At Liaoyang I had missed some of the best fighting by leaving a day too soon, when, if it had not been for my baggage, I could have remained behind and fallen back with the Russian rear-guard; and I was determined not to repeat this mistake at Mukden. I would leave it with the very last Russian detachment. So I did, and I was captured with that detachment.
Meanwhile we solemnly used up our last tins of preserves and our last bottles of whisky, for it was a great occasion. It was the eve of the Deluge. There was bound to be a catastrophe next day, and God alone knew the form it would take.
In the next room, Little's Chinese boy " Ding " was cleaning up the supper things, as the occasional clatter of a spoon on the stone floor or the tinkle of cups and saucers indicated.
Outside there was perfect silence. The cries of the Chinese pedlars — various, mournful, persistent and mysterious as the cries of unknown animals in tropical forests — had now quite ceased. Nature was hushed in horror. With prophetic eye the earth was gazing, speechless, at a tragedy. She had already received into her bosom twenty-seven thousand Russian dead! She had seen the greatest defeat in Russian history. She had seen the bloodiest fight men had ever fought. And now she foresaw the retreat.
It is one o'clock. Hark! there suddenly bursts forth to the south-east a heavy sound of rifle-firing. We all jump to our feet and gaze at one another in silence.
For the last ten days we had been listening to rifle-firing day and night, but never had we heard anything so ominous, so menacing, so close as this. What gave an uncanny touch to it was the dominating, melancholy boom of a single great gun, which rang forth at regular intervals with surprising clearness, and was immediately followed by an echo almost as loud. No wonder that our faces paled with superstitious awe when we heard that funereal note, for it was the death-bell tolling for the loss of Mukden, for the passing away of Russia's empire in Manchuria, for the strangling in its cradle of a great Eurasian State whose arms might well, in manhood, have stretched to Bender Abbas and Cape Cormorin.
Nay, who knows but that it was the death-knell of the Russian Empire itself?
When that gun sounded, Nodzu had crossed the Hun River, and the ancient seat of the Manchus was for ever lost to Russia. Kuroki had crossed further east, and was advancing by forced marches in order to join hands with Nogi across Kuropatkin's line of retreat. Mukden was compassed with the armies of the Mikado.
With one accord we all rushed outside. A distant village was flaming redly in the south. Shells were bursting afar off. In the sky there were mysterious glows, like great signs from heaven. Ghostly searchlights were moving backwards and forwards like gigantic fingers. But we could not read that mysterious handwriting on the vast wall of night. We could not surmise what was happening. It was all a gigantic enigma. We did not know that the secret net of fate had already been thrown over Mukden, and that we were all of us caught in its enormous sweep. I went to sleep that night in a rather uneasy frame of mind, for in such topsy-turvy times there was scarcely any kind of development that would have surprised me. Early on Friday morning there was a stillness in the air which, combined with the absence of Russian soldiers, was decidedly disquieting, for it reminded me forcibly of the unearthly, unaccustomed calm which came over Liaoyang the day Shushan was evacuated, and which I had at first taken for conclusive proof of a Japanese retreat. It looked as if the Russians had withdrawn during the night, and, owing to the retired position of my house, they might easily have done so without my knowledge. Riding hastily forth, I found the gates of Mukden now guarded by Chinese instead of by Russian soldiers, the shops shut, and the streets swarming with a curious and excited populace. I felt rather nervous about riding through the city, now that it was no longer European, but there was no help for it, so I rode through. When I emerged at the west gate, I saw that the Russian railway station and all the buildings around it were in flames, while from various points on the outskirts of the city great columns of smoke and red tongues of fire indicated the whereabouts of Russian granaries.