officer and a squad of Cossacks.

It cannot be said that the regulations were severe, or that they pressed heavily upon the foreign residents. As with all Russian ordinances there was laxity in enforcing the provisions of the proclamation. The correspondents found certain liberties curtailed. We certainly did ride out without permits to Russia-town, the flats by the forts, and to different villages. Sometimes we were stopped by a sentinel, but more often than not passed unchallenged. Only once, when I was re-entering by the south gate from a ride to the fort, did the guard go so far as to stop me by seizing my bridle. I urged the horse forward, and the bold man went with her a short way, then he and his rifle fell to the earth. I went on, expecting a shot to be fired after me, but hearing only the loud laughter of the guards at their comrade’s discomfiture.

The censorship was somewhat of a nuisance. Etzel submitted a test message which the censor obligingly amended: the revised copy was presented and passed, but it was not sent, for the message which went was of quite different import and uncensored. There were also ways of getting a censor’s stamp and signature on a blank form, or by writing in or altering the censored message, news of a somewhat different character could be substituted. But there were so many ways of getting news out without the authorities knowing of it, that troubling the censor was quite unnecessary, and done only in order to keep on good terms with the officials.

The order against crossing the river was the most irksome restriction. The bank was patrolled, and the sentinels fired at whatever they saw moving, and inquired afterwards. When there was good cause to cross over, a permit could be obtained, and the passenger took the risk; or even a ferry could be obtained in one of the official launches, the privileged boats, which were not fired upon. There were no steam launches or tug-boats in private hands.

We did not often ask for special permits from the authorities, because we did not care to be constantly worrying them, and because if the official happened to be asleep, or obfuscated, there were delays, and the attendants rather expected that something unusual would be attempted, and the guards thus made unusually alert. We went up the river beyond the guard boat, and down it below the fort; sometimes I was challenged, generally not, and the restrictions were only a subject to grumble at openly, and ignore in secret. By taking my horse across the river and working the opposite bank I was never subjected to any annoyance or question, and I crossed beyond the prescribed limits whenever I wished. Still, it was not easy to get the Chinese boatmen to contravene the regulations. Once when it was necessary for me to cross from Liao-tse to the town in the night, I had to go to the village opium joint, seize a sampan man, drag him to the water-edge, put him in the sampan and push it off into the stream myself, then set him to scull the boat across. Of course he grumbled, and worked hard and in mortal fear, but no shot was fired that time. At others we were shot at, and over, but luckily not fired upon.

Finding by experience that when I answered the sentinel’s challenge with the usual pass-word “Svoi” (literally, “self-same” = friend) it invariably led to further questioning and vexatious delay whilst explaining my business, I asked a Russian official how I could avoid the annoyance.

“Oh, say ‘K’chortu’ (to the devil), I always do.” That never failed me.

We had our little worries day by day. Whenever we needed roubles, they were at a big premium in Newchwang, when we wanted Mexican dollars roubles were at a discount, and as Mexicans were not forthcoming we were loaded up with Pei-yang coins, Kirin currency and small money, whilst the fiction of the Haikwan tael was rammed down our throats, and was as hard to swallow as stories of Russian successes on the field of battle. An American journalist got no war news worth a cent, but of his experiences he made an article on the “financial pirates of the east,” which justified the expense his paper incurred by his expedition. One correspondent thought it was time to learn Russian, and having got the one word “Good-day” at the end of his tongue, he tried it upon the first sentry who challenged him. There followed a one-sided conversation, the sentry becoming choleric and the correspondent answering “Good-day” calmly to every phrase the other uttered. Another bought a pair of English riding boots across the river and carried them home. Wrapping-up paper was not procurable, and the correspondent with his boots attracted the attention of the police. As he was unable to explain matters, either in Chinese or Russian, he had difficulty in continuing his journey homeward. If the police had known how many pairs of riding boots that correspondent had in his room, they would undoubtedly have considered themselves justified in detaining him indefinitely.

There was one correspondent, representing a journal of world-wide renown, who whenever he got into a difficulty never gave his name, but always that of his paper. Riding along the native bund one day, his pony seized some carrots from the stall of a Chinese market man and munched them. The correspondent tendered some money, but he was mobbed by the Chinese and Russians, and the police wanted some other explanation than Weekly Post, which he kept on repeating. As he told the story: “Sure, Greener, there’s nae body heerd o’ the Weekly Post in these parts, and I made bould to mintion your peeper,—wi’ nae’ bitter effect. Then I sae ain o’ those enamelled signs o’ the Daily Telegraph’s; it’s just bent round a forge fire. An’ I went to’t, and tapped it with me whip, and signed wi’ my hands that I was it. But they wouldna’ understand! I think maybe they thought I wanted the sign just as my pony wanted the carrots, an’ I doant nae what might have happened me had na’ one o’ the coostoms men passed by and exthricated me. Sich fules! What is’t you say for War Correspondent? Eh? Say it again.”

Busy bodies amongst the Russian officials hauled down the American flag from the correspondents’ mess, and wished to remove the British ensign from their compound. They had to be made re-hoist one and allow both to remain. Then there were foreign residents who thought Newchwang the centre of the universe, and believed that through the correspondents the people of the British Empire could be made to take a real interest in the protection of their private property in Newchwang. And in this wise were we kept occupied, and whilst seemingly devoted to these things, or apparently idling, and waiting, and holding ourselves at the pleasure of our Russian authorities, we were forced to make time in which to do our real work unknown and unobserved.

CHAPTER VIII
In Neutral Territory

There is a portion of the Chinese Empire outside the Great Wall which was tacitly regarded by both Russians and Japanese as beyond the legitimate sphere of war. It lies west of the Liao, and extends to the Mongolian boundary. Its length is about 250 miles, and its greatest width less than a hundred; the eastern portion comprises much of the Liao plain, swampy land, with barren stretches and salt-pans in the south, and well cultivated grain lands in the north. On the west are the Hai mountains, a chain of rugged rocks with fertile slopes and excellent corn and grazing ground, where they rise from the plain.

Nominally, this territory is governed by Chinese authorities; actually it is domineered by Russian troops foraging for supplies, by Japanese agents, and by the chiefs of independent mountain villages, whose inhabitants are usually regarded as robbers, bandits, Redbeards, or Hunghuses.

The Imperial Chinese Railway has a line running north from Shanhaikwan to Hsinmintun, with a branch east from the main line at Kaopantze to Yingkow. The railway has British subjects superintending the engineering, traffic, locomotive, and construction departments; but it has a board of Chinese directors, and is essentially and actually a Chinese railway run by and for the Chinese. You step into a vestibuled dining-car on the mail train: you note the automatic couplings, the bogie waggons, the large grain trucks, and read that all are constructed in China, at the company’s own workshops. You see Chinese engine-drivers, station-masters, pointsmen, brakesmen, and telegraph clerks, and you may be on that train for hours, running smoothly at forty miles an hour, and be the only European, not only on the train, but at and about the stations at which it stops. The trains are punctual, but they do not run at night, for the simple reason that Chinese passengers will not travel in darkness; so the working day is from 7 to 7, unless emergency trains are necessary. This railway is excellently managed, and it is perhaps the only real controlling factor in the government of the neutral territory. At each station there is a guard of from ten to forty of the Viceroy Yuan-shi-kai’s soldiers. They are fine men, in clean, neat uniforms; they carry small-bore Mauser magazine rifles and sword bayonets; they have plenty of ammunition and get their pay regularly. A detachment will fall into line and stand to attention on the arrival and departure of each passenger train. In wet weather they wear long oilskin coats and sou’westers; when they don these slickers they invariably leave their weapons at home. At many stations there is, in addition, a guard of soldiers from the regular standing army, mostly from General Ma’s force, but they are armed only with old-fashioned rifles, and are not nearly so smart as the others, but doubtless are as good fighters.

The railway running parallel to the Russian west flank, and communicating with their posts at both Yingkow and Hsinmintun, it could be of great service to them as a means of communication, and also for the conveyance of supplies; if it were in the hands of their enemies, the Russian positions from Yingkow to Kaiyuen would be jeopardized. They could not control the line absolutely unless they seized it from the Chinese. Its neutrality was their only safeguard; and if regarded by them as neutral, then its usefulness was lessened. That the railway was untouched by either of the belligerents is in a large measure due to the firm diplomacy of Mr. Cox, the superintendent at Yingkow, who in difficult circumstances maintained the independence of the railway corporation and satisfied both the Russians and Japanese that strict neutrality could be and was always observed.

Contraband of war could not be conveyed through neutral territory, and in order that there might not be any mistake as to what was contraband, the Chinese authorities scheduled almost everything. Hogs’ bristles, I think, were the only notable exception. The Russian officials did not object to anything conveyed, so long as it was intended for the Russian army, but the Japanese objected, and their agents kept a close watch on everything and everybody going north from Shanhaikwan; all the same the Russians smuggled with success.

Then an attempt was made by the Russians to obtain their object by legitimate means. The Russian doctor in charge of the Red Cross establishments supposed he was right in believing that supplies for the Red Cross hospitals were not in any circumstances to be regarded as contraband of war. The railway authorities confirmed him in the belief. He wanted 120,000 fire-bricks and a thousand tons of fire-clay. Now, these bricks and such clay make excellent facings to fortresses, and were contraband of war. But, if he wanted them? He would not get them.

Then after dusk one evening some trucks, filled high with bales of hogs’ bristles, arrived at Yingkow, and they were shunted down to the wharf. Something about these bales attracted the attention of one of the English inspectors: he made a closer examination, and discovered that the hogs’ bristles concealed cases of ammunition. Those trucks went back before daylight broke and before the consignee knew they had arrived.

At Shanhaikwan, when suspected goods had to be examined, or refused, or confiscated, the work fell invariably to one or other of the young railway guards, all time-expired, short-service men from the British army. The Chinese officials will never face a determined European. I doubt whether they ever will acquire the courage to do so.

One day a Russian political agent, known to every one on the line, arrived with a lot of baggage he was taking north on the morrow. Some of the contents of his luggage had been manufactured in France, its shipment had been notified by a Japanese agent, and its subsequent movements followed with fidelity; now, when within a few hours’ journey of the Russian lines, was it to be stopped by a British stripling? The great man expostulated, threatened and fumed to no purpose. He went on without his luggage, complaining to every railway official he met of the absurdity of seizing his uniforms. He could not appear before the Viceroy Alexeiev dressed like a British tourist! Everyone promised to do what they could in order to get that baggage sent forward, and the diplomat even communicated with Peking, so sad was his plight. In the course of a few days the decisive answer came; the gentleman could not have his war balloon. Shortly afterwards a dispirited French aeronaut took his way south.

The smugglers of provisions, wines, and delicacies for the Russian officers travelled to and fro so often that they became known, and were suspected and stopped. There were many genuine refugees using the line; they came from Port Arthur and Dalny, and wanted to get back to Russia. They had always a lot of baggage with them; but as this was going towards China it did not matter. Some of these parties were personally conducted by an Orthodox priest. After a time Russian refugees began to arrive from China; they had come from Port Arthur and Dalny, and were wanting to get back to Russia by the Tashichiao route. They also were unkempt, had plenty of baggage, and were often accompanied by a Russian priest. One day a surprise examination was sprung upon these refugees bound north, with the result that no owners could be found for heaps of luggage, all more or less contraband of war.

As a rule all the Russians at Yingkow were courteous to the British passing through, and to the few British residents, all of whom were connected with the railway service. One night a British officer dressed in mufti came from Shanhaikwan. There were about a dozen at dinner that evening, and later the officer joined our company, and we talked of the war and its prospects. There were no Russian officials present, but one of the guests was a Russian, and so frequently a visitor that I suspected him, and warned the officer. He returned to Shanhaikwan early the next morning. Later that day the Russian guards made a thorough search of the settlement, believing him to be still in hiding amongst us. During this quite Russian domiciliary visit, one of the soldiers lingered too long in the bedroom of one of the railway men, who became impatient, and told him to go. The man would not, so the Briton threw him and his rifle not only out of the house, but through the fence of the compound. Shortly afterwards an officer with a guard arrested the Briton, and took him to Newchwang, where an interpreter was found. They brought the Briton before the administrator, and endeavoured to impress upon him the enormity of his offence: to touch a soldier was to touch the Tsar. What had he to say? The old soldier thought it time to plead guilty.

“I can only say I’m sorry I killed him; I did not intend that.”

“Killed him? You haven’t killed him; he is there! Look!”

“I don’t seem to have hurt him. Ask him, please, if I hurt him?”

The soldier was asked: if he had been hurt, he would not have owned to it, and he laughed at the suggestion, and denied it emphatically.

“Then why am I here?” asked the Briton.

“Oh! go away, all of you—don’t bother me with such little matters.”

The incident closed, and never after that was there any trouble between British and Russians on the Yingkow side.

Out in the east, when top-dog, the Briton is bad, but the Russian much worse, as the Chinese are well aware. Sometimes I would ride out alone through villages in this neutral territory, and as I galloped towards the group of trees by the temple, I would see in the distance women, children, and men hurrying into their compounds and barring the gates. The village streets and the cultivated land surrounding the village would be deserted by the time I arrived. Not a living soul would be seen—only the black pigs routing in the mud, and the half-wild village dogs walking along the mud walls and barking loudly. If I rode straight through, and, after going a little way, looked back, I saw the people coming out and staring after me. If I pulled up on the lee side of one of their wretched mud dwellings, took out my pipe and filled it, then smoked, some bold man would put out his head and say, “Yingwa,” whereon a crowd of the inquisitive would gather rapidly and gaze at me wonderingly. There is no fear of the English; the Russians are beheld with terror by these simple villagers, who have lost much through their depredations.

The first time I stayed in a Chinese inn up in this country I was surprised at the consideration shown to Englishmen. The innkeeper sent one of his men to conduct me to the place I wished to visit, and men with lanterns to bring me back safely. They fed me well, pressed me to take cocoa—the only English food he possessed—gave me cigars, provided me with a private room—a luxury in small country inns—arranged with a carter to convey me on the next stage of my journey, and absolutely refused to accept any payment. I was, he said, the first Englishman to visit his inn, and that was honour. His servants also refused to accept gratuities—for the same reason.

That was north, a country possessing great agricultural wealth. The district is but a score miles from the Imperial cattle reserve, and the supply is so great as to appear illimitable. Naturally, the Russians have been drawing upon it for their increased needs. But they have lost ground in this territory, as they have where the Japanese have attacked them. Amongst my notes of February, I have: “Three hundred Cossacks from Liaoyang crossed the Liao plain, and rode to the mountains. They visited I-chow and Kuan-ning, then by way of Tung-na-ku and Hsiao-hei-shan went to Lao-ta-tsu, where a post is established.” This town was in the southern district much nearer established Chinese authority than is Hsinmintun. At the end of April the Cossacks had commenced to denude the country of cattle, going out in troops of fifty, each accompanied by a Chinese interpreter. Each troop considered it an unlucky day when a bullock apiece had not been captured. The Russians also requisitioned cattle from the Tartar generals, and if sufficient were not forthcoming, at once renewed their demand for all the Chinese troops in the Fengtien province to be disarmed.

The Chinese of these parts were simply bullied by the Russians into parting with everything they possessed, and their Chinese officials were dispossessed of the little authority which had been allowed to remain. The same harsh rule was applied in even greater force in the north, and the Tartar general at Kirin is supposed either to have died of broken heart, or to have committed suicide in order to avoid dishonour.

Another note of mine of much later date shows a different state of affairs in this neutral territory. In August thirty Cossacks were seen near Hsiao, riding two on each pony; two miles behind a force of about three hundred bandits were in hot pursuit.

To obtain further meat supplies the Russians purchased at Kulan Fair and Ha-lao, on the Mongolian frontier. In neutral territory they seldom paid for their supplies, merely gave a receipt for the beasts they took away, and sometimes tied that to the horns of the cattle driven into the Russian lines. The extent of the enormous traffic may be judged from the fact, that as many as a thousand head of cattle have been delivered in Mukden in one day from the Hsinmintun road alone.

The villagers were powerless to protect their property, so bought the aid of the hill men, all of whom are more or less engaged in horse and cattle dealing. Hence after the raids, there were counter raids and border warfare. The hill men number between fifty and eighty thousand, and from them soldiers are recruited. Their leaders are all known to the Chinese government, at least by name; some have been and some still are in government service, acting as independent police for the protection of the frontier and for the purpose of preventing cattle raids.

The conditions were bad before the war began; they have since grown increasingly worse. Russian outposts were attacked, and had to be abandoned, and with the exception of the road between Hsinmintun and Mukden, which the Russians must keep open to get through supplies from China, it is doubtful if there are now any Russian soldiers stationed in neutral territory. The hill men grew bolder as the Japanese successes followed each other, and in the summer they agreed upon common action and scoured the country, driving the Russians before them and killing all whom they could capture.

At first they had their own leaders, two of whom I met, but latterly they have been organized and commanded by Japanese, who wear Chinese dress, and have queues fastened inside their caps. The hill men are now an irregular force of raiders, quite free from Chinese control, and are being used to annoy the Russians, and where possible to break up the line, hinder railway communications, and hamper the Russians in getting through food supplies from Mongolia.

They are all well armed, mostly with modern German magazine rifles. They lead a wild, free life, preying on those villagers who will not employ them, upon well-to-do native travellers and traders, and most of all upon the Russians, for a Hunghus is as proud of having slain a Russian soldier as an American Indian was of a Sioux scalp.

For Chinamen they may be considered brave, that is to say, when they are superior in numbers, about five to one,—they will attack openly Russians conveying cattle, and they are sufficiently daring to make night attacks on villages known to be harbouring Chinese who favour their foes. In no circumstances would they make such attacks as the Japanese have made at Port Arthur, Tashichiao and Liaoyang.

The Russian political agent to Mongolia, a Siberian named Gromov, whom I met in Harbin and at Port Arthur, has been trying through his Mongolian acquaintances to win over some of these Chinese hill men of the north to the Russian side, but apparently without any success. The bandits attacked Tehling, got away with some stores, and set fire to more, but in my opinion their finest recorded exploit is their successful attack on the Russian gunboat Sivouch, which, in order to escape the Japanese, went up the Liao to Estahbien on high spring tides. The Sivouch, an old vessel of 943 tons register, steamed down to Liao bar when H.M.S. Espiègle arrived from Chenwantao to render assistance to British residents, and, according to the Chinese version current, drove the British warship away. The Hunghuses attacked by night, firing upon her at short range from the high kowliang growing on the banks, and from behind the many embankments made in that district to keep flood-water off the land. Each night the attack became more serious; the rifle bullets pierced the ship’s sides, and she was then blown up and sunk by her crew, who escaped by way of old Newchwang to Liaoyang.

When the Japanese, three days later, sent their gunboat up the river to engage her, they found only a newspaper correspondent in possession, and with him a number of Chinese soldiers intended for her protection. The Japanese arrested the correspondent, and gave him a passage on their vessel down the river, but not before he had managed to acquire and secrete the gilded Imperial Eagle from her bows as a souvenir of his excursion.

The homes of these hill men are up in the mountain fastnesses, to which there are only rough paths up which their sturdy Mongolian ponies will scramble at a fair pace. Many of their leaders ride on donkeys, and Wang, one of the smartest, when last I met him, was riding a fine dark brown jackass, which, he informed me, he would not exchange for any pony in the country. In Manchuria and North China the richest men ride mules, and ordinarily a good saddle mule is worth more money than a pony of equal quality.

The Hunghus towns and villages are surrounded with a low wall, have gates, and small forts with jingals at frequent intervals, commanding all the approaches. It is one of the ordinances of China that even every village must have its surrounding wall. Though this fence may be of mud and only a few feet high, without gates, and used as a promenade in muddy weather, it nevertheless exists. In some of the villages on the plain the walls also have forts; these forts have cannon about as large and very much of the shape of an old blunderbus barrel. And there is always a diminutive flag over the fort, whose walls and moat, or trench, there is not a correspondent’s waler could not jump easily, and a clever horse would jump both in and out of the fort, as an Irish horse jumps a stone wall. The forts are just such toys as enterprising boys make on the sea-beach for their amusement, and of no greater military importance.

The strength of the Hunghuses lies in their bravery; they do not fear their own countrymen; of foreigners they have a wholesome dread.

