On the whole I think the few English people in Port Arthur were less visibly excited by the bombardment than were the people of other nationalities. The Americans were less phlegmatic; some were just bundles of nerves, others as ready to go off as a handful of fireworks. I remember one, the manager of a large business, coming into the office with a rush, his tie flying, his hat half-off and his hands wildly waving, “Boys, I’m off! I shan’t stand for this! Take my sticks, divide them as you like. I’m going!”--and he went, that was the last the office and staff saw of their manager. Whilst the firing was on men ran anywhere for shelter. The business centre of the town was quite forsaken, and it was not until hours later that people congregated in small groups to recount their own experiences, compare impressions, and discuss plans. That same evening saw the first rush for the railway station, and crowding to the passenger steamers in the harbour. The hurried exodus of all classes continued without intermission for days. Loss of life and limb was not much in evidence. A few civilians were taken to the hospital in carriages; more were seen with bleeding faces resulting from broken glass and scoriation from the earth scattered by the shells which struck the Bund and the rocks. It was late in the afternoon before the lines of stretcher bearers made their appearance conveying the wounded from the port to the lazaret, and that night the harbour, forts, and town were in total darkness. Not the glimmer of a light through the shutters was permitted, not the smallest, dullest lantern in the streets. That night there was no performance at the circus, no public at the music-halls, and no house parties for pleasure. Even the Saratoff closed before the usual hour for supper. Port Arthur had then been frightened into realizing the seriousness of war. CHAPTER V Hiding in Port Arthur The morning after the first bombardment was a rough snowstorm and blizzard. It was impossible in the forenoon to distinguish any living form across a narrow street, and useless to attempt to inspect the harbour. The wind blew in from the sea, and when the storm had moderated a little and the snow fell thickly in large flakes it was ideal weather for a torpedo attack. Relying upon fictitious advice Japanese friends had given me that their forces would follow up every attack with another quickly, and take Port Arthur--town, forts and harbour--within a fortnight, I wandered round the shore looking eagerly for, and expecting momentarily, the torpedo attack which was never attempted. It was during these hours of watching that I met the British officer--also peering seaward for some sign of an invading squadron.