He would lose the points of the compass. He would only run up in the darkness against large bodies of men standing he knew not where or marching he knew not whither. Of what use would such information be to him unless perchance he had, combined in his single person, the technical knowledge of a Moltke, the coolness of a Wellington, the bravery of a SkobelefT, and the topographical certainty of a local Chinese peasant?
The night has come suddenly, but the darkness is rendered more confusing by reason of the tremendous glare from the burning villages — vast sacrificial fires roaring up from gigantic altars to bloodthirsty, pagan gods. There is a red glow in the sky overhead. Sharp, continuous explosions, sounding like rifle-shots, proceed from the burning houses, but whether these explosions are due to ammunition left behind or to the crackling and falling of the wooden beams, I cannot say. During lulls in this storm of noise there comes to us a faint ripple of sound like the washing of the waves on a shingly beach. It comes from away beyond Shahepu and the railway, where the stern Nodzu is vainly hurling his brave Kumamoto men against the bristling rifles of the Putiloff Asobke. Vainly, O children of Kato Kiyamasu! Spartans of Japan! throwing yourselves with a very fury of courage on that fatal hillside? No! not vainly! You were never meant to take that hill. Man born of woman could not take it by frontal assault. You were merely meant to die there by thousands until trench and fosse and trou-de-loup were choked with your dead, until the Russian soldiers saw with horror the living carrying forward the frozen corpses of the fallen in order to use them as a screen against that hail of bullets. You were merely meant to do all this so that the enemy would get the impression that the Japanese centre was overwhelmingly strong, and that it could not be cut. That centre was composed of two frail divisions!
At Chukwanpo on the east, and at Wanghsiutai on the west, the Japanese are making the last desperate bayonet charge which won them those places. At Changtien, some miles to the north of the river, five battalions of Russian infantry are madly, bravely, vainly, rushing on the veterans of Nogi.
For Rikacheffand me things begin to look serious, in fact they have been looking serious for some time past. There is firing going on north, south, east, and west, and we do not know where is friend and where is foe. The Russians with whom we are travelling are as puzzled as we. As a matter of fact, they had thought we knew the way, and had been following us. At last, emerging from a swirl of smoke, we come suddenly on a big body of men, tense, waiting, with weapons levelled at us. It is like coming face to face with a tiger prepared to spring. As they prove, however, to be Russians, Rikacheff rides up to an officer and questions him with engaging and child-like frankness about things that should only be spoken of in a whisper at secret councils of war. And, wonderful to relate, he is answered. The answers come slowly and sullenly, however, like drops out of a withered orange. Then there is a pause, and the officer says, contemplatively half to himself, " Many Japanese spies around here. One cannot be too careful. One of them came here the other day, representing himself to be from the General Staff and speaking Russian perfectly."
Rikacheff laughs and says, " Well, if you're afraid that we are spies, we'll go along with you to the General Staff and we shall show you our papers."
But the officer, who is very young and simpleminded, will not hear of this.
" No, no," he hastily returns. " I don't mean you. But just now, just this very moment, a soldier came up to me and said: ' Vashe Blagarodie,' says he, ' perhaps these are not Russians.' "
And sure enough, I had noticed one or two soldiers peering in the darkness at my face and strange saddle. My silence and Rikacheff's very small size are both sufficient to excite their suspicions.
Finally, we come to Miloff s headquarters, a pillaged cabin in a half-burned village. The place is cold, uncomfortable, upside-down, and filled with high officers in furs and spurs, discussing things in a heated manner over maps, by the light of one dim candle. Miloff receives us in a kindly but distracted manner, but says that as there is no accommodation, and as he is leaving in a few minutes himself, he will send us on to Davangangpu with his adjutant, who is leaving directly. I wait for almost three hours listening to a discussion that I cannot understand, and trying tc read fragments of the Novoe Vremya which are pasted over cracks in the walls and holes in the windows, and which, taken in connection with other signs, indicate that the place has at one time been the snug quarters of some officers.