The Russians were so uneducated they knew not what to do, nor what to want. Ordinarily you could pass through their lines with ease. When it was difficult, or the correspondent too lazy, a Chinaman was employed. One I sent into the fort to see what was being done there, to find out how many guns were in position and what they were. He was an educated man, but passed in as a coolie, and as a coolie was detained until he had done a day’s work with the others.

There was a spy who wished to get plans of the fort and of the fortifications around it. He stayed in a Chinese village near by, went in and out and about; hid when necessary in the hollows where Chinese coffins have fallen in on the corpses, and when hard pressed he came back to Yingkow. The authorities, aided by their English secretary, were after him there, but it did not suit the correspondents to have one who had posed as of their profession to be caught thus red-handed. He was hidden among Chinese in a riverside village, and as the train was searched for him every morning, he had to get underneath one of the cars before dawn, and hang on to the gear there until the train reached the next station.

This was an exceptional case. Ordinarily the correspondent and the Chinese helpers were equal to every occasion. For a monetary consideration commensurate with the risk they ran, they would take the correspondent almost anywhere. He got into a covered Peking cart, and left the rest to his men. The cart would dawdle along when nearing a Russian picket, until a number of native carts joined the procession. At the post there would be a crowd; if you kept your cover down, other Chinese carts with native passengers did so; whilst they were being examined your driver contrived to get into the line of those passed as correct. At most you wanted only two or three carts. Those in advance acted as scouts, their drivers warning your carter what was happening ahead. Success in spying depends not so much in ability to get out of difficult situations as in having the good sense to avoid them.

For most of the mistakes the correspondents made they were themselves to blame. The credulity with which they absorbed rumour was equalled only by the avidity with which they sought news. Some might consider their colleagues to be their worst enemies. One would ask another what he thought of the serious position created by General Ma bringing 40,000 Chinese soldiers outside the Great Wall of China. He questioned to get the speaker’s idea of the extent of the seriousness, not daring to own that he had not received the news, or questioning the fact itself. After a general talk all round, some one of the crowd was as likely as not to wire off as news what was only an assumed state of affairs. In this way the Japanese were reported to have torpedoed a pilot boat, to have captured half South Manchuria before they left Korea, and to have achieved numerous impossibilities.

The Russian officials were not guiltless. The cabling of a little false news afforded them an excuse for being rid of a correspondent when his presence was not desired. Trap after trap was set, and he was indeed wary or inactive who escaped them all.

There was one item of somewhat sensational interest most adroitly launched. An officer at Yingkow heard from two army officers who had arrived from Liaoyang that an American newspaper correspondent, who had gone there without having his papers in order, had sought refuge with a countrywoman of his resident there, and that for harbouring him she had been flogged by the order of the commander-in-chief. The alleged victim was a Miss Alice Clery, who had been for some years in the Orient, and was one of the few persons of American nationality who were heart and soul with the Russians in their struggle against the Japanese. At Port Arthur, in order to be with them, she had volunteered for Red Cross work, and through the influence of friends on the Viceroy’s staff had been found quarters at Liaoyang. That much was true, and it was also a fact that the correspondent had made her acquaintance. The remainder of the story was open to question. The manner in which it was started was quite clever. In course of general conversation with a British trader in Yingkow, a hint was dropped by an army officer that British and American correspondents, and those who helped them, had not much favour at the hands of General Kuropatkin. The man mentioned the fact to a resident, who told me jocosely what I might expect. Thereupon I interviewed the officer, who, most reluctantly, informed me of what his brother officers had told him. He believed them. It was a possible story. He did not, and could not, vouch for the facts, as he was not at Liaoyang at the time, but he knew this, that, and the other which corroborated everything he had been told. I went to the censor and asked him to be good enough to straighten out the story, if I had the details wrong. He had heard the officers tell the same story, heard that the woman received twenty-five lashes, and had no reason to doubt the statement at all. He deplored the occurrence, but it was not for him to question any action of the commander-in-chief.

Here was a story which an American journalist could turn into a rousing article—and it was vouched for sufficiently.

It lacked probability. Russian officers would not be guilty of such barbarity. Sooner or later such an occurrence would be known, for there were American military attachés and newspaper correspondents at Liaoyang, and when it was known, the political consequences would be such that any officer guilty of an act of that kind would have trouble. For every offence, short of crime, which a foreigner of either sex may commit the Russians have one penalty—the offender is banished from Russian territory. It is a short and effective way out of many difficulties, one unlikely to lead to a diplomatic incident or cause future trouble. This report needed more evidence than hearsay to substantiate an event so improbable, and the correspondents again saved themselves.

Etzel had repeatedly suggested to me that by getting a junk we might reach Kaiping or Port Adams or Port Arthur, and find out what the Japanese were doing. It was a proposal I negatived. The risks were greater than the results appeared to promise. He was very keen on the scheme, and ultimately made the attempt in the company of the Daily Mail representative. A few days before he embarked he accompanied me as far as Kaopantze, in the neutral territory, where he was getting together the necessaries for his voyage. The matter was kept quite secret. Instead of going to Messrs. Bush Bros., or Bandinel & Co., and having a junk and crew known on the river, or even obtaining the protection of their house flag, he chartered through an Englishman a small, light, fast-sailing junk of the type known locally as “sea swallows”; it also resembles unfortunately some of the piratical craft with which the waterways are infested. At the last moment he was implored not to go, and almost persuaded. He seemed to have a presentiment of approaching catastrophe. One of his friends bidding him good-bye said he never expected to see him alive again, so he woke up that friend between three and four the next morning to reassure him of his mistake. Then he started—taciturn, glum and oppressed with foreboding.

At first all went well, but long before the “sea swallow” was out of Chinese waters the strange craft was sighted by soldier guards on the watch for pirates, smugglers and blockade runners. These guards bore down on the vessel and in Oriental fashion fired first and inquired afterwards. They were informed that there were foreigners on board, and they hastened away. But the deed had been done. Etzel, whilst performing his duty, had been killed accidentally in a volley fired from behind by men with whom he had no quarrel, by men who would have risked their lives to save his.

CHAPTER IX
Consuls, Correspondents and Others

Every British subject who attempts any business in China is handicapped by the apathy of British consuls to individual interests. Owing to their training they seem to live in a different atmosphere to that inhabited by the ordinary residents in the treaty ports, are shut off from the ideals of the people of the settlement in which they live, have aspirations of quite a dissimilar character, and are absolutely out of touch with the more enterprising of their own nationals.

For them, the individual, unless he be an offender, does not exist. They serve some abstract creation of their own imagination, to which they give the name of Crown, or British empire; their objects in life appear to be the possession of a mastery over the Chinese language, and some practice in diplomatic pursuits. They are always gentlemen, usually men of brains, and occasionally men possessing some force of character. But they belong to a well-defined high social caste; they are sinologues, and so full of Chinese, that not only their sympathies, but their proclivities even, are tinged with the tone pervading the Celestial empire.

There are no consulates in China possessing the aloofness which characterizes the British; all Consuls but the British consider the needs of the individual out in China; they guard the interests of their nationals, and do all they possibly can to push ahead their enterprises, and so help the individual to become wealthy and influential, and thus valuable to the country to which he owes allegiance. The American Consulates are in marked contrast to the British, because the American representatives are first of all American citizens, men who have a knowledge of the world and its ways, who look upon commerce and business as things deserving interest, attention, and development. American Consuls have not even a nodding acquaintance with the Chinese language, and know next to nothing of Chinese customs, laws, literature, or ideals; but they do know quite well what the American citizens need, and they do their utmost to secure for their nationals all they are justified in obtaining. No business is too small for their attention, no enterprise too great or too daring for their consideration. It is because of the aid they are to business men and to commerce that American trade has advanced so rapidly in the markets of China. People are anxious to be in American businesses, or to have Americans in business with them, because of the assistance the American consular service extends to those of their nationals who are engaged in lawful commerce, and the American Consul no less heartily than the British penalizes those of his compatriots who abuse the people of the country in which they live. I was told that in one treaty port, in so short a time as two months, more than fifty British subjects had applied to the American Consul for advice or assistance, or to inquire in what manner they could become American citizens, or acquire the right to the protection and support of the American flag.

The reason for the preference is appreciated at once by those who have had experience of both. If you call on the American Consul, there is no one to bar your way; you walk straight through into the office and sit down; if you speak English, no other passport or introduction is required, and you start right in and talk to a man who does understand your position, does know what you want to do, for he knows men, and the world, and life, and has not been reared in a cold storage establishment grappling all his days with Mandarin Chinese and fine print. And being a man, he is interested in you and in what you say. Then he says: “I can’t advise you, because you are a British subject; but if you were an American citizen, I should tell you to do what you want to do, and you would get through, because, if any Chinese official wanted to stop you, I should see he didn’t.”

If you call upon a big British Consul on business, it is as well to be sure that you have all your identification papers on your person, for you are liable to want them before you reach an inner door. At the Consulate you are confronted by an array of stalwart Chinese in gaudy uniforms, and flaunting the red cockade of official employ. There are corridors and passages, and boards with printed notices thereon; and doors painted “Private,” and “Judge’s Entrance,” with other legends forbidding your progress; there is a real British constable, and men in khaki, and a waiting-room like that of a club doctor’s surgery. You wait. The place suggests in turn a petty sessions court, a railway station waiting-room, and the vestry of a Nonconformist Chapel. You expect to see horse-hair wigs, and horse-hair furniture, and wonder which is the way to the cells, and whether the Consul has the “Black Cap,” and if so, where that is kept. After the usual formalities you may see the Consul; as likely as not he will seem old and careworn, and look as though it were Sunday and he was not where he ought to be, but you had caught him. He will fidget with a monocle and shuffle papers, and gaze round at the plainest of plain official furniture as though searching for the logograms which his eyes love. And you will see that his hours of sunshine have been spent under an umbrella poring over books, and his evenings in gazing at the dust a few feet in front of a bicycle wheel. And the man will be stiff, and frigid, and metaphorically covered with the dust of ages, but only metaphorically, for from the way of him you know that he washes in cold water many times a day. You know that he goes to bed early, and to most things has a conscientious objection, and to all enterprise is a passive resister. You will bore the consul—and he will bore you, for he knows not your world, nor is he acquainted with the age you live in. He awes you. It may be 120° F. outside in the sun, but this office and its occupant produce a soul-chill; you get up and steal silently away before something breaks, and you emerge into the sunlight with the same feeling you have when you get out of your cold bath after having remained in it half an hour too long. When you are really outside and hastening away, you turn to see if the motto under the British coat-of-arms over the doorway does not read “Non possumus,” and you wonder what the Consul does besides sentencing British subjects to deportation, and why they are deported, and how, and when, and whether it is done in public like a Chinese execution. And if you can help it, you do not go to that dreadful place again ever.

It is a deplorable state of things in any British settlement to have British residents dislike meeting their Consul, to be uneasy in his presence, dissatisfied with his work, and, for practical business purposes, regardless of his existence. Every one out East knows that the British consular service needs remodelling, modernizing, and vitalizing with a new spirit—the spirit with which the British nation of to-day is imbued. It is useless blaming the system, or the men, or attempting to tinker with the existing service. In the State as in factories to retain and attempt to work with worn-out tools is false economy, and gives an advantage to better equipped competitors. We advise our manufacturers to throw their old-fashioned machinery on to the scrap heap, and start in with new machines and new methods, as being the only sensible way in which to attain success. So with the Chinese consular service, we cannot expect these men to adapt themselves to new conditions, to cut out their high faluting with international high diplomacy, and come down to brass tacks.

Fortunately for British newspaper correspondents, Consul-General Miller, the United States representative at Newchwang, was of the right type, and drew no fine distinctions between British subjects and American citizens. War correspondents of both nationalities seemed equally welcome, and both stayed in his house. His exertions on their behalf were so strenuous and constant that had he made any marked difference because of nationality alone, those correspondents who were British subjects might as well have left Newchwang. Only one of the many correspondents he worked for so hard succeeded in exhausting his patience. This was an American, a man of tireless energy and unlimited push, who was first on one side, then on the other, and consequently continuously in hot water, and needing his Consul’s interference. Said the Consul one day: “You will not follow my advice, you do what you know you ought not to attempt; so henceforth I wash my hands of you entirely; I do not know you, and I will not interfere again on your behalf.” And the journalist answered, “Consul, you cannot be rid of your responsibilities so easily. If I am in any difficulty here with either the Russian or the Japanese authorities, I shall be brought to your consulate, and as an American citizen I shall claim your protection, and you will refuse it at your peril.” And he got into trouble again, and was taken to the consulate, and the Consul helped him. Would a British Consul have done so for one of his own nationals in similar circumstances?

The doyen of the consular corps at Newchwang was the British Consul, Mr. H. E. Fulford, C.M.G., and the difference between British and American consular methods is afforded by the Fawan incident. Early in the war the Chicago Daily News chartered a British steamer, the Fawan, as a press dispatch boat, and she cruised in the Yellow Sea. In April she approached the Liao river, and, as required then by the regulations of the port of Newchwang, lay to, off the outer bar, for inspection by the Russian authorities. After being twenty-six hours at anchor there, the Russian launch came off, boarded her, and finding that she was a press boat, informed the correspondents that Newchwang being then under martial law their boat could not proceed up the river. But the Russians ascertained that there were two Japanese on board, engaged in the capacity of cabin boys. Thereupon they declared that they seized the boat, and ordered her captain to follow them up the river. The captain wished to take a pilot, but this request was not granted, the officer in command of the launch stating that the launch would pilot the Fawan. Soon the Russian launch ran on to a sandbank and remained fast; the Fawan also ran ashore, but got off again quickly, and continued her voyage up stream. She landed the two correspondents, Mr. Washburn and Mr. Little, and they proceeded to the British Consul to place particulars of their case before him, as the boat was under the British flag, and, though complying with the port regulations, had been arrested, and they feared that the same fortune would be theirs, and they had been informed that the cabin boys might be treated as spies, and possibly shot.

The British Consul listened to the facts, and stated that he could not do anything in the matter. It was true that the Fawan was a British ship flying the British flag; it was true that Great Britain had a treaty of alliance with Japan, but he thought the correspondents ought not to have brought the Fawan where they did; and he thought that, as they stated, the Russians would arrest them, and possibly send them home by way of Moscow; that they would confiscate the Fawan, and might treat the two cabin boys as spies. He thought the Russians would be within their rights if they did as the correspondents feared they might do; and if they did do so, he could not interfere.

The correspondents went next to the American consulate. Mr. Miller obtained release for the correspondents from arrest, the Fawan was set free, the correspondents were on board her when she left Newchwang, and the two Japanese were allowed to proceed to their own country by the usual route.

Shortly after this incident closed Mr. Fulford was promoted to the post of Acting Consul-General at Tientsin. It is usual in North China, when any resident leaves a settlement, for the Chinese and others to let off many crackers, and to gather at the point of departure to wish him a safe and prosperous journey. This is more particularly the case when a resident leaves a locality on promotion to higher office. At Yingkow I have several times seen the railway platform crowded when a European has been going simply on leave, or for a change of air. On the occasion of Mr. Fulford’s departure the only persons present to wish him “Good luck and God speed” were a clerk from his office and myself. I was astonished at this lack of courtesy, but soon I was to meet the Consul again.

At this time there were about twenty correspondents at Newchwang, and naturally each of us who had any item of news was jealous of it, and guarded the secret carefully until some hours after it had been cabled away. Both Etzel and myself were aware of a leakage somewhere, but we were unable to discover in what way news we believed to be ours only had proved to be commonly known elsewhere. We adopted every precaution, had the privacy of the telegraph room respected as far as we were able, and Etzel went to two relay stations to investigate conditions there; messages were forwarded from different places, and the usual means adopted to have exclusive news got through to its destination at the earliest possible moment. I have already stated that any Chinese coolie taking a message could be made to show it to a European who offered a sufficient bribe or threatened bobbery, but this does not indicate the general lack of secretiveness amongst the Europeans resident in North China. It is a common practice to send round an “express,” or open letter, by a Chinese carrier, who shows it to any and every European who is minded to read its contents. This possibly has something to do with the general publicity given to all matters in China. It does not account for some of the practices of the Europeans themselves. For instance, in Chifu ship-masters who had undertaken to deliver messages at a given address offered to sell the news these messages contained to news correspondents stationed in that port; men entrusted with messages to wire from within the Great Wall would open them in the presence of correspondents and read aloud the news the other correspondent was dispatching. The whole business was beset with difficulties, and neither belligerent would permit code or cipher messages to be dispatched.

Early in June I had occasion to visit Tientsin, and on the afternoon of my arrival I met Mr. Archibald, of Collier’s Weekly, who told me that he had just seen in the telegraph office a notice directing copies of all cables to be sent to a resident in Tientsin. Whatever may be the law and usage in China, I had always regarded the contents of a telegram once in the office for transmission as secret. It seemed to me that the case was equivalent to the conveyance of animals or goods; the owner was responsible for their safe keeping until delivery had been made to the carriers, when his liability ceased, and that of the carriers commenced. This Chinese method of dealing with messages was new to me; Dr. Morrison had never mentioned its existence.

Subsequently we two correspondents were joined in Tientsin by Mr. Richard Little, representing the Chicago Daily News, and together we went to the head office of the Imperial Chinese Railway Telegraphs, where we saw in the instrument-room the notice directing that a copy of telegrams from Yingkow and other places, intended for the Eastern Telegraph Company was to be sent to Mr. Fenton, of the Tientsin Press. The notice was signed by Mr. N. F. Huang, who is the director of telegraphs, and it is a striking instance of the laxity of Chinese Railway Telegraph administration.

Facsimile of an order in the Chinese Telegraph Office at Tientsin.

At the date the notice was signed there were in Yingkow L. L. Etzel, of the Daily Telegraph; W. O. Greener, the Times; F. MacCullagh, New York Herald; Dr. G. E. Morrison, the Times; Lieut.-Col. C. Norris-Newman, the Daily Mail, besides Reuter’s representative and three correspondents of Continental newspapers. During the three months and upwards it had been posted over the receiving clerk’s desk representatives of all the great newspapers in England and America had visited Yingkow, and the number of cables dispatched from there and “other places” must have amounted to hundreds, for the transmission of which thousands of dollars had been accepted.

We acquired that notice before we left the offices, and after it had been photographed I took it to the British consulate, and showed it to Mr. H. E. Fulford, H.B.M.’s Acting Consul-General at Tientsin. I explained to him where I had seen the notice, and reminded him that when he was at Newchwang there were upwards of a dozen special correspondents dispatching messages from Yingkow.

He asked me what I wished him to do.

I told him that I should like him to advise me what to do, as it was a serious matter for correspondents. He answered testily that he could not advise me. I then asked him to be good enough to make a note of the document. This he said he did not want to do, and the notice he returned to me without any comment upon the affair, but with expressions of annoyance at my appearance. In his words, I “looked as though I owned the consulate,” and not wishing to dispute proprietary rights with the man in possession, I withdrew. It was the first time I had been in Tientsin; I knew that this matter was one which would be viewed by all special correspondents as affecting their interests vitally, and it was clear that the British Consul was disinclined to interfere actively in the business, or advise me how to proceed against the powerful and influential Chinese corporation, with which H. E., the Viceroy Yuan-shi-kai himself, is directly connected.

At the same time it was clear to us three correspondents that the Chinese authorities must be impressed, to a greater extent than they had shown, with our view of the inviolability of telegrams entrusted to their care. In this we thought that the local representative of the cable company might be able to render us some assistance.

Mr. Fenton, in addition to being the representative of Reuter’s agency, was the director of the Tientsin Press, a company owning a daily newspaper, the Peking and Tientsin Times. The local manager of the Eastern Cable Company, the assistant-superintendent of the Chinese Imperial Telegraphs, and the assistant-editor of the Peking and Tientsin Times, all messed with Mr. Fenton—practically they all lived together—as they had a perfect right to do, whatever correspondents might think, or wish to have otherwise.

We three correspondents were equal to the occasion. On three different dates we returned to the north. The local manager of the Cable Company was transferred to Chifu, and the assistant-superintendent of the Imperial Telegraphs to Peking. The Peking and Tientsin Times, from being indubitably pro-Russian, showed signs of wavering, and at once the China Review, a new daily paper, was started to voice Russian opinion in Tientsin.

