The Russian official account of the losses was: on the fleet--Killed, 21 men; wounded, 4 officers, 97 men; on the forts--killed, 1 man; 1 man severely and 3 men slightly wounded. The losses from the torpedo attack were announced as: killed, 2; drowned, 5; wounded, 8--in all only 142 casualties for three engagements. The immediate effect of the firing upon the town was general consternation. At first, when the enemy was approaching and their fire was directed upon the ships outside, some of the inhabitants went up on to Signal Hill to have a better view of the latter. A party of ladies and gentlemen gathered on the terrace before the Mayor’s house for the same purpose. A shell fell immediately below that terrace and scattered the party. One little company of foreigners on Signal Hill was also dispersed by a shell which burst within a quarter of a mile of them. Two Americans made for the nearest hollow, where one, to use his phrase, “was sick to death;” a third ran, and ran, until, hatless and breathless, he was stopped by a sentry miles from the water-front and taken to the guard house and detained, until some of his friends promised to take care of him. Doubtless the first effect of shell fire upon a civilian population is terrorizing in the extreme, and especially is this the case when it is unexpected. Imagine yourself looking at a fire-work display from the terrace of the Crystal Palace; you hear, as it were, the _shhh!_ of an enormous rocket; there is a blaze of light, a bang, a clatter, a deafening noise such as would be caused by the instant and entire collapse of the immense iron and glass buildings behind you. For a moment you are dazed; then you feel that as if by a miracle you had escaped instant annihilation; you hear a roar as of a near clap of thunder, see a slight cloud of yellowish smoke, and are sufficiently recovered to know that a shell has burst, and able to look for the effects of the explosion. Individual experiences vary greatly. Personally I was merely excited by the first series of bursting shells, but then I was elated at finding myself in the midst of the fighting instead of being jolted in a Peking cart over desolate country in North Manchuria, where easily I might have been. As each successive shell burst I felt more and more glad; I grew bigger and bigger, and walked on air. As for the danger and the risk--no thought of either even occurred to me. I was seeing a fight, seeing as much of it as I could, and wanting badly to see more. I think I would willingly have changed a pair of legs for an extra pair of eyes just then. That feeling of general elation was long in passing, it lasted hours after the last shell had been fired; it never recurred with the same intensity. Subsequently the roar of cannon, the noise and nearness of approaching battle failed to rouse me--the din became a nuisance, especially when it disturbed my slumber, and the trouble of hunting for views of the fighting even grew irksome.