On the second day after my arrival in Port Arthur I went to see Colonel Artemieff, the editor of the Novi Krai, a Russian tri-weekly paper supposed to be the organ of Admiral Alexeieff, and well known at that time on account of its periodical outbursts against Japan. I found that the colonel had been informed of my arrival, and had published a flattering notice of me in his paper. He told me that he was going to start an English edition of the Novi Krai in a month or so, and that he would like me to edit it. In the meantime he would pay me a retaining fee. As this was a straightforward business offer which left me free to write as I liked about the Russians, I at once accepted it; and, a few days after, the colonel got me a little sanctum of my own at the office in Pushkin Street, and asked me to come there every day to get practice in Russian by conversing with the members of his staff, to whom he ceremoniously presented me as u our new English editor." The publication of the English paper was, I may remark, the idea of the Viceroy, who was pro- English, and very anxious to come to some arrangement with England instead of with Japan, which he regarded as an upstart Asiatic Power.
The Novi Krai office was somewhat different to the newspaper offices to which I had been accustomed, inasmuch as nearly everybody in it was either an officer or a soldier. The colonel seemed incapable of writing an editorial unless he were in full uniform, with his sword hanging by his side. The printer's devil was a soldier who saluted and stood to attention when he brought the proofs, and the office was filled all day long with Siberian Fusiliers carrying messages from their chiefs, and also carrying rifles and fixed bayonets. One would have thought that the serpent of treason would never enter such a military Eden as this, but, some time after my arrival, our manager was discovered to belong to a revolutionary body, and was accordingly lodged in the "arrestny dom," or house of detention. Another of our men was a student who had for political reasons been exiled from St. Petersburg, a third was the son of a political exile, and a fourth was a young man called Trotsky, who had a somewhat remarkable history. The son of a prefectural Governor in European Russia, he was cursed by a bad temper, which had led him just before my arrival to assault a superior officer, for which offence he was court-martialled and reduced to the ranks. When, in the middle of 1904, I joined General Mishchenko, I met Trotsky in that commander's etat-major, still a private soldier but attached in some way to the staff. He took part in all the fighting, always displaying great bravery, and, just before the battle of the Shaho, he made, with three or four Cossacks, an important reconnaissance, which necessitated his lying hidden for days in the " Kiaoliang fields, with the result that his health was seriously impaired. He was promised a commission,
however; but, while celebrating the occasion in a Mukden tavern, he assaulted a colonel, for which offence he was court-martialled and shot.
At first I felt a great repulsion for the Russians and an intense dislike for Port Arthur. This was primarily due to a feeling of acute mental distress, une inquietude de deracine, which I suffer from every time I change my country, but it was also due to home-sickness for Japan, whose loveliness now seemed by contrast to be something heavenly. This feeling gradually wore off, however, as my circle of friends widened, and I soon began to take a lively interest in the Russians and in their great fortress over which the shadow of war then lay deep.
What contributed a good deal to dissipate my gloom was the fact that I soon got comfortable quarters in the house of Captain Yanchivetsky, an officer of the Fortress Artillery, who lived in New Town. Yanchivetsky, who was a good sculptor in wood and an enthusiastic gardener, spent all his spare time with his wife and little children, and led, in short, the happy domestic life that the average Russian officer leads. I generally walked to Old Town every day, dining there in the evening at the " Saratoff," a small bungalow-shaped building which faced the harbour and which was regarded as the Cafe Royal of the city. The " Saratoff" was almost always crowded with officers drinking amber-coloured tea out of beer glasses, and speaking loudly, and occasionally it was difficult for a mere civilian to get served at all. Sometimes I used to wait hours there, the Russian waiter peevishly shouting, "Sichas!* Sichas! " (Immediately! Immediately!) every time I called " Tchelovek I"
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