I have been told that the Russian authorities are claiming a heavy indemnity from the Imperial Railway Telegraphs; and if any one can obtain an indemnity, the Russians of all people are most likely to succeed.

As correspondent of the China Times, a daily newspaper published in Tientsin, I was able to get news of the capture of Newchwang into Tientsin before the Japanese authorities received any official notification of the event, and in reporting the subsequent movements of the Japanese in the north-east, the China Times was so far in advance of other announcements that I was able to satisfy myself that there was no leakage of news in the telegraph offices at Tientsin.

The British residents in the Far East are very British, have all the old-fashioned British insular prejudices, and amongst these they cherish dearly the dislike of unknown acquaintances. The etiquette of the settlement is an extension of the etiquette of railway travelling in Great Britain. The first passenger to occupy a seat in a compartment resents the intrusion of a stranger; and if two strangers are going a long journey, half the distance will probably be covered before they speak to each other; then possibly they get so interested in each other that both regret they did not start the acquaintance earlier. That is the China coast. The new-comer, a stranger, a sort of interloper, must be watched, and taught that there was some one in the country before he arrived. In the course of time, perhaps not long before he leaves the country and its residents for ever, he is one of them. He is an old timer, a Shanghai-lander himself. He forgets then the icy chilliness of his reception, and becomes as the others. How often you hear your fellow-passenger on the railway say, “We do not want any one else in here!” as he assumes his most formidable aspect, and frowns through the window, glaring at the would-be passengers seeking for seats. And sometimes people will even give a tip to the railway servants, so that they themselves “shall not be disturbed.” And the China coast men do not want new settlers—except the officials Government imposes; they do not want to be disturbed; do not want Americans, or Germans, or any other settlers, not even British, and they have a law, long since abolished in England, by which the British Consul can exile, or banish, or deport any British subject from the settlement. It is the hoary penalty of the ancients; it is the practice of Russia, and its survival amongst British people in their own settlement is an anomaly.

The British residents tell you they are there for business, and not for their health; they are intent on making money, and in making money there are methods practised in the Far East which would not be tolerated in Great Britain; but neither would banishment, nor hundreds of things accepted as correct in China. Their love for the home country is purely sentimental; it does not enter into business matters. I was talking trade with a big importing commission merchant one day, a respected British resident, and I asked him why, as a Briton, he did not sell, or try to sell, more British manufactures, and so help the people at home, who are struggling against poverty because they cannot get work. His reason I had never heard adduced by any one. “I should like to handle more British manufactured goods, and so would we all, but we cannot prevail upon British manufacturers to make goods of such bad quality as Germans and others make. We are commission merchants; we want as many transactions as we can get. We are not going to sell English stuff goods, because they will not wear out soon enough; nor English-made goods, because they do not break. If English manufacturers will put in rotten material, and make flimsy articles, so that very soon after the buyers use them they are finished, and the buyers want more, then we will purchase English goods, but not until they do! We buy German, Belgian, and even American products in preference.”

Perhaps those experts who are so constantly advising the British manufacturer to produce goods the foreign buyer wants, will tell him now not to attempt good work, but give shoddy and Brummagem goods, and thus increase British exports, and make trade flourish.

The foreign resident renders less to Great Britain than he takes from her. He contributes nothing in the way of taxes; he expects to have a British gunboat, or the British fleet, to protect his property whenever it is threatened, and the use of British subsidized steamers for the regular conveyance of his mails and himself, and bring him foreign-made goods, and take home tea, which competes with British produce, and a lot of other things we do not find necessary either to our comfort or our existence.

The foreign residents, even of British nationality, take the Russian side in this war; they believe in a white race; they have a decided bias against the “yellow man”; they do not and cannot understand the Japanese victories.

In April the German Consul-General went to Newchwang to advise his nationals on their attitude during the war. He was asked as to the protection of the property the German subjects there possessed, and if it would be possible to obtain compensation for damages sustained during the war. He answered that if the damage to German property resulted from Japanese action, then he thought compensation would be obtained, because Japan, being the weaker Power, could be coerced into indemnifying German subjects for such losses as they might sustain. But if the damage was due to Russian action, then in his opinion it would be a much more difficult matter to obtain any compensation. After his departure the British flag over various properties was lowered, and the German ensign hoisted in its place.

In neutral territory one had opportunities for the study of human character, of observing the policies of both belligerents, gauging the temperament of the Chinese, and noting the peculiarities of the foreign residents. Taken altogether, the newspaper correspondents themselves were more interesting from the point of view of the student than were the men of any one class. For the newspaper men had more individuality, wider experience, and deeper sympathies. There was more to them than to men of any other category. It is said, playfully perhaps, that the Times men form a distinct class; that in no possible circumstance can one be quite an ordinary individual or ever act as one. However this may be, the men themselves do not much resemble each other, and afford strong contrasts. Dr. Morrison, essentially the schoolmaster, never forgetful of the dignity of his position and faithful to commonest conventions; Captain L. James, dashing, adroit, robust, so intent on his work that he forgets self; but Kand. J. Hoeck possesses a spirit cast in a different mould. Few persons could carry his learning without losing their individuality, but it merely enhances his characteristics. Kand. J. Hoeck is the only correspondent I met who could perceive clearly and instantly the result of every occurrence; who could look beyond the war to its effects upon Russians, Japanese, Chinese, foreign residents and upon the inhabitants of Europe and America. He perceived the stirring events of the great struggle; from them he could appraise the ultimate issue. And Kand. Hoeck, of all the men, was most likely not only to be right, but to champion the cause of right through thick and thin as long as he lived, however unpopular and derided that cause might be. A man to whom conventions were idle as the wind that blows, a man with whom human nature is the only thing that counts. Personal predilections, tastes, preferences, theories, all went down before Kand. Hoeck’s reasoning like corks on a pool table. He discounted individual idiosyncrasies and seized the tendency of the aggregate of a class, a race, a group of nations and not one—individual, race, or group of nationalities—but he would be ready to uplift, to urge onward to better things, to higher and more humane civilizations—a man to whom the world will yet listen attentively. By the side of Kand. Hoeck other men appeared superficial, they faded into insignificance, their very raison d’être seemed trivial in the extreme.

Of these others, the Americans were the more interesting: as a class more frank, more generous, men of greater nature and deeper soul; and they individually varied as much as the primary colours in the spectrum. There was one, a typical journalist, experienced, clever, adept and pushful. He came to us accompanied by a telegraph operator with an instrument and gear for tapping the wires, and a scheme for the exclusive use of the telegraph lines of North China by newspaper correspondents. He met a man, the offspring of a Chinese mother and British father, who clung to his mother’s nationality, and held with success a responsible position under the Russian administration—a man of great ability and some erudition, learned in the lore of the Chinese ancients, and modern Western philosophies. The American journalist seemed to have been astounded by the antiquity of China, the remoteness of its civilization, the wondrous perfection of its scheme of corporate social life. He unburdened himself to the official, taking him for a full-blooded Chinaman of unusual cleverness and much learning. He filled that man so full of hot air that he did not know to which world he rightly belonged, so great became his own idea of his own importance. The journalist went away, and the man talked to Etzel as he had talked to the other journalist. Now Etzel was as good a friend as ever breathed, and loved everything that lived, but he had an American’s conventional ideas with reference to the proper place of yellow-skinned men in the scheme of creation, and whether Chinaman, or half-Chinaman he did not rank this man so highly as the other journalist had done. The man took offence; he persisted in pressing upon Etzel the other journalist’s reasoned-out contention of the superiority of the Chinese; he refused to be assuaged by a friendly invitation to partake of the rough-and-ready supper they were eating in the Club; he even became quarrelsome, put his hand into the fold of his waistcoat; and Etzel, thinking he was trying to find his revolver, as he had threatened to do, just put out one hand towards that man’s face, sent him sprawling backwards and senseless on to the floor by the blow, and with the other hand held out his plate for more sausage. Ten minutes later that still unconscious man was borne to his room by the Chinese boys and a friendly newspaper man.

The foreign resident in China is more prone to deteriorate, to become celestialized, than he is to uplift his Chinese associates to his manner of living, his way of thinking, his standard of civilization. And this doubtless is more common in North China, where the residents do and must speak the language of the country, than it is in the south, where English-speaking Chinese are far more numerous. Probably among no alien race does the Englishman so rapidly lose his essential characteristics as he does in China. In appearance he is the Englishman still, well clothed, spotlessly clean, groomed to perfection, affable, courteous, thorough, but au fond tainted with oriental tendencies. The merchant, owing to closer intercourse and more frequent exchange of thoughts on matters of common interest, is more quickly and more thoroughly impregnated than is even the missionary—with the possible exception of those missionaries who adopt Chinese clothes and the Chinese manner of living. The intercourse is deleterious to the foreigner’s character. His children, if educated in China, are British in appearance and name—in all that makes the man, in all that differentiates the born Briton from men of other races, the China-raised resident is wanting. An impressionable personality perceives the difference immediately; he is face to face with men the like of whom he has never met. It is said that some are so thoroughly changed that a person of the opposite sex will shudder at their touch, just as one would from contact with a Chinaman. In time this sensibility is lessened; it is never caused by Englishmen not raised in China, nor by all who are, for it is possible to avoid this absorption of Chinese ideals, adoption of Chinese manners and the way of looking at all things from the Chinaman’s point of view; but it appears to be difficult to continue doing so when one lives constantly amongst the Chinese. This in my opinion is the real “yellow peril” Europe will have to fear when she is actually in close contact with masses of the pure-bred yellow-skinned race—the people who do not, will not, cannot change.

CHAPTER X
The Battle of Tashichiao

In this war a battle usually signifies a number of engagements in different localities carried out simultaneously, and often being continued for several consecutive days. It is somewhat difficult for any but military experts to understand the value of each particular movement, and not easy to give an account of them all in a way which will be readily comprehensible. Tashichiao, preceding Liaoyang and Sakhé, was of the same character as those more famous encounters; I saw the fighting on the west of the front, whilst the movement which decided the real issue took place at another time on the extreme east.

To understand the battle it is necessary to know the position of the belligerents.

The Japanese were attempting to turn the Russian army of occupation out of Manchuria by forcing them north along the line of the Eastern Chinese Railway between Harbin and Port Arthur. The line between Mukden and the Kwan-tung peninsula, runs over the flat plain on the west of the chain of rocky mountains, some 4,000 feet high. West of the railway is the sea and the river Liao and its tributaries, the Hun-ho, Sha-ho and Tai-tsu. At the end of June the Japanese had a strong force investing Port Arthur, they had established themselves in the northern portion of the Kwan-tung peninsula and after the battle of Telissu the Russians evacuated all the “neutral zone,” intended as a buffer for Port Arthur, and were just north of that boundary, which extends from Kaiping on the west, up the Tuntai Valley and down the Ta-yang-ho to its port on the Yellow Sea.

The Japanese first army under General Kuroki was following the old main road from the Yalu River at Antung, to Liaoyang, with a depôt at Feng-huang-cheng, from which a road to the north-east leads east of Motienling to the Liao Valley, then west to Liaoyang and north-west to Mukden. This first army was already holding the pass on the north road and the Motienling Pass.

The Takushan army followed the road to Haicheng, and at Hsiu-yen sent a force west to keep in touch with the second army under General Oku whose headquarters were at Kaiping.

The Japanese plan of campaign was by frontal attacks to drive the Russians back north along the railway, and, by flank attacks through the hill passes to the north of wherever the frontal attack was made, induce the Russians to withdraw from opposing the frontal attack.

General Kuropatkin had fortified Liaoyang and all the approaches thereto from the north-east, east, and south. On the south-west he had the Russian defences at Newchwang.

Tashichiao junction, where the branch line from Newchwang joins the main line, is a station nearly midway between Haicheng and Kaiping, each being about twenty miles distant, and the town a few miles east in the mountains, and Newchwang sixteen miles west. If the Newchwang-Tashichiao railway were continued eastward for one hundred miles it would reach Feng-huang-cheng, and almost parallel with that supposed line there is a cart road to Haicheng from the east.

At the end of June, General Kuropatkin, having then about 200,000 men free for the operations, determined upon an offensive movement south.

At that time the Japanese were awaiting more men for the second army before advancing further north, and the Takushan army was driving the Russians back towards Tashichiao.

On June 27, the Japanese first army occupied one Feng-shui-ling, east of Motienling, and the Takushan army another Feng-shui-ling in the Tapien-ling pass, thirty miles west of Motienling.

The Battle of Tashichiao.

The advance of General Kuroki’s force north of Motienling threatening both Mukden and Liaoyang, the Russians attacked it on July 4; there was a hand-to-hand fight in which the Japanese were the chief sufferers, but eventually they maintained their position and two days later had advanced their outposts to Hsien-chang, further to the north-east.

On July 9, the second army, reinforced by troops landed at a “certain place” in Liaotung Bay seized the town of Kaiping.

The following day the Russians attacked the Takushan army at Hsien-cha, and Hsui-tsai-Kiao, but were repulsed.

On July 17, General Keller led the Russians against General Kuroki’s advanced force on Motienling, but was repulsed. The Japanese advanced north and west and occupied Hsi-ho-yen at the junction of the roads to Mukden and Liaoyang, and some sixty miles from the latter—towards which General Keller retreated.

The success of a general Japanese advance depended largely upon the possibility of concerted action, and much responsibility was thrust upon the central force, known as the Takushan army, which had constantly to maintain communication with both the first and second armies, and operate almost exclusively in the hilly district which the Chinese know as the “land of the thousand peaks.” The Takushan army consisted of the Himeji, or Tenth Division, under the leadership of Lieut.-Gen. Baron Kawamura. On July 22, a detachment of this force, having pushed on towards Haicheng, surprised and surrounded a Russian force guarding the Ta-tung-ling pass. This Russian force was composed of a battalion of the 17th Siberian Rifles, with details. At dusk the Japanese charged the position, carried it, and the Russians fell back north towards Ma-shan. The Japanese declare that on this occasion the Russians exhibited a Japanese flag before the engagement. They responded by displaying their flag, and to this the Russians replied by opening fire.

It was only a trifling engagement; the Russian losses were about a score, and the Japanese had only nine killed, but it was important because permitting the Takushan force to occupy Pan-ling, and thus threaten Haicheng from the south-east.

It was now incumbent on the Takushan army to make good their position. Advancing slowly they found the Russians had extensive defences on the hills to the north of Hung-yao-ling and a line of guns in position from that point through Chang-san-ku to San-chiao-shan, with three battalions of infantry east of Ma-shan, or To-mu-cheng, and south of the village of that name. The Russian forces defending the head of the Ta-tung-ling pass were commanded by Lieut.-Gen. Alexeiev, of the Fifth Infantry Division, and in addition to twenty-one field guns he had several machine guns, some cavalry, and two divisions of infantry.

The Motienling and the Ta-tung-ling passes were both being held by strong forces to protect the flank of Kuropatkin’s army during its intended advance south towards Port Arthur. At the same time both passes were being attacked by General Kuroki’s army and the Takushan army, as part of a flank attack to weaken the frontal defence opposing the second army’s proposed advance north. During the last week in July heavy reinforcements were sent to the Takushan army, enabling it to make a dangerous and successful attack.

Haicheng is a quaint Chinese town upon a plain at the foot of the Thousand Peaks. It has long possessed fortifications and was ably defended by a force under General Sun Sing during the China-Japanese war, from whom it was captured by General Katsura who wintered his army there. It was thought that the Russian commander-in-chief would make it his stronghold, instead of Liaoyang, but he was content to improve and greatly strengthen the then existing fortifications and regard the position as a middle line of defence to Liaoyang.

The outer line was nearly thirty miles south, on a range of hills extending east and west near Tashichiao. The following positions were strongly fortified: Taipin, and Chung-sin, west of the railway; Tashichien and Chia-to-pu, east of it, and the ridge beginning west with Taiushan, and ending with Taipingling, twenty-five miles east of the railway. The east central peak of Ching-shing-shan was the main position, protected with terraced entrenchments provided with shell-proof roof, and looped for rifle fire. This position was further protected by land mines—the fougasses used so successfully at Port Arthur—with wire entanglements, abbatis and other obstructions. The cannon were masked, and placed so as to command all approaches. This formidable outer line of defence had been admirably planned, and divided so that each battery covered a defined range, and the whole protected every zone of possible offensive movements from the south, in which direction the Russian outposts then extended over twenty miles, that is to say reaching as far as the Tuntai Valley and the “neutral zone.”

The military operations of the second army to dislodge the Russians from this strongly defended position were of a somewhat complicated character.

On July 23 the main force left its line of positions, the right wing marched east as far as Liu-chia-ku—east of which the Takushan army had driven the Russians north—then turned north. The left wing marched north to the east of the railway line and was opposed by various bodies of Russian troops composed of horse artillery, cavalry and infantry. At night the Japanese forces deployed and prepared for a general attack, which was commenced before daybreak. Pushing on rapidly the right wing occupied positions south of Taipingling, the main body was on the height of Shan-hsi-tu opposite the Russian centre at Ching-shing-shan. The left wing first occupied Wutai heights, just east of the line, until the right wing took the offensive, late in the forenoon, when it moved west, got its artillery into position near Taipin Hill and sent its cavalry west of the railway, and itself rested on Chuchiatun on the line. That day, July 24, there was a heavy artillery duel, chiefly between the Japanese west wing on Taipin, and the Russian guns on Wangmatai.

The Japanese main army was slow in getting its guns into position, and the infantry advance was checked. The Russian guns commanded every point of vantage the attacking army strived to obtain; the Japanese guns were exposed to the Russian fire, and although their position was changed repeatedly, and with the utmost difficulty always, owing to the rough character of the ground in the ravines, they failed both to secure a position of comparative safety and to silence the Russian guns.

The Japanese right wing, exposed though it was to the Russian fire, yet made an attempt to advance on Taipingling. It rushed into the Russian position, but withdrew before an overwhelming counter attack.

The Russian supposed advance on July 23 was really a concentration for defence against the advance of the second Japanese army, which at sundown on July 24 occupied practically the same positions as it had done the previous evening, with the exception of the left wing which had extended west of the railway.

Having that Sunday delivered a counter attack which had forced the Japanese infantry to retire behind the hills to the south, the Russians believed they had gained a victory, or, at least had held their ground successfully.

For two or three hours after sunset the Russians fired occasionally for purposes of reconnaissance, to which the Japanese artillery made no answer.

At ten o’clock that night some movements of the Japanese were observable from Taipingling, and shortly afterwards the outer defences of that position were attacked by an overwhelming force of Japanese infantry. The attack was successful; the Russians fell back to the next line, which the Japanese also attacked and carried before three o’clock the next morning. A portion of the Japanese centre then advanced and occupied positions near Shan-shi-tsu, and there remained only the centre position at Ching-shing-shan—adjoining Shan-shi-tsu on the ridge—to be attacked at daylight. As soon as it was light the Japanese artillery on Wutai-shan mountain in the rear fired a few rounds without provoking the Russian artillery to answer. It was then discovered that the Russian forces had moved. The right wing and main body of the Japanese army then occupied Ching-shing-shan without encountering any resistance, and the left wing advanced along the railway to Chiao-pu-tu. The cavalry operated to the west of the line, and later in the day reached Niuchatun. The Japanese occupied Tashichiao at noon.

The surprising feature of the battle was the total collapse of the formidable Russian defence on the occupation of the outworks of the position on the extreme east.

The Japanese infantry cannot have been in those trenches earlier than ten o’clock; it was five hours later before they stormed and carried the position, yet long previous to that it had been decided to abandon Ching-shing-shan, Tashichiao, and all the positions to the west of the line, including Newchwang and the port of Yingkow. At the two last-named places the Russians were advised at midnight, and were all away before dawn. Of course, it may be that the occupation of Taipingling by the Japanese commanded the whole line of the Tashichiao defences. As it was, the Russians did not need to fight many rear actions to cover their very hurried, but orderly, retreat, otherwise the abandonment of so strong a position as Ching-shing-shan would have been most blameworthy.

The Russians for the most part went north towards Haicheng by the main road, the last of the fugitives passing Tashichiao about eleven o’clock in the forenoon.

