hours before, no one knew in what direction. The village looked like the Roman catacombs, for most of it was underground, and its underground houses — I mean of course the Russian trenches and dug-outs — were all deserted, as were also, indeed, its overground houses, in some of which large quantities of stores seemed to have been left behind. A regiment, the Volinsky regiment, lined the walls and houses at the back of this village, which the Russians called Towtaidze, but the place was not under fire. In fact the Japanese shells were bursting a few versts in front of us, on a fringe of trees which marked the horizon of the usual naked plain. Just in front of this ultimate fringe we saw the Russian firing line. Some of the men who composed it were lying down, some were advancing by short rushes, some were getting jammed behind hillocks, farmhouses, the river bank, some were swinging with great caution to the right or to the left. While we were watching this scene, a score of soldiers were busy plundering the stores which had been left behind in Towtaidze by the staff, and which comprised many different kinds of provisions. In doing so they exposed themselves freely, but where was the harm in that? The Japanese were not firing at them — probably could not fire on account of the range. The sky was clear, but the atmosphere was ominous and threatening, as if a thunderstorm were about to burst.
Suddenly, like the first big drops of rain heralding a tropical downpour, a few shimose shells dropped casually in different parts of the village. At this time Rikacheff and I were following the colonel of the Volinsky regiment to a place further back, where there were some officers that he wanted to introduce us to. Before we had gone many steps, however, hell was let loose around us. Common shell tore up the ground. Showers of shrapnel bullets hopped on the road like hailstones. One projectile burst less than six feet in front of the colonel, who was leading the way, covering us all with dirt and clay. Our ears were filled with explosions like claps of thunder. The rear of the village was, if anything, more dangerous than the front. A big trench that ran behind the usual mud wall was filled with anxious-faced soldiers. The ground behind them was strewn so thick with shrapnel that I soon filled my pockets with these sinister curios.
The Volinsky colonel impressed me as one of the best soldiers I had ever met, simple, suspicious, calm, brave, uncommunicative. " We've got to hold this village to-day, and we'll hold it," he said. At any other time I would have thought that he was boasting, but not at such a time as this. He explained to me that the Russian line north of Sandypu and south of Changtang had fallen back, but that two divisions of Russians had gone to turn the Japanese left flank.