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.