Many preparations had been made at Ching-shing-shan to fit the position for a vigorous and prolonged defence, as it was almost a perfect position, giving the defenders every advantage. By abandoning it, the Russians relinquished Newchwang and whatever advantages they derived from the possession of the port of Yingkow through which to import supplies.

The Russian forces included Russian troops, the 1st, 2nd, 9th Siberian rifles, the Siberian reserve, and the Primorski dragoons; the artillery amounted to more than 100 guns, nearly all of which were safely removed by the Russians, whose retreat was in no sense a disorganized rout. The Russian casualties during the two days’ fighting amounted to nearly 2,000; the Japanese to more than half that number.

The Russian Retreat.

On the following day the Japanese made a reconnaissance north, and found that the Russians had two batteries in position at Chin-shan-ling, some twelve miles north of Tashichiao. A forward move from Tashichiao was not made by them until August 1, when the second column went north to Nan-chien-shan without being opposed; the first column, taking the route to the east, worked north from Taipingling by way of Lian-chia-pu-tzu, which is near Ma-shan, and made a frontal attack on the enemy; the third column followed the railway line, keeping to the west, the Russians retiring before this advance; the fourth column was farther west, going in the direction of Old Newchwang.

The Japanese, on discovering some of the enemy, adopted somewhat unusual tactics. The middle columns retired about five miles; their artillery took up positions to the east of Tung-chi-ku and Wen-chi-ku, one on each side of the railway. The first, fourth, and fifth columns advanced. The Russians continued to attack the centre, and brought into use two field batteries, and in the afternoon got another one into action at Hsai-chi-ho, opposite the fourth column, but attacking the third column. The third column therefore divided and made a flanking movement from the west in connection with the fourth column, whilst the fifth column on the extreme east also pressed on.

The Russians opposed the Japanese with six squadrons of cavalry and some companies of mounted infantry. As these, as well as the two batteries which first opened fire, were all but surrounded by the Japanese, their losses were heavy. The Russian forces, nearly one division in all, escaped by going round to the south of Tan-wan-shan and falling back upon Haicheng. On August 2 the Japanese occupied the road between Old Newchwang and Haicheng. These operations were all made on the open plain, the hills upon which the batteries were posted being little more than round-topped knolls.

In these, and other engagements with Russian cavalry, the Japanese use with most effect a manœuvre first practised by German horsemen at the battle of Renty in 1544. The Japanese cavalry ride towards the Cossack lancers as though intending to charge; when they are within thirty yards they halt suddenly, and use their revolvers with deadly effect on the approaching line of lancers, sometimes not five yards distant. The officers state that this is the only way in which the Japanese cavalry has been able to succeed against the Cossacks; in all other tactics which they have used they have been worsted badly.

The Japanese, for the most part, have been operating in hilly country, and know better than the Russians how to occupy a ravine with advantage to themselves. The Russians on more than one occasion have sent squads of cavalry up these narrow defiles, only to be annihilated by the Japanese infantry. Certain detachments of the Independent Tenth Division, a portion of the Takushan army, are stated to be adepts in trapping small bodies of Russian troops, and to have accomplished some brilliant feats, on a small scale, during their advance through the Ta-tung-ling pass.

Before the end of July Baron Kawamura had sufficient forces at his disposal to warrant an attack on the Russian force, consisting of about seven batteries and three battalions of infantry, in strongly entrenched positions on hills commanding the pass near To-mu-cheng. The tactics were those ordinarily employed by the Japanese: the main body of the army made a frontal attack on the formidable defensive works the Russians had constructed during the summer months on the heights. The left wing made a simultaneous attack on the outlying positions to the west, and deposed the Russians on the hill, a thousand feet high, before eight o’clock.

The Russians brought up reinforcements of artillery, which the left wing, further strengthened, repulsed by heavy gun fire before three in the afternoon. The main body deposed the Russians from the first position by eleven in the morning, but could not proceed farther until the heavy cannonading from the Russian positions to the west slackened.

The Russians, again reinforced, assumed the offensive during the afternoon, but were repulsed with great loss. The night was passed by both armies facing each other at close range. Meanwhile, the successes of the left wing compelled the Russians to withdraw under cover of the darkness, and fall back to Haicheng. This strongly fortified position, the second line of defence to the main position at Liaoyang, was now quite untenable, for the Takushan army had its guns already in position on the heights above the town, and an open road through the pass. General Oku, with the second army, was also pressing the Russian forces covering the retreat of the Russian main army from Tashichiao, so no attempt was made to defend either Haicheng or Anshantien, to the north of it, and the Russians hurriedly took up their strongest defensive position at Liaoyang.

The prompt and successful operations of the Takushan army hastened the Russian retreat, and caused them to abandon large quantities of stores and railway material. The Takushan army in the attacks on the Russian positions near To-mucheng lost 8 officers and 168 men, and had 24 officers and 642 men wounded. Some 700 Russian bodies were buried, and the total casualties must have exceeded 2,000 of all ranks. Six guns were abandoned, with supplies of ammunition, provisions, and clothing.

The Japanese officers state that the Russian defence at Taipingling was determined and courageous, and that of all the battles to that date, the end of July, the battle of Tashichiao was the most bitterly contested and hardly fought. The Japanese casualties during the two days’ fighting exceeded 1,000, and those of the Russians were double that number. In addition, some two to three hundred Chinese bandits had been killed in the neighbourhood of Tashichiao, and in the subsequent operations the Japanese losses were not less than 12 officers and 150 men killed, and over 850 wounded.

At Telissu the Japanese derived an immense advantage from the superiority of their artillery, their shells exploding over the Russian trenches, blowing the infantrymen to ribands and annihilating whole companies. At Tashichiao the Russian artillery fire was the more effective; the Japanese guns could not be placed in tenable positions, and the battle had to be won by hand-to-hand conflict in the darkness. The result was the same in so far as the superiority of the Japanese army as a fighting force is proven by its victories, but these victories are not entirely satisfactory, as they fail to show that the strategy of the Japanese is superior to that of the Russians, or prove that the tactics employed will enable the Japanese to win through in every battle of a long campaign.

CHAPTER XI
The Japanese as Conquerors

Possibly the partial military evacuations of Newchwang were of the nature of rehearsals for the real event which took place in the small hours of the morning of July 25, after the heavy firing throughout the day. I saw the Censor at Yingkow as late as ten o’clock on Sunday night; he had no news, and was amusing himself with his fiddle. About two hours later, when the Japanese had rushed the trenches at Taipingling, twenty-five miles away, there came a telephone warning for all Russian Government employees to hurry away, as the evacuation of Newchwang had been ordered. By dawn there was scarcely a Russian soldier left in the town, only four of the military police.

I was early astir, but the Press Censor had fled; he had taken with him his fiddle, and some one else’s easy chair, and so many things that in their quarters there was nothing left for the Chinese to steal. Then I went to the telegraph office at Yingkow, but the Russian official notices remained posted, and the clerks would not accept uncensored messages for transmission. I sent the news down by train, for this day there were no scrutineers in Russian employ, no Russian postman accompanied the mail.

Soon the military refugees began to come in from over the water. They arrived weaponless Russian soldiers, but they tore off their shoulder straps, pulled their tunics up loose to fall and hide their belts, donned straw sailor hats or tweed caps, and were hardly distinguishable from the many sutlers and camp followers with which the station had been thronged for months past.

Before eight o’clock, right away to the east, over the river above the Russian settlement at Yingkow, two miles in a bee line, a cloud of smoke arose and drifted south. Russia-town was burning. The Russians had left beyond recall, and Russian rule in the treaty port of Newchwang ended thus ingloriously.

We did not know that the Russian authorities had instructed the Chinese coolies to take from the buildings everything there was, that a complete and habitable settlement might not fall into the hands of the enemy. A visit there in the forenoon showed that the instructions were being filled to the letter. A mob of rough Chinese, numbering perhaps a thousand, were demolishing the buildings for the value of the wood and other materials of which they were constructed. This rabble struggled and fought for plunder; if there was not enough to satisfy their greed there, they would need but little inducement to rush the foreign settlement for the loot it contained.

There is no civic life at Newchwang. Mr. Bandinel, who had foreseen this period of anarchy, and had appealed to his fellow residents to be prepared for it, and have a programme and an organization ready for the emergency, had not been supported. It was daylight; early morning, and the Japanese forces would arrive before danger reached the town or threatened the residents in the foreign settlement. You cannot bring into being in an instant a self-governing, orderly municipality. In Newchwang the sense of common control needed to be created, and the material at hand did not promise success. The character of the foreign residents was demonstrated by incidents in the change of rulers.

By mid-day the Russian flag had disappeared in Newchwang. In its place on all Government buildings flew the tricolour of France, elsewhere were the national colours of almost every European country, and the stars and stripes of the United States of America. It may as well be stated that many of these flags were flown without sufficient authority, and, unfortunately, the British flag is such a well recognized commercial asset that the right to fly it was to all intents and purposes purchased by people who had no moral claim to its protection. It must not be thought that the British Consul sold the right, allowed it as a privilege, or granted it as a favour. The people who wished to have it transferred their property, on terms, to persons registered as British subjects. Other flags were similarly procured. The Japanese and the Russian alone were not flown on that day. It is true there were exceptions. Before mid-day the Russian Administrator was flying a new consular flag of the Russian empire; in the afternoon over his residence the tricolour of France braved the breeze, and before his gates Japanese scouts planted their war-flags.

Noon passed before any inquietude was felt. After tiffin people began to crowd the square before the Administration buildings, and ask each other when the Japanese were coming. The Chinese crowded their house tops and gazed over the open country to the south, expecting to see there some sign of the conquering army.

At last five scouts of the west wing of the army, who had been trying to get in touch with the Russian pickets by following the branch railway line from Tashichiao, reached the settlement from Niuchatun. They found the town ungarrisoned. That they did not expect; they rode in expecting sooner or later to find Russian soldiers, and they were prepared for them. This burden of a Russianless town was not entirely to their liking, but they were equal to the occasion. They knew the town, went through the by-paths of the settlement, and discovered and held up promptly two of the Russian military police. A third, behind the wall of a compound, tore off his shoulder straps, threw away his cap, and tried to pass as a civilian, but he surrendered to these five men—only five men, and they captured and held the town.

They spake neither English, Chinese, nor Russian—they were scouts, and they went carefully hither and thither seeking. I have in memory now one of these, a man not five feet two inches high, mobbed by a crowd of Chinese and foreign residents curious to see him, and he disregarding every one and mounting a boundary stone in order to see over their heads.

After five o’clock four Japanese scouts rode into the square. They were mounted on sorry tired horses, all mud spattered and rough. The men wore uniforms stained and torn by campaigning, one had tied the sole of his boot to the uppers with a straw band, but they were soldiers, and knew it.

The people regarded them with interest, but without any display of emotion. They were not welcomed, nor was their intrusion resented. Then arrived four more, later another four, with a non-commissioned officer. To him came the chiefs of the Chinese guilds with greetings. The foreign residents held aloof for the expected army, the officers, and the General.

Soon the scouts, evidently having met at this rendezvous for directions, went on with their work; four only remained on the parade ground before the Administration buildings and the residences of the leading foreign families. It was on this spot that, a short while previous, British ladies had provided free teas and free refreshments for the Russian troops arriving from outlying camps, and for recruits after doing their drill-ground exercises. No one had anything to offer these tired, battle-worn men; they tendered not even so much as a light for a cigarette, or a drink of water to the thirsting beasts the men rode. The Chinese looked on with as much indifference as the foreigners showed. Hours passed; it began to get dark, and the expected army was no nearer the town. The officials and residents became anxious. They questioned the scouts, they sought about for an interpreter. What did the scouts know? When would the troops arrive? Who was going to protect property in the town?

There you have the foreign resident in China in his entirety. For the men who had won battle after battle, for men who came straight into their midst after two days’ continuous fighting, for the race with whom Britons have an alliance, no word of good cheer, no ready hospitality, no neighbourliness at all. To the foreign resident the Japanese are yellow men—a race apart. They might be useful in guarding the white men’s property, but to treat these men after war as Russian soldiers were treated in peace time was not thought of even. Japan has not yet bridged the gulf by war. Among the bulk of the foreign residents of Newchwang Japan has still to win her way—the war will be finished long before so little is accomplished.

The Consuls and the general public loitered near the Administration building. As it grew dark they drove the Chinese away from the Russian barracks fronting the parade ground, who again and again made futile attempts to steal doors, windows, and fittings from the deserted buildings.

It seemed that the Japanese army would never come. Mr. Bush was not the type of man who waits for things to happen. Prevailing with one of the scouts to accompany him, he rode out by the south gate and through Niuchatun to where the nearest detachment of the Japanese forces was believed to be bivouacking. There he explained to the commanding officer that the property of the town was in danger, and induced him to send fifty men at once to police the streets. It was past midnight when they arrived. The Chinese, although they had been prevented from injuring the deserted buildings near foreigners’ residences, had completely gutted the Russian post office, jail, and other deserted premises; had pulled out door and window frames and even torn up the wooden floors and carried away the flag poles!

When the Japanese were in the town the Russian Administrator, who that morning only had flown the special consular flag of Russia, hauled it down before their eyes and hoisted the tricolour of France. The men regarded the incident without betraying the least feeling. They stood at the gates of his house with pistols ready, and patiently waiting the advent of a person in authority. When a Japanese officer did arrive, he was only a lieutenant; the Russian Administrator would not see him. The lieutenant did not insist, nor did he complain of the French flag, but he ordered the gilt eagle, the symbol of the dominion of the Tsar of all the Russias, which is upon every Government building in Russia, to be taken down forthwith. A Chinaman removed it from the pinnacle above the Administration building. Next, word was conveyed to the late Governor that he must leave the town. He was conveyed in privacy across the river by the pilot launch, and a private car was placed at his disposal by the railway officials. Every consideration was shown to him that the attention and foresight of the new authorities prompted as due to his official position.

The Japanese appear to possess a talent for organization which amounts almost to genius. In a few days the visitor would have believed that they had been in military occupation of the treaty port for months.

Their officials came as though at the call of some conjuror, and fell into their work at once, work to which some of them were well accustomed, as they were merely reinstated in their former positions. The Yokohama Specie Bank reopened; the Japanese special war notes were redeemed; there was a censor appointed, and he could always be found. The Russian undesirables were requested to remove from the town, and did so. Drinking saloons closed because there were no customers, and the shipping in the port increased. The Japanese transports arrived with troops, railway material and rolling stock. Japanese schooners laden with provisions and stores thronged the river. Everywhere were administrative officials and military guards, intent upon their work, neglecting nothing and doing everything intelligently. Again the streets were lighted, lanterns were seen flitting through the thoroughfares at night. The Chinese merchants brought back their families, and the town entered upon a new era of activity and prosperity.

The Chinese made some “squeeze”; the first morning after the Japanese invasion I walked along the Chinese Bund and found nine-tenths of the frontagers busy with their fences, always moving them nearer the water’s edge and stealing a few feet from the roadway. Some more boldly fenced in long and broad stretches of footway; roads were closed, short cuts and passages were sealed and taken into the adjoining compounds; the individual was enriching himself at the expense of the public.

Japanese stores reopened; many new ones sprang into existence. There was a general expansion of business and a much needed tidying up of public property. Within a week the Russian occupation was no more than a memory; there were no signs remaining of its existence, and the evidence of the war was confined to the few empty cases on the Bund of the mines lifted from the river bed. The Russian lettering disappeared from the signs and public notices—the Chinese covered up theirs under white paper the very day of the Russian evacuation—and than the Chinese none seemed more pleased to be under the new regime, none showed so unmistakably that public confidence was restored.

The Chinaman does not regard the Japanese as being good business people. He thinks they are good soldiers. He knows they get the best guns, and the best ships, and with these drive the Russians back. As to the future, the Chinaman believes the trade of Manchuria will belong to him.

A large number of small Japanese merchants started in business in Newchwang, and after a very few days it was found that the small capital they had possessed was already in the hands of the Chinese. At present the Japanese are using as interpreters a large number of Mahomedans, some of Tung-fu-hsian’s men, and others from Shantung, who have Japanese women in their harems. These Mahomedan Chinese are doing all the business for the Japanese with the natives of the Fengtien province, and they are making large profits, and will do better as the Japanese army extends farther north. The Chinese have no fear of Japanese business competition; when it is a matter of buying and selling, the Chinaman is sure of being able to hold his own. He knows the Japanese will not take bribes, but he has found out that the Japanese like to find money in their pockets without knowing how it got there, and John Chinaman is going to show Mr. Jap how to do business in Manchuria; and make money whilst teaching him the lesson.

CHAPTER XII
Contrasts and Comparisons

At Newchwang there were all the elements that tend to characterize the Russian military rule. It has been stated repeatedly that the Russians at Newchwang were guilty of barbarities, that they abominably ill-treated Japanese refugees, insulted the foreign lady residents, made themselves feared by their outrageous conduct, and required the constraint a European joint occupation of the port would impose. The facts do not support the irresponsible reports of those journalists to whom the conditions of Russian life were new. Foreign ladies were not habitually insulted by the Russians, nor were the residents, European or Chinese, ill-treated or outraged. The only cases I saw of wrongdoing were petty pilferings by Russian soldiers from Chinese pedlars, and common and unmitigated cruelty to animals.

The Russian officers and the Russian troops from the British standpoint of to-day were licentious, dissipated and immoral, as well as rough to occasional brutality. They drank freely, lived as well as their means permitted, and enjoyed themselves as far as circumstances allowed. When they left they took with them their women, their drink, their dirt, their noise—and the goodwill of the bulk of the foreign residents.

Judged by the standard of to-day they lack seriousness, refinement and education. They eat and drink too much and are coarse and sensual in their appetites. Compared with our British forefathers, even with those who fought in the Napoleonic wars, they are not so rude, nor is their life so bad as when it is contrasted with our armies of the present generation—and, as soldiers, they lack most ardour for their profession and the courage that comes from an intelligent conception of duty.

There came to Newchwang two naval officers whom I knew well. Each was typical of a class of officer common in the Russian navy, both had about the same rank in the service. Big Vassy was one of the tallest and heaviest men in the fleet, a gigantic child; boisterous, frank, liberal and careless of his reputation. He was an incorrigible shirker. Many times he was punished for neglect of duty, usually he managed to escape the penalty. He received ten days’ confinement to barracks and the first day he prevailed upon his guard to allow him to go into the town to get a bath, promising to return within three hours, but in a small place like Port Arthur the tenth day came before they found him. He would bully and cajole, and get his own way. He was so prolific with promises, and so entirely the jolly good fellow all round, who loved wine, woman and song too well, that his superior officers tolerated him, and looked aside when his shortcomings were before them. He had command of a ship, but had no more intention of risking his life in this war than had Admiral Alexeiev or the Tsar himself.

One night I was sitting in the Central Hotel, then the rendezvous of Russian officers, when big Vassy unexpectedly burst into the room; he did not stop to open the door, he just put his fist against the panel and sent the flimsy fastenings far and wide. He thrust his sword and revolver into my hands.

“Where is she? Where is Tatianne?”

“Tatianne who? Where have you sprung from? What is the matter with you?”

“Where is Tatianne? Tatianne Ivanovna, you know her? Where is she? Where is she? She came from Port Arthur five days ago, you have seen her, where is she?”

“Well, she isn’t here. Sit down. What will you have? Boy!”

“Nothing. Tell me, where is she?”

“She was staying with your friends, up at the other end of the settlement. I don’t know where she is now.”

“But you must. Take me to her! Come! Come quickly!” He dragged me to the door; resistance was useless.

“I’ll take you there in a minute. How did you get here?”

“Yes, take me. Come! Come quickly, come!”

“All right—all right! How did you get here?”

“By my feets! I walk from Tashichiao, thirty versts. I sent her a dispatch, a telegram. She has not had it. Come, come quickly! Is it far?”

“Ten minutes’ walk. How is Port Arthur getting along?”

“To blazes with Port Arthur! Where is she? Where is Tatianne? Are you sure she is there? She said she would go to China. Where is she? You know.”

We went out into the darkness, crushed through the thin frozen surface into the thick mud of the Bund, groped our way through dark alleys into the settlement, and at last on to the curbed footpath—there he ran on ahead of me.

“Come!”

“What about Port Arthur?”

“More bombardment—much, much noise, damage nothing. Is it far?”

“How long did the bombardment last?”

“Oh, where is she? Two days—the Novy Gorod is hit many times. Come!”

One could not go quickly enough for that impetuous man, taking giant strides, and holding to his rapid course by instinct. Little by little I dragged some information out of him.

“And your ship, Vassy?”

“I have no ship. I go to Vladivostok to take command. If Tatianne will come I go to-morrow. If she will not, I go to China too!”

“Vassy!” I remonstrated.

He grunted. For a few seconds he strode on ahead rapidly, then he groaned and turned to me suddenly. “What a fool a woman can make of a man!” Then he laughed, a short, nervous little laugh, and again walked on even more quickly than before. A rudimentary truth had been absorbed by his primitive brain. We reached the door. Tatianne was there. That was the last I saw of her and of Vassy. Both went straightway to Vladivostok on the morrow.

Big Vassy had his qualities, but they were not such as fitted him for any navy. If Russia had a house of peers, Vassy and his like would find there a fitting apotheosis.

But the Russian navy has also Boris Kouzmin-Korovaiev. Boris is a true Slav; he is strong as a lion, lithe as a cat, tenacious as a bull-terrier, and brave as a Jap. Boris would not last long as the superintendent of a nonconformist Sunday School. He is not a short sport, in fact he drinks like a fish, or a Pole. For long days together Boris will be intoxicated, but not incompetent. He has brains and can use them. All he needs is opportunity. He had an occasion at Port Arthur, and was mentioned in the Viceroy’s dispatches. You cannot quarrel with Boris; act squarely and Boris will never quarrel with you—he is Russian, too. And, of men like Boris the Russian navy has many, but not enough. It has also brave commanders like Captain Essen of the Novik, Viren of the Diana, and Zalyesski of the Askold. In Newchwang we had the men who, on the Lieutenant Barukhov, ran the blockade out of Port Arthur, and returned there without a hurt.

After the Japanese had occupied Newchwang, they searched for a number of Chinese, who had acted as interpreters for the Russians, and in other ways assisted them. These interpreters, who had been left behind by the Russians when they evacuated, hid in Yingkow, and went about in fear of their lives. Some escaped by train. One day at Kaopantze one of the men was recognized by some one on the station. The Hunghuses, under their Japanese leader, promptly seized the man, dragged him off the train, out of the station, placed him against a wall and shot him. The next day another interpreter was on the train; he, too, was found and seized, but the seizure was noticed by one of the inspectors, who interfered—the man had his ticket, and could travel on unless the police seized him. The Hunghus leader demurred, and produced a revolver, which the inspector promptly gripped and at the same time called in Chinese to the sergeant of the twenty soldiers marshalled on the platform to bring his men up to assist him. The man gave the order, but they marched straight away from, instead of towards, the scene of the struggle, and the non-commissioned officer promptly followed them himself. But neither the Hunghuses, nor their Japanese leader, dared attack the Briton: the train was started, and the life of the interpreter was saved. A few days later a Japanese officer went from Yingkow to interview the leader of the gang, and after his visit they made no further trouble.

It must not be supposed that with war between Japan and Russia in progress the soldiers of the two Powers keep the peace when they are thrown together, as in the legation guards at Peking. There is a great deal of animosity, and it is frequently shown by the men; ordinarily their officers agree as to hours of leave, and the two are kept apart. The Japanese also show animus against the French and Germans, and when they can resent the overbearing manner of these European troops they do so. In July some French soldiers caused some disturbance in the Japanese town at Shanhaikwan. This gave the Japanese gendarme an opportunity. In the fight which ensued he was wounded, but three of the French soldiers were killed, and others were badly injured.

In neutral territory we were, of course, hearing constantly from eye-witnesses of the course of the war at Port Arthur, and of the progress made by the Japanese army. With reference to the besieged in the great fortress the news was always dispiriting; now it was Sidorski who had been killed by a shell; then little Victor had lost his life at the Yalu; Mamontoy was wounded—thus were we reminded of the actuality of war. And the Japanese would tell of the progress being made with their mines; of the slowness with which they were driving parallels up to the Russian positions; of their wish that all women, children and civilians would leave the town, and of their intention to treat all found there as combatants when the great assault took place.

There can be no doubt that this will be so. For months past every civilian in the fortress has been compelled to take his turn in the trenches; every man able to bear arms has borne them, with the possible exception of the Red Cross surgeons.

The Japanese were not nearly so communicative as the Russians, and could not be surprised into making admissions. I said to a Russian naval officer once:

“Captain, why are you putting out mines on the high seas?”

“We are not putting out mines on the high seas; we put them only twenty-five miles from the coast, except perhaps at Kerr Bay they extend farther. Who says we put them on the high seas?”

But the Japanese will talk, if you will do something for them. There was one, a man of modern ideas, who did not see the usefulness, from the military point of view, of the soldier sacrificing his life rather than turning back, and even seeking death in battle as the greatest good. He wished me to write an article in a local paper, which he would have translated and quoted in all Japanese papers, showing that sometimes it was wiser to surrender, and thereby incommode the enemy, than to die. The article appeared; it had the usual references to Dai Nippon, and all about Yamato Domashi in its most idealistic and refined aspects. It satisfied him in every particular but one. I wrote that it might be wiser to surrender or flee than to die; that could not be so; it was so glorious to die for one’s country! The very man who appreciated the logic of the argument was unable to overcome the sentiment which animates the Japanese soldier.

The Japanese informed me in August, after the battle of Tashichiao, that in no circumstances would they press on beyond Liaoyang this campaign unless the Russians fell back to Harbin—even then their forces were to remain south of Mukden until next spring, when the great campaign will begin—and finish.

The Japanese have adopted not only many Western methods but Western ideals. They have not the Chinaman’s power to influence men of the Caucasian race. The Japanese, notwithstanding their Western ways, are not of us, and never will be. They are fighting for a cause we know and feel to be right; they will talk by the hour of sources of food supply they have had taken from them, of the market closed to them, and prove that they are fighting for existence—before the injuries Russia has caused them weaken them so much that they could not fight with any chance of success. They are fighting in the Western manner generally, that Western people may judge them by Western standards. But there are occasions when the difference is shown, when Japanese disregard of death hurls them as it were impulsively to attack where attack means certain death, absolute annihilation. With their weapons ready in their hands they follow unhesitatingly the little Sun-flags—follow in silence, so impassively they seem scarcely to be human beings but creatures obeying some primitive instinct—they go to their death by fire, unreasoning, unthinking, as migrating lemmings go without swerving into the ocean which drowns all.

Ordinarily they are rational to a fault. They have reasoned out everything, have made ready for every eventuality. A crushing defeat at any one point would cause them to change the plan of campaign, not to abandon the war, and their organization is such that a complete change of front could be accomplished without the least disorder, alarm, or loss. They have still as many soldiers waiting to come to Manchuria as they have already brought there; money they will raise at need. They issued notes not having currency of the country, the notes are convertible into cash at the Japanese banks. The war will be paid for largely by the goods now being manufactured by Japanese, all working overtime, and these goods will be sold in the markets of four continents. For Japan alone benefited by the great commercial congress at Philadelphia; its Government took up the idea of the Commercial Museum and having a perfect organization worked it profitably, thus gaining a share of the world’s commerce. There is no flaw anywhere. The Japanese troops may not pursue fleeing Russians so quickly that the enemy are kept on the run. That might mean a risk, moreover, after days of continuous fighting to win a position, is it not enough for the moment to have it, then prepare for winning the next? When all is ready, the attack will be made, and the position won. There is nothing left to chance. Major-General Fukushima, the strategist of the campaign and director of General Oku’s movements, is a stolid, plodding, indefatigable student of Moltke’s Art of War, and military text books. He will not depart from the rule, he will win the prize working according to the rules of the game. In appearance and bearing he suggests a fourth form boy who is the school prodigy and is conscious of his position.

The Japanese Army has its inconsistencies; for instance, officers will cover even their sword-scabbards with khaki lest the sun glint should betray them, but all the scouts I saw wore breeches of cardinal red with a broad stripe of yellow or green in which they were as glaringly conspicuous as if they had been in the uniform of our own 11th Hussars.

The Japanese have a just cause; they fight bravely: their organization is nearly perfect; their reforms are thorough and excellent—one cannot but admire them; they deserve to win, and they will win, and the world will be the better for their victory. It is because of this we wish them to win. In spite of their race and their paganism, and though their civilization may be but a thin veneer, we require them to win because they are fighting in the cause of freedom, fighting for the rights of man irrespective of creed or colour, fighting for western ideals of justice, fighting for the good of humanity.

We are more in sympathy with the Russians because they are nearer kin. They have their faults, but in spite of their faults, or perhaps because of their weaknesses, we love them, man for man, even more than we admire their opponents. The Japanese are bravest of the brave; an officer will rush in and kill sixteen of the enemy with his sword. All fight like classic heroes, but they still sit down on their shins, and we wonder what sort of men they are after all. The Russians we understand. We admire General Stoessel not a whit the less when we know, that with all his bravery and bluster, he is married to a homely sharp-tongued little hausfraü whom he must obey implicitly—were she a veritable shrew the man would still have our esteem. “Go home—Port Arthur is no place for women!” commands the General. “A wife’s place is by her husband—Tollya, I shall stay!” says the commandant’s wife.

Then there is H.E. the Viceroy, Admiral Alexeiev, raised to a dizzy height of power and living up to his position. For him no more hilarious nights, wild gambles, boisterous exploits; no more storming and raving on the quarter decks of ships where work has been left undone, but a monotonous round of high society functions and wearisome entertainments, broken by an occasional holiday in an obscure treaty port of China. Admiral Alexeiev made the common mistake of supposing dignity to be a virtue, whereas it is only a grace. The Japanese official promoted to higher rank knows that the post will need a greater expenditure of energy, and he does what is required and expected of him. The Russian may be an inveterate liar, a drunkard leading a dissolute life, may know that he is the slave of besetting sins, but never forgets that he is a man. He will not pay to virtue the tribute of hypocrisy she extorts from vice. He is an open and only a superficial sinner, appraising himself higher than do those who observe him, surrounding himself with temptations and indulging unashamed. The Japanese will run no risks, that drink shop may cause harm—it is straightway closed. Those people may tempt heroes from the business of war to the pleasures of peace—they are sent beyond the military lines. The Japanese are pagans who have adopted the ethical code of the West; there is nothing in their conduct to which the most strait-laced puritan could take exception; missionaries bow to them, for even missionaries do not need to shut their eyes to the behaviour of these conquerors. They are as correct as the rule of three, and have its limitations.

Some Russian officials, with tears in their eyes, asked me why it was the British hated them so intensely. There, in Newchwang, they had done everything they could think of to appease the English residents. They gave them business, the Government spent money freely, they themselves entertained lavishly; they offered always the hand of friendship, but it was not clasped. And Newchwang was but typical of other ports, everywhere it was the same, what more could Russians do?

The difference is just this: in the game of life Russia disregards all the rules Western civilization has decreed to be right. In politics, in commerce, in law, in the big things and the little things of life Russia is a law to herself. The Japanese, on the contrary, have accepted the Western standard of ethics, and in their international relations attempt to conform to Western conventions.

An English lady, who spoke Russian, had occasion to visit the station, and on her way asked for a lift in one of the army waggons going from Newchwang to Russia-town. The favour was immediately granted. When she was seated the driver gazed at her earnestly, and asked what she might be. She answered that she was English. “Ah, I knew you were not of us, you are so clean.” She smiled. The soldier continued, with a jerk backward of his head towards the settlement, “It is funny what a lot of clean people one sees there—never saw so many in my life!” Then, somewhat regretfully. “We have not the means to be clean, lady!” The Russians, unfortunately for them, have not the means to be many other things we count good. The soldiers, before the campaign was three months old, were in tatters. I remember one; he wore purple (half tanned) high boots, regulation breeches, a shirt or tunic made out of an old gunny sack, a straw sailor hat without a ribbon, and the broken brim drooping to his ear; he had a bayonet without a scabbard and a rifle with a thong of rawhide for a sling. I saw him fall to attention and present arms as the Grand Duke Boris went along the Bund at Newchwang. An unkempt, dirty, uncared for unit in the army; a thing too common to call for comment or to receive consideration.

CHAPTER XIII
The Attack on Port Arthur

Russia’s great naval base in the Far East was intended to be an impregnable fortress assuring freedom from molestation to a Russian fleet taking the offensive and requiring a harbour at which to coal and repair. The Viceroy’s policy seems to have been determined upon the assumption that Port Arthur afforded an absolutely safe retreat for the Russian fleet, even though the railway were cut and land communication destroyed.

The plan of campaign, providing Japan attacked in force—Russia never intended to make war—was for the land forces to retire north until sufficiently reinforced to make a successful advance at the best season; the garrison left at Port Arthur to hold the fortress from attacks on the land side, and shelter the fleet from the enemy’s vessels should they approach the port. The Russian fleet was intended to manœuvre within the limits protected by the guns of the forts, to entice the attacking ships to approach, then destroy them one after the other; to make sudden, unexpected raids on the enemy’s transports, convoys, and, where there was a prospect of success, also on the opposing fleet. As the enemy’s fleet became weakened by losses through such engagements, and repeated assaults on the fortress, the Russian fleet would with increasing boldness take the offensive.

The Russians were confident that the fortress, well supplied with ammunition and provisions, could hold out successfully until, at the right season, Russia could take the offensive, and relieve the pressure upon Port Arthur, and raise the siege if the place were really invested by the enemy.

The scheme of defence broke down in three ways. First, the opening attack of the Japanese so crippled the Russian fleet, that it never ventured to take the offensive, and could render only limited direct assistance in defending the fortress when the forts were attacked from the sea. Secondly, the key to the defences of the peninsula was passed on to the Japanese by the inability of the Russian forces to hold the isthmus—a position was lost which could not be retrieved without the co-operation of a fleet. Thirdly, the Russian reinforcements were not obtained soon enough to give the Russians the required superiority to enable their forces to take the offensive at the most favourable season.

From the first Port Arthur had to protect the whole of the fleet; to resist the attacks of an undivided fleet of the enemy; and later to repulse attacks on the land side made simultaneously. Not once did the Russian fleet forsake the shelter of the forts, until it made a dash to escape to neutral ports; it made no attempt by going forth to draw away part of the enemy’s attacking fleet, even for a time—made no attempt to ruin or weaken the strength of that attacking fleet by counter attacks, which, though they might have entailed heavy losses of Russian ships, would yet have caused the Japanese victory to have been too dearly bought. The fleet co-operated in the defence, it is true, and showed to greater advantage in coast defence, for which it was not primarily intended, than it did in such work, as maintaining communications, which it had been expected to perform.

The torpedo attack of February 8 was disastrous, but it might have been made much more effective than it was. To the enemy’s fleet, bombarding the port on February 9, the Russian fleet made some slight show of resistance; in fact the Novik seemed ready to attack all the Japanese without assistance, and, but for her speed—twenty-seven knots,—she would certainly have been cut off and captured or sunk. That engagement showed to the Japanese the strength of the Russian fleet at Port Arthur, and confirmed their belief that they had put two battleships and a cruiser out of action.

So far as can be learned, the firing from the forts that day in no way injured the Japanese vessels.

The chief forts defending the entrance to the harbour are those immediately to the north, on the mountain known as Golden Hill. These comprise three distinct batteries: the Golden Hill fort on the summit; the electric battery on the summit of the rocky crags above the entrance to the fort, and the Middle Batteries, which connect the two forts, making a practically unbroken line of guns from end to end of the hill, and at three different elevations. The guns on Wieyuen fort and Tiger’s Tail, to the south, are neither so large nor so well manned as the best batteries in the fortress. The fort on Liaotishan, at the extremity of the peninsula and White Wolf Hill to the north of it, complete the chief of the sea batteries, the batteries capable of attacking if the enemy’s fleet should attempt to reach the harbour.

After the first attack it was the object of the Port Admiral to get the damaged vessels into a sheltered position behind the Tiger’s Tail, then to repair them as soon as the docks were available. The commandant of the fortress had to strengthen the garrisons in the forts on the land side, and put an army of defence into the field to the north of the town lest an attempt should be made to land a force at Dalny, Talienwan, Kinchow, or Port Adams.

The enemy’s fleet left the harbour without appreciable molestation for a fortnight. Within that time the injured ships, except the Retvizan, had been towed to safe moorings; the land forces had been stationed wherever it was thought a landing might be attempted, and the fort garrisons were increased. Better than that—the numbness and paralyzing effect of the unexpected bombardment had passed away from the naval, military and civil population.

The enemy’s fleet showed in the offing from time to time, but probably merely in order to draw the fire from the forts. At night lights would be seen to seaward and fired upon. Sometimes these lights disappeared after they had been shot at, and Russians believed they had sunk ships of the enemy. Some time later torpedo-boat destroyers, when scouting, ascertained that these lights were dummies on rafts and triangles, drifting in and across the entrance with the tide. It was a clever ruse to draw the fire from the forts, and also to accustom the Russians to harmless lights being shown at the entrance to the harbour.

The Viceroy and his naval, military and diplomatic corps left Port Arthur for fresh headquarters at Mukden on Sunday, February 21. General Stoessel was then in supreme command of the fortress and of the army in the Kwan-tung peninsula; Admiral Stark in command of the fleet; Admiral Grevy in charge of the port, harbour, dockyards and naval departments.

During the night of February 23-24, the approach of the enemy was signalled from Liaotishan, and at about half-past three the forts opened fire. One of the approaching vessels, an old transport, the Tenshin Maru, was sunk by shots from Golden Hill, and went down in deep water about three miles to the south-west of the harbour entrance. Thereupon the other vessels steered out, and, exhibited by the search-lights from Golden Hill were followed by a heavy cannonade, and were repeatedly struck. One, the Bushu Maru, ran aground and was made a wreck by the Russian shells, and apparently blew to pieces from the explosion of boilers, or of her magazine. The third vessel came in towards the entrance, but was sunk outside by shots from the grounded Retvizan, whose turret guns were used continuously. Two other vessels, the Hokoku and the Jinsin, came further into the channel, but were sunk by the Russian shells from the Retvizan and forts, or by their crews. Both went down in the entrance to the harbour outside the guardship and the Retvizan. Some bodies were washed ashore the next morning, but the crews seemed to have escaped in the torpedo boats which accompanied the flotilla of fire ships with which the Japanese had intended to block the navigable channel to the harbour.

The expedition failed. The steamers did not sink in the channel, and there was a fair way still open for the egress of the Russian fleet.

Later that day the town sustained a heavy bombardment directed upon the harbour. The Retvizan was struck, and some damage was done to the town and forts, but the loss of life was slight.

The next night Japanese torpedo boats were seen approaching the entrance, and were fired upon. Two were struck and appeared to sink, the others went seaward, escaping in the darkness; a thick dull atmosphere, presaging a snowstorm, covered harbour, hills and sea.

That morning two torpedo boats returned to harbour; a third was cut off by the Japanese, and headed south, rounding Liaotishan and reaching Pigeon Bay, where she was sunk by the enemy.

The following day General Stoessel ordered all British and American residents to leave Port Arthur at once. Several did so and were caught in a terrible blizzard which raged all over South Manchuria for thirty-six hours.

The next week there was a respite from active warfare; the town again recovered from the excitement, shock and disorder occasioned by the heavy bombardment. At the end of the week the railway line was blocked by a military train which had left the rails. The town people believed that land communication had been destroyed by the Japanese, but the arrival of the usual daily train on Sunday restored public confidence.

The next week Admiral Makaroff arrived and took over the command from Admiral Stark. There was feverish activity in the naval yards, and the smaller cruisers finished their repairs and were again fit for action. From day to day there was firing, and some of the shells wrought considerable havoc in both the old and the new towns, but the casualties were few and the dilapidations so local that there was nothing approaching panic. The civilians were becoming used to the bursting of shells, and no longer started at the roar of cannon upon the forts.

The Retvizan was successfully refloated. The presence of Admiral Makaroff and the Grand Dukes Cyril and Boris buoyed up the hopes of the garrisons and even of the navy and the townspeople. It was believed that soon something would be done to turn the tables upon the enemy, and admit of the Russian fleet assuming the offensive. In the meantime General Stoessel improved his defences on the land side; he sent out agents to get in stores of provisions, and arrange for continual supplies from the Chinese treaty ports, and showed that he possessed much foresight, and would be prepared for any and every kind of attack.

The Japanese, foiled in their attempt to block the harbour, were constantly annoying us by frequently reconnoitring. On March 10 the search-lights revealed the approach of a torpedo-boat flotilla. The batteries opened fire, and the Russian torpedo-boat flotilla put out to sea. The enemy retreated, the Russian boats returned to port at daylight with the news that the Japanese fleet was approaching; the torpedo-boat destroyer Steregushchi was sunk by this oncoming fleet. At eight o’clock the fleet, consisting of fourteen ships, opened fire on the harbour and the fortress from behind Liaotishan, and did considerable damage to the New Town as well as to the shipping.

On Sunday, March 12, there was another engagement, during which the Diana was struck twice by the shells from the enemy’s fleet.

From this date the Russian fleet remained continuously under steam, and lay most of the time in the outer roadstead. Admiral Alexeiev visited the port, and, satisfied with the defences and the order prevailing, returned to Mukden. The nights were clear, and in the bright moonlight there was immunity from attack.

At the beginning of April the desultory bombardments recommenced, the fire being directed towards the harbour and the Golden Hill forts. The approach of the enemy on moonless nights was foiled by the incessant vigilance of the sentinels and the prompt and effective use made of the search-lights from the batteries.

The Yalu was now open; the ice had broken on the Liao; it was time for a forward movement on the part of the Japanese. There were now chances for the Russian fleet to attack the transports of the enemy if they attempted to land troops either east or west of the Kwan-tung peninsula.

On April 11, Admiral Togo’s fleet again attacked the fortress. About midnight the next day torpedo-boat destroyers and a transport, the Koryo, managed to reach the entrance to the harbour, and lie in security close under the cliff of Golden Hill whilst they put down mines, unobserved from the batteries, although the search-lights swept the approaches without a moment’s intermission. In the early morning one of the Russian fleet’s scouts coming to harbour from Liaotishan was fired upon and sunk by the enemy’s fleet; a second one escaped, but was chased right into port by the Japanese squadron. Having ascertained the strength of this squadron, Admiral Makaroff put to sea to give the enemy battle. The Bayan led; she was followed by the Novik, Askold, and Diana, the three lightest and swiftest of the Russian cruisers. Then followed the Poltava, the Pobieda, and the flag-ship Petropavlovsk.

The Japanese squadron made a demonstration of force, fired with little effect, and retired, hotly pursued by the Russian squadron. The direction taken was towards the south-east.

This squadron doubtless communicated by wireless telegraphy with Admiral Togo, who thereupon attempted to get his ships between the Russian squadron and the harbour. In this he was frustrated, as the Russians observed his approach and at once returned to port, the Petropavlovsk leading, and followed by the Japanese squadron they had been chasing.

The weather was misty and fine rain was falling.

It appears that the Japanese had watched the route by which the Russian ships entered and left the port, avoiding the obstacles the Japanese had sunk, and their own mines put down to protect the entrance. In the fairway the Japanese placed mines taken from the Koryo, and this was not observed owing to the thick weather which had prevailed.

The Petrovpavlovsk struck one of the Japanese mines. She appeared to rise, then fell heavily, with a list so great that she seemed on her beam ends, and all at once she sank from view.

This was the worst disaster Port Arthur had sustained. With the Petropavlovsk Admiral Makaroff went down. The commander and the greater portion of the officers and men were lost, in all 791 men, including the painter V. V. Vereshchagin, the poet Sessuchin, and several Russian war correspondents. The Grand Dukes Cyril and Boris were among the saved, the former being rescued from the water in an insensible condition and suffering from concussion, the result of the explosion beneath the battleship.

The Japanese followed up their advantage. The Boyarin was attacked and sunk whilst attempting to reach the port from Dalny. The bad weather alone prevented them from making further immediate attacks on the port.

The Viceroy, Admiral Alexeiev, resumed chief command of the fleet, but his presence did not inspire the confidence the coming of Admiral Makaroff had produced. For some reason neither officers nor men had the same trust in the Viceroy. It was known that General Kuropatkin was in supreme and independent command, that Admiral Makaroff also was free from the Viceroy’s interference. He was regarded as merely a stop-gap, much as, faute de mieux, Admiral Stark had assumed full responsible command pending the arrival of Admiral Makaroff.

Three submarine boats were believed to be on their way to the port. One arrived. The new propeller for the Tesarevich was also received, and some torpedo boats in sections. Hope was buoyed by the rumour that either Rojdestvensky or Admiral Skrydloff would be sent to Port Arthur to command what remained of the fleet.

General Stoessel became increasingly active in making preparations for the defence of the fortress his special care. The defence of the approaches, the holding of the Kwan-tung peninsula, the ports of Dalny and Talienwan, the junction of Nangalin, and the railway as far as beyond the isthmus from Port Arthur to Kinchow, in the neutral territory, also devolved upon him as commander-in-chief of the army in the peninsula. He disposed his forces to best advantage, concentrating them upon the protection of the railway communications, and assigned to General Fuchs, of the Siberian Rifles, with a force consisting of nearly 10,000 men, the duty of safeguarding this land route.

The fort commands were of less immediate importance. The General insisted upon European non-combatants leaving not only the fortress, but the Kwan-tung peninsula. The contractors were urged to go beyond its limits and be energetic in getting supplies sent to the port, to Louisa Bay and other landing-places. Some were appointed to supply the Russian main army north of Kinchow. Those remaining were all informed that they must bear arms at need, and would be called upon to do manual labour on the fortifications. The Chinese remaining were all treated as coolies and they worked like slaves in making the trenches and adding to the defences of the hill forts. The work on the forts not completed was prosecuted energetically by night and day where screened from the observation of the enemy at sea. Soldiers, sailors, marines all worked hard, in regular shifts; the soldiers having in addition to do sentry duty in the intervals.

During the past three months Port Arthur had withstood successfully nine distinct bombardments. The forts were all intact, the fortifications had suffered but little, and the damages were quickly repaired. The towns were not destroyed, and were habitable. The conditions were not insufferable. There was constant communication by telegraph with St. Petersburg. Some news of the outer world reached the town; the Novy Krai appeared, somewhat irregularly owing to the scarcity of labour, and the restaurants were open.

At this time there were over a thousand European civilians in the fortress, and of them nearly half were women. Ever since the first bombardment, from Port Arthur, Dalny, Talienwan, and the railway settlements, there had been a more or less involuntary exodus of traders, Russian workmen, settlers with their wives and families, the idle and vicious hangers on to an army of occupation, adventurers and adventuresses of every nationality, and those Chinese who were able to escape also departed. The Europeans went by railway to Liaoyang, Mukden, Harbin, or Russia; some thousands in the aggregate went to the treaty ports of China by steamer or junk. The British steamer, Foxton Hall, abandoned by its commander, was taken by the only remaining pilot, a Russian who had been wounded during the first bombardment, to Chifu with as many refugees as could find accommodation. General Stoessel was anxious to be rid of all but his soldiers, though many who were sent away would have benefited by some months of hard labour on the fortifications. As a result there were no non-belligerents to exhaust the supply of provisions. The inhabitants constituted a garrison of formidable strength, who now attended to the business of war.

At the end of April the Russian forces were driven out of Korea; at the beginning of May the Japanese crossed the Yalu.

Then the Japanese plan of campaign developed with rapidity. The first army under General Kuroki, reinforced from transports arriving at the Yalu, marched north from Antung.

On May 5, the Japanese commenced to land a second army under General Oku, at Pitsewo, between the Yalu and the Kwan-tung peninsula. This army marched west and threatened the railway to Port Arthur. The Viceroy, Admiral Alexeiev, left hurriedly before noon on May 5, having with him the Grand Duke Boris, and some members of his staff. The fleet was left under the command of Admiral Vitgert, and the commander of the Novik, Captain Essen, raised in rank, until the arrival of Admiral Skrydlov; the command passed afterward to Prince Ukhtomsky of the Peresviet.

Owing to the propinquity of the Japanese, a car of wounded was attached to the Viceroy’s train, and a Red Cross flag was shown when the train was stopped by the enemy’s infantry near Puliantien. Two days later the line of communication was cut.

There was a force of more than 30,000 men on the Kwan-tung peninsula, and these, co-operating with General Kuropatkin’s army operating from the north, managed to restore the railway communication temporarily. A typhoon interfered with the disembarkation of Japanese troops from the transports at Pitsewo; and if vigorous action had then been taken to oppose the invaders, the situation might have been retrieved.

The Russian force at Kaiping, co-operating with the railway guards, drove the Japanese from the line and repaired the permanent way. A train load of ammunition arrived at Mukden after the line had been cut; it was sent to Vaffienten, whence Lieut.-Colonel Spiridonov undertook to convey it to Kinchow. Everything was in readiness to blow up the train if by any chance the Japanese attacked in such force as again to take temporary possession of the line. The 4th Siberian Rifles provided an escort, and the well-armed train ran the gauntlet of the enemy’s rifle fire for hours. At Kinchow it was handed over to Colonel Yokov, belonging to the Kwan-tung force, and brought safely to Port Arthur. That same night the Japanese advanced towards Kinchow, and next day a force was landed from thirty transports at Port Adams on the west shore of the Liaotung peninsula.

Supported by fire from their fleet, the Japanese succeeded in effecting the establishment of their second army across the railway line, and occupying the isthmus from shore to shore. They were attacked again and again from both north and south, but the attempts to dislodge them were unsuccessful. On June 24, they fought the battle of Nanshan, winning the position though suffering heavy losses. They won by their usual tactics, a heavy flank attack made simultaneously with a frontal attack—the latter usually consisting of two distinct and separate attacks made at the same time from different points, the whole constituting a combination the Russians have never resisted with ultimate success. In the engagement the flanking party had to advance along the seashore; men of both armies waded out into the water and fought each other there. The Japanese at last swam round the extremity of the Russian right wing, drove it in towards the centre, and then completed the turning movement which proved successful and forced the Russian army to retire upon its temporary base at Kaiping.

Before advancing further the Japanese established themselves securely in their advantageous position across the isthmus. With trenches and fortifications they rendered themselves safe from any attack which General Stoessel might make with the 30,000 men at his disposal. Towards the north they presented a much more formidable front. So strong was their position, that no number of men General Kuropatkin could command at any time might be deployed so as to attack simultaneously. The isthmus, like a mountain pass, could be held for an indefinite period by a comparatively small force, and without a fleet no flank attack could be made upon their position.

The Liaotung peninsula, tapering southward, may be likened to a tun-dish of which the isthmus is the funnel, and midway in that funnel the Japanese position could be attacked by an army presenting a front no wider than their own lines, a position in which not more men could be employed to attack simultaneously than they, at any time, were able to provide for its defence—a position against which the whole of the military forces of Russia may be hurled in quick succession yet not be able to take by storm. As long as it is supported by the Japanese fleet on east and west, it is absolutely impregnable.

It cut off Port Arthur from Manchuria effectually and permanently.

The Fortress of Port Arthur.

CHAPTER XIV
The Defence of Port Arthur

Having established themselves firmly in Kwan-tung by the end of May, the Japanese once more assumed the offensive.

The first army under General Kuroki advanced rapidly towards Liaoyang, making flanking movements eastward, and at Motienling Pass threatening not only the Russian position at Liaoyang but opening a route for a flanking movement further north upon Mukden.

The second army, under General Oku, advanced on Kaiping, thence north upon Tashichiao, to new and old Newchwang and Haicheng.

The Takushan army, co-operating with General Oku’s force, advanced from its landing point west of Antung to Haicheng, forming the connecting link between the first and second armies.

The third army under General Nogi, landed at Dalny, swept through the Kwan-tung peninsula southward, and attacked Port Arthur. Every mile of this ground was savagely contested, the Russians being driven from position to position, and gradually retiring upon the outer defences of the fortress. Altogether some two months were passed in opposing the Japanese advance. For days together the town would be continuously bombarded from the sea. As General Nogi advanced he was aided by a terrific bombardment of the coast from Dalny to Takushan, just outside the north-east forts of Port Arthur. The main weight of this advance was borne by General Fuchs and his Siberian division. The Russians repulsed an attempted landing at Kerr Bay, where General Nadin was severely wounded. The naval authorities were busy in clearing the navigable channel so that the repaired battleships might leave the harbour for the outer roadstead, and the torpedo-boat flotilla was occupied every day, being repeatedly driven in by the Japanese squadron blockading the port. From the Liaotishan forts at the southern extremity of the peninsula the Japanese vessels were cannonaded whenever within range, and there, and elsewhere, new batteries were established to command the coast immediately under the great forts. The fortifications on the Metre Range, High Hill and the heights outside the line of the land forts, were hurried to completion, and temporary forts were improvised in many situations, this work being directed by General Kondratiev, who had with him all the artillery officers who could be spared from the batteries, which were manned by the minimum number of hands compatible with efficiency. A completely covered shell-proof trench connected all the forts of each group on the hills, and trenches and entanglements were provided for the outworks protecting the forts. By the exercise of ceaseless vigilance and making a determined opposition to every change of position the Japanese attempted, General Fuchs delayed the close investment of the fortress until July had passed. In these contests the Japanese lost heavily, lost far more heavily than the Russians, who almost invariably acted entirely on the defensive, resisting with stubbornness and allowing themselves to be driven out of a position when their commanders knew that by falling back upon the next defence they would be in a better position to injure the enemy still more. The Japanese advance was slow, but none the less sure; they sacrificed life without stint to obtain possession of any subsidiary position they deemed of importance. The Russians husbanded their resources as well as they were able.

The attacks on the Russian positions, on the town, the harbour and the forts, were incessant, and the havoc wrought was terrible. The town became untenable; the inhabitants had to seek shelter in cellars, in specially excavated shell-proof caves, under the face of the gravel pit, in the stone quarries; but safest of all were the refuges in the great forts.

The source of the town water supply was controlled by the Japanese, but the great freshwater lake behind Golden Hill and the many wells furnished sufficient for all needs. But life was intolerable. The furious bombardments rained shells everywhere. The hospitals were full; men scarcely able to walk were sent into the forts and the trenches. The medical stores became exhausted, and that wonderful explosive Shimose, burst shells into rugged splinters which made the ugliest of wounds and mutilated the human form beyond recognition. Men were blown to ribands. Others were stripped of flesh, and skin and limbs; the victims were mutilated, sickening spectacles; they uttered piteous cries and harrowing moans. Shocking remnants of living sentient men struggled helplessly to rid themselves of torn, mangled, and peeled limbs, or twitched and sprawled helplessly, attempting to hold together all that remained of their poor, bleeding, lacerated bodies. Shapeless and discoloured human flesh strewed the ground; it became impossible either to gather or bury many of the dead.

Until the Russians were really hemmed in the fortress itself there seemed to be opportunities for escape. Day by day junks arrived with fresh provisions; they brought news, they would carry away whoever thought the risk of running the blockade to be less than that of the bombardment.

These junks, and an occasional steamer, would clear from Chifu for Newchwang or vice versa. Their course required them to round Liaotishan. When they reached that point, if there were no Japanese vessels between them and the coast they ran into Pigeon Bay or Louisa Bay, or some other creek near the spot, discharged their cargoes, and as soon afterwards as opportunity served, continued their voyage. If Japanese vessels were in sight, they held to their course past the promontory, and, if intercepted and boarded, produced for the benefit of the Japanese papers which proved the ostensible trade they followed.

The great firm of Kunst & Albers had enormous shipments afloat for their depôts at Vladivostok, Port Arthur and the Amur when war began. These cargoes were delivered at their branch establishment at Kiaochow (Tsintau), which suddenly assumed vast importance. The staff there was strengthened, particularly in the shipping department. The stores arriving were reshipped quickly by coasting steamers and junks. Under the German, the Norwegian and the Chinese flags they reached ultimately that port where prices ruled highest. In July access to the creeks became more difficult; early in July Louisa Bay was not safe, and a month later Pigeon Bay could not be approached from the land side without great risk, and junks had then to sail up the eastern coast to the entrance of Port Arthur itself, a point usually under close scrutiny.

The entrance to the port was cleared; the torpedo-boat flotilla made reconnoitring excursions from time to time. In the middle of June the Lt. Barukhov, one of the Elbing torpedo-boat destroyers captured from the Chinese in 1900, made a trip to Newchwang and back, escaping the blockading steamers with ease. She was sunk in Pigeon Bay in July when reconnoitring.

The fleet was of so little use to the defence, and so coveted by the Japanese, that it was determined in July to make a sortie at the first favourable opportunity; disperse on meeting the enemy, and by taking every which way then, baffle pursuit and so most would have a good chance of making a neutral port before being overtaken.

Before this final sortie was attempted the navigable channel was cleared of the Russian mines, the approaches were protected with new defences—mines, booms, chains and sunken craft. The torpedo-boat flotilla reconnoitred daily. When all was ready, the sortie was made. There was a running fight, and four of the ships reached neutral ports. The Novik, in attempting to reach Vladivostok, was attacked by Admiral Kamimura’s squadron and was beached by Captain Essen near Korsakov port on Saghalien island. With this sortie on August 10, the supposed value of the Russian navy at Port Arthur disappeared from the list of the forces available for the defence of Manchuria. The Poltava, Peresviet and Sevastopol returned to port damaged, and the last was further injured by a mine whilst manœuvring on August 23.

The result of the battle of Tashichiao, and of General Kuropatkin’s attempt to advance southward, was known about three days after the evacuation of Newchwang. At the time General Alexeiev was losing the battle of Ma-shan and General Kuropatkin’s army had to retreat on Liaoyang without attempting to hold the fortified position at Haicheng, General Stoessel decided to abandon the campaign in the Kwan-tung peninsula and withdraw all his forces into the fortress of Port Arthur.

The Japanese investing force thereupon established a line of batteries across the peninsula on the north of the Sui-shi valley, from Hao-sui bay, south of the Dalny peninsula on the east, by way of Sui-shi-tung and Ho-shi-tung to Louisa Bay on the west.

It was evident to General Stoessel that General Nogi would attempt to carry the fortress by a frontal attack, and that in all probability he would follow the same route as had been taken ten years before, when Marshal Oyama had captured the fortress from the Chinese. On that occasion General Nogi, who was now commanding the attack, had led the central division of General Yamaji’s force, which had forced its way into the line of forts by the gap through which the Dalny high road passes. As on that occasion, the central attack was made almost simultaneously with a flanking attack on the north-eastern side—more directly towards Golden Hill, and a simultaneous flanking attack from the north by the gap through which the railway now runs. Consequently the troops defending were most strongly disposed to resist attacks by those routes.

Surely enough the Japanese attempted to repeat the success of 1894 by identical tactics; but before these could be commenced the Russian forces at the extremities of the line would have to be displaced, as otherwise they would attack the advancing column on both the flanks. The Russian eastern position was Takushan, where a stout resistance was made. This point was held by four guns and three thousand infantry. The Japanese shelled the position from upwards of 3,000 yards with siege guns, and later with four howitzer batteries. On August 9 the defending force abandoned the position after inflicting severe losses on the Japanese. Casualties: Japanese, 1,400 men out of action; Russians, 900. The Russians were next called upon to defend the heights commanding Louisa Bay, and abandoned the hills on the south-east after several engagements spread over some days.

On August 17 General Stoessel received a demand from Major Yamoka asking for the surrender of the fortress. The demand was refused.

The Russians had made every preparation for attack, and were confident that each attempt would be repulsed, guarded as the positions were with the guns of the forts, machine guns, masked forts, the great trench with its hidden batteries commanding every section of its whole length, the wire entanglements, mines and numerous obstructions. If these did not render the fortress impregnable, they gave its defenders such an immense superiority of position that it seemed no number of men the attacking force could bring against it in succession would be able to overwhelm the many defences which had been constructed.

It appears that General Nogi intended to make a direct attack on the Panlung forts behind Takushan simultaneously with one on Kikwan fort, which, if carried, would leave the town at the mercy of the invaders and isolate every other fort of the inner ring of defence.

The general bombardment commenced on August 19, and was directed mainly upon the Panlung and Kikwan forts, but the only real damage done was the ignition of the powder magazine in Kikwan on the following day, when the defenders took to the covered way connecting the forts, and withdrew to the south Kikwan fort.

At the same dates the forts south-east of Louisa Bay were again shelled from concealed batteries on the flats near the seashore.

By night the Japanese infantry attempted to storm the position, but were stopped by the wire entanglements, which they did their utmost to cut, even to bite through, and at last rendered ineffective by attaching lines to the poles and pulling the whole obstruction away bodily and rolling it aside. Metre Hill was stormed and captured on August 20, and was then shelled unceasingly for days by the Russians, who maintained also a constant machine-gun and rifle fire in the hope that the position would be rendered untenable. About the same time the Japanese seized Sui-shi-ying, also a position a quarter of a mile nearer to Wolf Mountain, but from this they were driven by machine-gun fire from the Metre Hill batteries.

On August 21 the bombardment of the Kikwan forts became hotter and hotter, and late in the day two infantry regiments, who had with them scaling ladders, carried the outer defences of the Kikwan fort by storm and occupied the fort by morning.

The adjoining fort, East Panlung, was one of the most fiercely contested of all the siege. It had been admirably strengthened. The besiegers were forced to attack in close formation; the entanglements and obstructions concentrating them to points upon which machine-gun fire converged, and decimated the attacking companies, whose survivors were so few when they reached the parapet that the defenders had little difficulty in repulsing them. The Japanese were as determined to win the position as the Russians were to hold it. Lieut. Kitagawa was fortunate enough among the besiegers to reach the fort and to plant the flag on its wall. He was followed by a few desperate men, who swarmed over the breastwork, and were supported by new arrivals. In the hand-to-hand conflict inside the fort the Japanese were winners, There was a desperate and long-continued struggle, fought out with rifles, bayonets, swords, grenades, and even stones—whichever weapon or missile came first to hand. The Russians late in the afternoon took to the covered way and fell back by it, still fighting ferociously, to Wantai Hill fort, for that far did the victorious besiegers pursue them towards the town. During the night the Russians made several ineffectual attempts to recapture the position.

The Japanese held also the North Kikwan fort, but from that they were driven out in a close encounter on the following day, after the position had been mercilessly shelled for hours.

The attack had proceeded almost without intermission for four days, and the besiegers had secured only a dangerous footing on the Kikwan fort as the result of a most strenuous and determined attack by all ranks.

At this one vantage point the Japanese began to mass troops, distracting the attention of the Russians from the manœuvre by a demonstration in force against the Tung-yen redoubts.

The Russians during the night made an attempt to retake the lost positions. A sortie from Wantai Hill was made an hour before midnight on August 23; the Russians drove the Japanese back on Panlung, thence down the hill to a position near the railway, where a knoll afforded them cover until reinforcements arrived. At one in the morning the Russians withdrew to the forts before the Japanese, and by the covered way to the south fort, which they held against the Japanese, who, however remained in possession of the outer works of the Panlung fortifications.

An attack was delivered at the same time on Etseshan, but the Russians with their search-lights so exposed to fire the progress made by the Japanese that the attack was pushed on in half-hearted fashion only, and ere dawn broke it was definitely abandoned.

For six days and nights there had been fighting almost without a moment’s intermission. Notwithstanding the tremendous efforts made, the attack was ineffective. Everywhere the invaders had been repulsed. Even at sea the Retvizan from the entrance to the harbour, with some torpedo-boat destroyers, had driven away some Japanese gunboats and destroyers firing at the south-eastern forts at the time the general attack had been planned to take place. The Japanese fleet did not take any great part in these assaults.

During the fighting much rain fell. The night was made lighter than day by the numerous brilliant search-lights from the Russian positions. The Japanese were everywhere delayed by obstructions, and hampered by the light thrown upon their attempts during the night to cut wire entanglements or remove them. A strong electric current was passing through the wires of the entanglements, and thus it was injury or death to whomsoever tried to cut them: yet there were seen occasionally Japanese lying on their backs and with their teeth attempting to nip through the dead wires of these murderous traps. Under the search-light the men shammed to be dead or wounded: when this was understood the Russians failed to respect the Red Cross flag.

Undaunted by death, recking nothing of the fate of those who had preceded them in the same endeavour, the Japanese advanced relentlessly, unceasingly, as those impelled by instinct. There were no bugles, no drums, no music, no hurrahs, no cries of “Banzai,” but in absolute silence the besiegers went on, now in the glare of the brilliant, blinding electric light, then a little time in its shadow or suddenly exposed by floating lights from rockets and star shells—and in the end all failed.

An eye-witness writes of the attack on Etseshan: “I watched the assault of a ghostly mass of moving figures, through which continual lanes were made by our guns, admitting glimpses of the scenes behind. These gaps were closed up as if by magic, and the mass surged onward, while our men, forsaking the trenches sought the shelter of the forts. On they came until close to us. The mines exploded and the earth opened. Bodies were hurled into the air, and then sank again to earth. Hands clutched rifles, and in the moonlight bayonets looked like fireworks shooting upwards and descending point downwards into the body of a man—but in silence.”

A correspondent with the Japanese forces states that the mines seemed to be but little used, and were found to be ineffective. The losses of the Japanese he estimates at 14,000, in addition to 8,000 incapacitated through illness, and 16,000 suffering from beri-beri. The losses were made good from men of the second reserve landed at Dalny, and the work of the besiegers never slackened.

The attack having been repulsed, General Stoessel determined upon a sortie in force, to drive the Japanese from the positions they had established in the Sui-shi valley.

During the six days’ fighting and the lull that followed, the Russian gunners and scouts had managed to locate the positions of different masked batteries, and these positions were subjected to a heavy fire. A general advance was made at early dawn on August 27, during a thunderstorm, but it was repulsed, and then General Stoessel attempted to accomplish piecemeal what he had wished to win at a single engagement.

There was almost incessant shelling of the Panlung positions held by the Japanese. Sniping was practised day and night, and night after night sorties were made from Kikwan, Wantai and Erhlung to retake the forts, but they were repulsed, the Japanese losing on an average a hundred men as the result of each assault. By September 8 the Panlung forts were no longer tenable, and were relinquished.

On August 27 two Japanese guns were silenced by firing from Kuransky battery.

Pushing on towards a successful counter attack, General Stoessel had scouting parties sent into the Sui-shi valley; in the course of these reconnoitring expeditions some men of the 26th Rifles reached Sui-shi-ling and encountered the Japanese guard. Returning they attacked one of the Japanese trenches, the occupants decamping and leaving their weapons in the trench. The Russians followed them for some distance without being opposed, and ultimately returned to the redoubts. Other pioneers found the Japanese trenches deserted, and scouting parties went far afield, for the besiegers appeared to have withdrawn from immediate proximity to the Russian fortifications. The Japanese retreated still further north, on their positions being shelled on August 28, but at five o’clock on the following day returned to the attack by opening fire on the redoubts from Fort 3 to Fort 13, and shelling Small Eagle’s Nest (Etse-shan) with shrapnel and five-inch shells.

That evening Lieut. Ivashenko led a detachment of the 26th Siberian Rifles and some of the Kwan-tung Marines (3rd company of Port Arthur Marine Guards) from Rock Ridge towards the Japanese redoubt, and occupied the trenches about 9.30 in the evening. The Japanese opened fire from machine guns and met the men’s bayonets with rifle fire, but retreated into the redoubts, a position so small a force could not attempt to storm.

The night of August 30 passed quietly, the outposts of both sides keeping within their former respective lines. At ten o’clock on the following morning it was observed that a party of Japanese cavalry in file was approaching a village just back of Angle Hill (Antszshan), and that ten wagons, escorted by fifteen troopers, were making for the same place. Fire was immediately opened on them and successfully scattered the train.

About twelve o’clock midnight, August 30, the search-lights revealed a Japanese torpedo-boat near White Wolf Bay, not far from one of the sunken steamers. She fired on the search-light, but was driven off by fire from Tiger Tail coast forts and shots from the guardship and fortress, apparently suffering some damage.

Although the Japanese seemed to be paralyzed by the non-success of their persistent attack, they maintained a constant fire on the Russian positions, and on the town. On August 29 a shell falling in China Town caused a fire which spread with alarming rapidity. The town fire brigade were successful in confining the outbreak to some stores of butter and matches. The volume of dense smoke which arose from the conflagration spurred the Japanese gunners to renewed effort, with the result that much damage was done in the town and the fire brigade also suffered.

Port Arthur was at this time in ruins. The houses and stores in the Old Town were demolished or uninhabitable. The townsmen, as well as the troops, lived in the bomb-proof trenches, or in caves, some of which suffered at times, for there seemed to be no spot absolutely safe from the rain of shell. Most of the fighting was done in the trenches outside the line of forts, and even civilians were requisitioned to take their turn, but these had ten days off duty after a term at the front. The soldiers got little rest, and all prayed that soon the guns of Kuropatkin’s army might be heard as he approached to raise the siege and relieve the fortress.

With September General Nogi put aside for a time direct assaults and frontal attacks. The engineers were set to work with a view to undermining a coveted position and by sapping and blasting create a breach which could not be repaired, a breach by which the Japanese could effect an entry more easily.

The approach by parallels had been proposed in June, and was abandoned only when it was discovered that the material was hard and unsuited to mining. The progress was very slow even after a fair start had been made.

The artillery duel was maintained, the Japanese bringing up many reinforcements of every arm. On September 3 the Etseshan battery was silenced by ten-inch shells, and the breastwork brought down by the fire.

The Japanese, before reaching the line of forts, had still to capture the Tung-yen Redoubt before Erhlung-shan, and the works on Métre hills before Antszshan and Etseshan, also lunettes near the railway to the south of Sui-shi.

It was not until September 20 that the attack on these positions became possible.

The tactics employed were the same throughout. First, there was a general artillery fire upon the redoubts and the forts behind them, all along the line in fact. This heavy bombardment raged from early dawn until past mid-day. Then it was concentrated upon the advanced positions it was intended to assault.

Saps were run to within fifty yards of the lunettes. From these covered ways two regiments, well provided with hand grenades, suddenly rushed on the position. A hard fight ensued, but the attacks were repulsed from all three lunettes assaulted. The next morning, by using scaling ladders, the Japanese got into the lunettes, drove the Russians from them into their trenches, and pursued them. In this way the three lunettes under Kikwan and Antszshan were taken. On the 19th and 20th the Japanese from their trenches also assaulted Tung-yen, which was held by two companies, having three field pieces and a number of machine guns. There was a deep moat around the position, and batteries placed to command all approaches should the redoubt be stormed. A breach was made by artillery, and the little garrison dismayed by constant shrapnel fire. It was then attacked simultaneously on opposite sides, but both attacks were repulsed. After further cannonading the Japanese made another attack on the position; they reached the enclosure, used bombs and hand grenades with great effect in their hand-to-hand encounter, but when the Russians gave way they took their guns with them, and inflicted very heavy loss on the besieging force. Nevertheless the position had been gained, at the cost of a thousand lives perhaps, yet gained to the besiegers, and lost to the defenders, who thereby risked being driven within their line of forts.

The next position the besiegers had to secure was the low plateau at the foot of the forts, known as Métre Hills, between Wolf Hill, Antszshan, Etseshan, and Louisa Bay. This position was protected by wire entanglements, trenches, sandbag protecting screens, and a roof of bullet-proof steel plates over important coigns of vantage. Railway metals were also utilized to keep the earthworks solid, and the armament included field guns, machine guns, and two heavy howitzers. The position was taken after being subjected to long-continued bombardment. First 180 Métre Hill, the main position, was made quite untenable by shell fire; on the morning of September 21 the attack was directed to 80 Métre Hill, which was captured by infantry that same afternoon, the shrapnel fire being continued even after the infantry were over the earthworks. 203 Métre Hill was attacked by one regiment from a sap at the same date, but these men were killed in crossing open ground extending about 300 yards. Another attack by two forces acting conjointly was repulsed at dawn the next morning, with very heavy loss. At noon a corner of the position was entered and secured. It was shelled from all the batteries commanding the position; from Antszshan to Liaotishan. Attacks were made afresh on the two succeeding days, and the Russians then not only repulsed these, but continued to hold the plateau, with the exception of 180 Métre Hill. The Japanese sacrificed 2,400 men to obtain that one position, and lost over 1,000 in establishing themselves in the Tung-yen redoubt.

At the end of September the Japanese, after two months of unremitting assault, had failed completely to break through the line of forts. The Russians not only repulsed the besiegers with great loss, but were able to make some successful counter attacks.

Mr. Norregaard, Daily Mail representative with General Nogi’s army, states that the fighting is of a most determined character. Quarter is rarely sought or given. “Both sides use hand grenades filled with gun-cotton, and with a fuse that burns for fifteen seconds. These grenades were often picked up and re-thrown. They proved very effective. Latterly, also, they have been fired from light bamboo-hooped wooden mortars, whose range varies from 50 to 200 yards with a regulated charge. Both Russians and Japanese frequently throw stones at each other. It is generally impossible to cut the wire entanglements.”

The position of the besieged did not improve. A correspondent wrote in October: “Our principal forts are uninjured, but the houses in the town are badly damaged. Most of them are in ruins, and the harbour works are in a sad plight. Some of our ships have been injured by falling shells, and it is impossible with our scant resources to repair them. We have not a single bottle of anæsthetics. The food is of the coarsest, and even that is beginning to be scarce, while there is much disease.”

The month of October brought no relief to the garrison, no change in the tactics of the besiegers. For a short time the attention of the gunners was given to the town, the fleet, and the harbour. In this bombardment the Peresviet and the Pobieda were hit five times.

Then the besieged attempted a counter attack, directing themselves particularly to the sappers mining under the Russian trenches, and to the Japanese siege line at the foot of the hill forts. The Japanese repulsed the attack, and retained their positions. On the 11th they captured the railway bridge at the foot of Kikwan fort, but nearer the town. On the two following days the harbour was shelled, and two vessels were set on fire. On the 16th, after a desperate battle, the Japanese captured the centre fort on Erhlung-shan, the most important of the positions secured to that date.

On October 24 the Russians countermined the Japanese traverse under Kikwan, and blew it up with dynamite. The same day there was again a large fire in Russia-town.

The progress of the besiegers is slow, but now apparently more sure. General Nogi reports: “The right column and a part of the central column occupied at sunset of October 30 crest counterscarp of Sungshu-shan, Erhlung-shan, Tung Kikwan-shan north forts, and destroyed some of their flankers and outer trenches. Another part of the central column, despite the enemy’s fierce fire, assailed and carried Fort P, situated between Panlung-shan and Tung Kikwan-shan north forts.

“Russians delivered repeated counter assaults against this fort, and we lost it at 10.30 p.m.; but General Ichinohé successfully re-occupied it at 11 p.m. The General captured three field guns, two machine guns, three Fish torpedoes, and many other trophies, and found forty Russians dead. The left column captured in the same day Kobuyma Fort, situated in the north-east of Tung Kikwan-shan.

“On October 31 we attacked the harbour and the shipyard with large calibre and naval guns, hitting the Gilyak several times, and sinking two steamers.

“On November 1 two steamers in the western harbour, of about 3,500 tons each, and on November 2 another steamer of about 3,000 tons, were sunk. Violent explosions, probably of powder magazines, heard twice in the north end of the city.

“We commenced at noon, November 3, a heavy bombardment with naval guns against the shipyard and other places in the east of the harbour, where fire broke out at a quarter-past twelve p.m., raging till four the next morning. On the same day our bombardment with large calibre guns inflicted considerable damage on Fort 4.”

The saps were driven nearer to 203 Métre Hill, and at the end of November another, and this time successful, attempt was made to carry the position by storm. The position, and others, were shelled heavily from dawn until mid-day on November 30. A strong storming party then rushed to the south-eastern corner, but was repulsed. The cannonading was resumed; later in the day a second party essayed to reach the fortifications, but was repulsed; another charge had no better success. At five in the afternoon a fourth party made a hasty charge, reached the breastworks, and fighting ferociously won; some men reached within a hundred feet of the summit. It was seven o’clock before these could be reinforced to an extent which enabled them to carry the position, which they occupied at eight o’clock that evening. The Japanese losses were very heavy, and the Russians left many dead in the fort. The position has been shelled repeatedly since the end of November, but it would seem that the Japanese cannot now be driven from the Métre range of hills by gun fire, nor is it likely that the Russians can afford to lose the men which all attempts to regain the fortress by direct assault would entail.

At the end of November, therefore, the Russians hold still intact the fortress of Port Arthur; some of the outworks of the forts on the north and west are in the hands of the besiegers, but it is not proved that they can hold these positions, as from the forts immediately behind them they can doubtless be fired upon in such a way that it will be impossible for the besiegers to use guns from any of these positions. If this be so, they have gained, by sacrificing nearly 20,000 men, only a stepping-stone which may be of use to them in reaching the line of forts by assaults, nothing more.

In any event, it would appear that Port Arthur will be won little by little; it will be captured piecemeal at an enormous sacrifice of life, but that it will be captured no one has any doubt. General Stoessel is unlikely to surrender until he is stormed in his stronghold on Golden Hill or on Liaotishan. His losses have been heavy, but not so great as those of the besiegers, and in the struggle to come he will have advantages the outer defences did not place at his disposal, so that the Japanese losses may be even more appalling than the figures yet published indicate. But the siege cannot continue indefinitely. One of the latest messages received from within the fortress states: “There will come a time when there will be no bearing the inconveniences of the siege, due to sickness, scarcity of food, and cramped quarters; no enduring the unceasing hell of bursting shells—shattering houses, killing unfortunate friends, and tearing huge holes in the ground—to say nothing of the miasma arising from a thousand corpses rotting on the hills and in the ravines round the forts. Lately the bombardments have increased in fury, and the fiery messengers of hate and destruction greet us every minute.”

CHAPTER XV
Japan’s Requirements and China’s Future

The official reasons for the war between Russia and Japan are known, but there are matters which lie deeper than the ostensible excuses made for the serious step Japan has taken. All know that Russia has curtailed Japan’s fisheries; that she has the control in south-western Manchuria of all the supplies of beancake upon which the Japanese depend entirely for the intensive cultivation of the poor and shallow soil which covers their islands; and they know that Russia, by her policy in reference to Korea, intended to control the supplies of both timber and rice so necessary to the welfare of the Japanese. What people wish to know is how far Japan is prepared to carry the war into the enemy’s country if she continues to be successful, and what are now the conditions upon which she will accept peace.

I have endeavoured to find out from the Japanese themselves what is the minimum gain which will content them. I have asked Russians, too, but the only reply they have made is that Japan must be utterly vanquished—many of them still believe that she will be—must relinquish everything she has gained temporarily, and be taught a lesson of humiliation she will never forget. They do not descend to particulars when asked how this is to be accomplished. The position, therefore, must be taken from the Japanese point of view, as that is the only one profitable for examination in detail now.

In the first place, Japan was determined not to be bluffed by Russia: her first stroke was intended to make that known to her adversary. Next, she intended to drive the Russians out of Korea: that she promptly effected. Then her object was to destroy the Russian fleet, and deprive Russia of a naval base in the Far East, so that for many years to come Japan may enjoy peace so far as Russia is concerned. This is in process of execution, and will be effected before Japan stays her hand. Thus far we are upon firm ground.

It is doubtful whether Japan intends to turn Russia out of the three provinces which comprise Manchuria, or even means to attempt so much.

Japan would like the Russian forces to retreat upon Harbin quickly. If that were done, she believes that with the forces now at her command she could attack and capture Harbin—which has only improvised defensive works—and so bring about a further withdrawal, compelling the Russian Commander-in-Chief to decide whether he will attempt to hold the railway between Harbin and Vladivostok, or abandon the eastern line and fall back towards Khailar and Siberia. It will be a serious situation. With the Japanese at Harbin, the Russian retreat westward may be cut off by a river force proceeding up the Nonni to the railway crossing south of Tsitsikar. The abandonment of the eastern line will mean the fall of Vladivostok, and leave the Ussuri province and all the Russian settlements on the Amur at the mercy of the Japanese army.

There cannot be any doubt that Japan will try her utmost to reach and occupy Harbin. Very possibly she will attempt to occupy that position permanently, since it is the junction of the railways from Port Arthur and Vladivostok, and is also valuable because the Sungari, the most important tributary of the Amur, gives communication to many of the Russian settlements in Northern Manchuria and Eastern Siberia.

If Russia wills it so, and is prepared to accept conditions, it seems possible that the actual Japanese invasion will terminate at Harbin, and that Japan will establish herself there, and hold a large force in readiness for emergencies, possibly for a further advance at some future time. The potentialities of such a military situation will be enormous. Assuming that Japan will halt at the second crossing of the Sungari river, she will be in possession of the Fengtien and Kirin provinces, the two most densely populated territories of Manchuria, the richest in mineral and agricultural wealth, and the better part of the Chinese Empire occupied by Russia since the Boxer rising. She will command absolutely the railway approach to Port Arthur, Dalny, Vladivostok, and the Ussuri lines. Japan’s ambition extends somewhat further. The territory west of Harbin between the Sungari River and Tsitsikar is a high plain, well suited to grazing but of no immediate agricultural value. It has no attractions for the Japanese The land to the east of Harbin is better from the agriculturist’s point of view. The Ussuri Province of Eastern Siberia is a fertile, fairly settled and partly cultivated territory rich in promise. It is well wooded, possesses large timber, and has coal, iron, silver, and other valuable mineral deposits. The deep inlets of its shores, from Possiet northwards to the Amur river, are like Norwegian fiords, and the seas teem with fish and that marine vegetable life from which much of the food supply of Japan and Northern China is drawn. The coast fisheries are of the first importance to the welfare of both Japan and Korea. Japan wishes, and will attempt to obtain, the freedom of these waters. In order to prevent Russia from reimposing the taxes she has levied on the fisheries and restricting the rights of Korean and Japanese fishermen, or excluding them from earning their livelihood on the littoral of the Primorski province, Japan will dominate the Ussuri Province, if not annex it, or restore it to the Chinese empire from which it was taken a generation ago.

Japan is unlikely to seek any territorial aggrandisement beyond the frontier of Korea; but she does wish to attain and maintain a position which will allow her to dictate absolutely in what manner the two southern provinces of Manchuria and the Ussuri province of Siberia shall be occupied and exploited. If she has a strong military force at Harbin she will be able to effect this end. It is, I believe, a part of Japan’s policy. It means that Japan will control the sea board from the southernmost point of Korea to the mouth of the Amur, if not still farther north to the sea of Okhotsk and Kamtschatka. Japan views as rightly within her sphere of influence all the territory eastward of the Liao river, the southern branch of the Eastern Chinese Railway, and eastward of the Sungari from Harbin, the northern boundary being the River Amur. In this territory Japan hopes to see Russia’s influence wane and ultimately vanish. It is to that end she is working.

Japan may have to be content with very much less. Russia will give most grudgingly ever so little, and only the force of very adverse circumstances would compel her to grant so much. Possibly Japan must be satisfied with a dominion which does not extend far north of Mukden, but certainly will reach to the Liao.

Beyond Korea, therefore, certain portions of Manchuria will be won from the Russians by the Japanese. It may be assumed that the territory extends to the Amur, or the Sungari, or the Liao, or any other point. What are the intentions of Japan with regard to such territory?

As conqueror she may, presumably, annex and occupy it absolutely. For several reasons she has no intention of occupying Manchuria permanently. She intends that the territory she wins back from Russia shall revert to China, upon conditions.

The first condition is that the provinces ceded shall not again be invaded by Russia; that there shall not again be any possibility of Russia threatening Korea and Japan. Russia must not have an ice-free port, not a naval base, not a dock, or repairing yard, nor must she be allowed to occupy any fortified post which from its position may be regarded as dangerous to Korea or Japan.

Port Arthur will be dismantled; the earthworks will be demolished; the dockyard cleared, and the place reduced to an unimportant railway terminus and fishing village, with some commerce coastwise in small native craft. The fame and the value of Port Arthur are wholly artificial. It is not the proper situation for the terminus of the trans-continental railway; as a naval base it is useful only to Russia, or some other European power having a forward policy in the Far East. It will sink again to the obscurity from which Russia raised it—not until then will it be handed over again to China.

Of Dalny even the expenditure of much government money has been unable to make a success. The site was ill chosen; the place has no trade, serves no real purpose, and by the Russians was termed “Lishni,” the “unwanted.” Dalny is dead.

The Eastern Chinese Railway, of which Port Arthur was the military and Dalny the commercial terminus, will continue to serve both places so long as there is any traffic, and local traffic there always will be. It may increase, but it will do so slowly unless nursed by some such artificial methods as Russia employed. The Eastern Chinese Railway will be joined to the Imperial Chinese Railways by a line of about forty miles over a flat country between Mukden and Hsinmintun. That is the direction most of the trans-continental and local traffic will take; it will give through railway communication between Europe and Peking.

The railway between Port Arthur and Harbin may be acquired directly from Russia by the Chinese Government. It is much more likely to be taken by the Japanese and sold to either the Chinese Railways Administration, or to a syndicate of British and American capitalists. The line runs through a rich country, and already there is sufficient traffic obtainable to pay not only the expenses of working but a fair interest on the actual heavy cost of construction. In fact, the Harbin-Dalny section is the most profitable of all the Siberian railways and its prospects are excellent. Should it be acquired either by the Chinese, or by a foreign syndicate, it will be doubtless converted to the standard gauge of the Chinese railways, and be worked by a similar staff. Already the Japanese are reducing the gauge over the sections in their possession.

The fate of that section of the Eastern Chinese Railway between Harbin and Pogranichnaya cannot be foreseen. If the Japanese establish themselves at Harbin, it may be disposed of in the same manner as the southern section, or the Russian authorities may have running powers over it, or it may be allowed to remain wholly in the hands of Russia—since it connects with the Ussuri railway which has one terminus at Vladivostok, and the other at Khabarovsk on the River Amur. For obvious reasons, I think Japan will endeavour to obtain and keep control of this eastern section, and of the Ussuri railway. Should she do this the Russian terminus of the Trans-Siberian Railway will be Harbin, unless the northern, original route be continued and the line prolonged eastward from Stretensk on the Shilka. Russia will be asked to relinquish the Island of Saghalien—taken from Japan when she was a weak power—the Aleutian, Prybilov, and other sealing islands of the north Pacific. These Japan wishes to have absolutely, valuing them higher than a foothold upon the mainland of Siberia. Japan would also like to occupy permanently the port, harbour, and works at Vladivostok, which she considers to be of greater value to her than is Port Arthur. In short, Japan wishes to possess, or dominate, every place which Russia might eventually utilize as a naval base. More than this, Japan is determined to be the naval power of the East Pacific, and should Russia ever possess a fighting navy, Japan intends to make it impossible for that navy to have any permanent establishment in the Far East. It is for this reason, the blocking of Russia from approaches to ice-free water and the eastern seas, that Japan may find it necessary to hold Harbin and dominate the lower reaches of the Amur, and the Ussuri province.

Another point upon which Japan will insist is the opening up of Manchuria to foreign trade. She will require of China, as a condition precedent to handing over the territory, that at every place along the railway lines and rivers at which Russia has, or had, settlements, foreigners shall be free to reside and to carry on their calling, as in the treaty ports. This has already been made known to China. As usual the Chinese authorities demur to concede this, but Japan remains firm; she will insist, and if necessary she will defy China, occupying and administering the country, and dare China to turn her out by force of arms.

This attitude of Japan is undoubtedly correct. By it she proves to the powers that she has been fighting Russia on their behalf, and probably she believes that she will have their moral support in obtaining her end. But moral support may prove insufficient. Already the Chinese know that Russia is not the great invincible military power they believed her to be. They think that they are capable of doing what Japan has done, and the northern viceroys talk of fighting Japan in preference to having only a limited authority granted them in Manchuria. Their attitude must be taken into account when the conditions of peace are ripe for decision.

The next point profitable to consider is the intention of Japan with reference to the immediate exploitation or development of those portions of China she is winning back from Russia. As already stated, Port Arthur is to be dismantled. No foreigners will in any circumstances be allowed to stay there until after the conclusion of the war. The same rule will apply to Dalny and Talienwan, for the whole of the Kuan-tung peninsula is required by Japan as a naval and military base. After the war, if it ends in favour of Japan, it is improbable than any European firm will desire to become established there, other places offering greater inducements.

For sufficient reasons, which need not be set forth in detail, the Japanese will object to any Russians remaining longer on Manchurian territory in their military occupation. They will object also to persons of French, German, and Scandinavian nationality. Both French and German subjects in the Far East, and especially those in Manchuria, Siberia, and the quondam treaty port of Newchwang, have shown themselves sympathisers with Russia, if not actual partisans in the war. The Scandinavians, chiefly through the Danish East-Asiatic Company, are still more closely identified with Russians, and the Japanese even go so far as to say that the Danish and the Russian flags are for all practical purposes identical. Throughout the Far East Denmark is represented by the Russian Consuls; some of the Danish East-Asiatic Company’s steamers were owned in their entirety and absolutely by Russians, a fact the Japanese do not overlook, and will not forget.

Manchuria therefore will be open first to persons of British and American nationality. If they are quick to establish themselves there, other nationals will be subject to the same adverse conditions as British subjects endured under Russian rule and occupation.

Another point upon which Japan has decided is the future rule of Manchuria. Japan does not intend that the three provinces shall revert to the cruel despotism that obtained there under Chinese sovereignty. Japan has proved in Formosa that brigands, outlaws, and the savage natives the Chinese exploited, have become industrious law-abiding peasants under the just administration of equitable laws.

The Hunghuses and outlaws of Manchuria are more likely than the Formosan natives to appreciate a liberal government, and laws administered with justice. All nations should support Japan in her endeavour to free the enslaved Manchurian peasant. The Chinese coolie is capable of being made into a law-abiding, sober, industrious, frugal labourer, and if the experiment succeeds in Manchuria it may lead to a reform in the government of the eighteen provinces of China Proper. Possibly the moral, social, and physical welfare of the people count for less than the correct division of the territorial spoils of war among the conquerors; but this issue is fraught with such gigantic potentialities, that it is to be hoped Japan will obtain her end, and be the means of freeing the Chinese peoples from the tyranny of a corrupt mandarin rule. The real opening up of Manchuria to foreign settlement and trade will effect more than centuries of missionary effort to the enlightenment of the people and the amelioration of their lot. This opportunity must on no account be missed, whatever the opinion of the Chinese Court may be on the subject.

The spoils of war which will go to the victors will include government, freehold and leasehold estate; fortresses, dockyards, armaments and munitions of war. The Chinese Eastern Railway may be regarded as government property, and such rights as Russia legally possesses in it will pass to the Japanese. There will be a war indemnity, but in the Far East it is believed that whichever side wins, the war indemnity, whatever its amount, will have to be paid by China. Should the Japanese prove ultimate conquerors the war indemnity levied upon Russia will be collected of China on account of the territory returned to the dominion of the Chinese Emperor. Should Russia win, Japan will be unable to pay a heavy indemnity, and China will be required to reimburse Russia for the expense to which she will have been put in repelling the Japanese invasion of Chinese territory. China’s protests will be futile in either event.

The material gain Japan expects to win by the war may be summarized as follows:—

(a) Saghalien and the sealing islands to become Japanese territory.

(b) The port and harbour of Vladivostok to be occupied by Japan indefinitely.

(c) Port Arthur to be dismantled and made over to China on conditions.

(d) The rights of Russia in the Chinese Eastern Railway and in the territory leased from China by Russia.

(e) The opening of Manchuria to Japanese trade and exploitation.

(f) The opening of the Amur and its tributaries to international navigation.

(g) A war indemnity of unknown amount, to be paid by China.

These requirements are for the most part immaterial to European Powers. The supporters of Japanese policy may expect to share in the privileges Japan secures for her own people as traders in Manchuria, and in the right of way in Siberian waters.

They will be neither gainers nor losers by the transference of Saghalien, and the Russian islands in the Pacific, nor by the change in the ownership of Vladivostok. Whilst some nationals will be losers by the dismantling of Port Arthur and the disappearance from the Pacific of the Russian naval stations, in all probability the world will be distinctly the gainer, if, as is proposed, Manchuria and “Japanese Siberia,” are opened to free commerce.

The empire of China expects to benefit largely if Japan wins, but if this benefit is to be paid for by the Chinese people in extra taxes levied in order that Japan may be paid out her share in the reconquered Manchuria, then the Chinese people will have good reason to curse a war which has added to their burdens and in no other way ameliorated their condition.

China is as corrupt as her empire is vast; even the Japanese with whom I have conversed on the subject declared that the task of regenerating China was too great for them to attempt; the Chinese were hopelessly incorrigible.

The bulk of the Chinese, though bound by tradition and the slaves of their environment, are sensible, law-abiding people, whose greatest need is a good government. It is not that there is one law for the rich and another for the poor—there are laws for any and every class—but there is justice for no one, only the foreigner.

I will take an instance. A rich corporation had a difference with a rich contractor as to the quality of certain material supplied. In England it would have been a case for a civil court, but in order to obtain the return of their money they put the man in the yamen, and being rich, paid the expected cumshaws, and in the course of time the sum they demanded was extorted from the contractor. By that time the yamen officials had discovered that he was wealthy, and he was not released until he was not only beggared, but his daughters had been sold into slavery. The handful of snow thrown at the man became an avalanche which overwhelmed him.

The magistrates are appointed for a term of three years, and count upon receiving in cumshaws the first year as much as they paid in order to secure the position; double that sum the second year, and the third year double the second year’s income.

Is there any crime which justifies the State in flaying a woman to death?

Perchance the visitor to a big Chinese city may happen on such an execution in one of its streets. He may shut his eyes to the horrible spectacle and pass by as the foreign resident does, or as a tourist he may stay and watch, and as a souvenir buy at a German photographer’s a set of snap-shots showing the various stages of the ghastly performance of tearing the skin from the sentient flesh of a writhing human being tied to the stake.

Only last September in modern Shanghai, a man was slowly starved to death whilst exhibited in a wooden cage outside the gates of the city, but only one English newspaper in the settlement thought the affair called for mention. And Shanghai is the model settlement possessing a municipal council which recently thought “shocking” an application to permit newspapers to be sold in the streets!

A woman employed at one of the mills stole a small quantity of cotton which she said she wrapped round her body in order to keep herself warm; she was sentenced to 100 blows for this offence at the Mixed Court, when the American assessor was on the bench with the Chinese magistrate. The case is reported, without comment, in the North China Daily News, January 20, 1904. This is a punishment which would not be inflicted in England, and British mill owners in China ought to work with conditions similar to those made in this country.

In another case, a British boy, name not published, was prosecuted in the Consular Court for a long series of petty thefts from his employers. In order not to spoil his future career he was ordered one day’s imprisonment and immediately set free.

There are different punishments for an identical offence, the variation being due to the nationality of the culprit. The penalty inflicted upon a Chinese offender also varies in accordance with the nationality of the accuser, or the assessor. The purpose of a European assessor sitting conjointly with a Chinese magistrate is that a guilty person shall not escape sentence, but the magistrate is not influenced by Chinese law or the gravity of the offence so much as the consideration of the penalty which will satisfy the foreigner. A convict may get 100, 200, or 500 blows, the number depending upon whether the assessor is British, French, or German.

Generations of foreign intercourse, and the establishment of great foreign settlements at her ports do not seem to have affected in the least the essentially barbaric legal customs of China, or to have ameliorated appreciably the condition of her people.

Missionary effort has not been much more successful. The very afternoon that I sat with the Rev. John Ross in his beautiful home at Mukden, outside the west gate of the city a woman of twenty-two was being cruelly hacked into a thousand pieces before the eyes of an indifferent concourse of idlers. For thirty years Mr. Ross has laboured valiantly in Manchuria, but the customs, the laws and the barbarity of the people continue as of old. And Mr. Ross is only one of some 4,000 missionaries in China, men who strive and work on year after year, and hope, but see no marked change in the masses, or prospect of changes to be inaugurated by their rulers.

One reason for this failure is that Chinese converts are for the most part men of poor station, men without power and possessing little or no influence with the high officials. Indeed many of them are destitute, the “rice-Christians” maintained by foreign charity, and despised by their fellows.

The status of a Christian convert in China is similar to that of an avowed atheist in this country. His relations plead with him and reproach him, the bulk of the people contemn him, the officials despise him and are not ready to help him. If persuasion will not win him back to the conventions of the public his family try threats; the rage of his ancestors at his apostasy, the dishonour he has brought upon them and upon his living relatives; such wickedness as the gods will not allow to go unpunished. If he remain obdurate they tell him of the fate of other Christian converts, ask him if he wishes to be a tortured martyr, hint that there is a strong secret body of the orthodox faith, the old true believers of China, who mean to drive out of China the foreign devils, and destroy all who believe as the foreigners believe, and have forsaken the sacred faith of their forefathers and mock the true religion. And the Chinaman, timid by nature, is influenced at last; terrorized by these hints he goes to the missionary with a story of a secret society of blood-thirsty vegetarians, the fearful tsiliti, who are plotting to murder the missionaries and their converts. The same story in various forms comes from so many converts that the missionaries become alarmed, and write to the Consul, and if the Consul has many such communications he too takes fright and requests the presence of a gunboat, or some other drastic remedy, and at once you have all the ingredients of an ugly international incident.

The Chinaman, of course, has not much chance if he tries to set the law in motion against the foreigner. He has just to suffer what they put on him.

When I was in Tientsin there was a coolie staggering under a prodigious load of bricks, slowly pushing the barrow to which he was harnessed along the correct side of the road, when a Cossack rode up from behind, and finding a carriage coming the other way, so not allowing him room to pass until it had gone by the barrow, he commenced to lash the bare coolie with his whip for no other reason than that he was where he was, and where he had a perfect right to be. An Englishman interfered, but it was in the French Concession, and there, no more than in the British or the Russian Concessions, would the coolie be likely to obtain redress.

The future of the Chinese empire is of less moment than the fate of the Chinese people. After so many attempts have been made to coerce the Government, and to influence the people, it seems hopeless that any plan will succeed.

But this war affords an opportunity for an experiment which I hope will be tried—the establishment of a real Japanese control in China, in the reconquered province of South Manchuria. Let the Japanese prove there that they are not only warriors, but of a race capable of raising the eastern people to their own level, able to instil new ideals, to imbue others with self-respect. Let them establish in their midst courts of justice, and schools such as exist in Japan. In the country they have won let them govern. In China as in Japan let there be only one law, applicable both to natives and foreigners; let there be fostered a respect for justice and for authority; let there be a beginning made with the real work of regenerating China, and the work done where the Peking official will be powerless to interfere with its development, to check its growth, or to stamp it out and reduce Manchuria to the level of the China of to-day. If this be the outcome of the war, then Japan, as a true civilizing force, will not have expended her strength and her treasure in vain.

Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.

The Russo-Japanese Conflict

Its Causes and Issues

By K. ASAKAWA, Ph.D.

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After an introduction discussing the economic issues and showing the vital necessity that Japan should have opportunity for expansion, the Author reviews the historical and diplomatic events of the last fifty years as they affect Japan, China, Korea, Manchuria, and Russia, and threshes out for us the questions of Chinese neutrality and Korean integrity. The book is written with vigour and clearness and is illustrated with portraits of leading diplomats on either side.

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Transcriber’s Notes.

Evident typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected silently. Inconsistent spelling/hyphenation has been normalised.

A Half-title page has been discarded.

Text in the list of illustrations has been amended to match the illustration captions.

The text "and Manchuria" has been added to the heading for Chapter II, to match the table of contents.

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Table of Contents

- A SECRET AGENT IN PORT ARTHUR
- PREFATORY NOTE
- CONTENTS
- ILLUSTRATIONS

- CHAPTER I Secret Agents, Correspondents and Spies

- CHAPTER II Russia and Manchuria before the War

- CHAPTER III Life at Port Arthur
- CHAPTER IV War
- CHAPTER V Hiding in Port Arthur
- CHAPTER VI Last Days in Port Arthur
- CHAPTER VII The Day’s Work
- CHAPTER VIII In Neutral Territory

- CHAPTER IX Consuls, Correspondents and Others

- CHAPTER X The Battle of Tashichiao
- CHAPTER XI The Japanese as Conquerors
- CHAPTER XII Contrasts and Comparisons
- CHAPTER XIII The Attack on Port Arthur
- CHAPTER XIV The Defence of Port Arthur

- CHAPTER XV Japan’s Requirements and China’s Future

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE