Holy Moses! but that reconnaissance was a terrifying experience. We went out past the station where the last fight was, along a dusty road and up a little hill, left our horses under its protecting bulk, sneaked over the top, and boldly stood upright on the slant of the other side. Below us was a big rude cross over a Russian grave. Things were pointed out to us. "You see that big camel-backed mountain there," said one of the Three Guardsmen. We levelled glasses. "Well, that's where the main body of the Russians are." "How far away is that camel-back?" somebody asked innocently. The Guardsman had turned and was beckoning violently to the Italian (who was on top of the little hill, some thirty feet above us) to come down. Then he said: "About ten miles." "So desuka!" (truly) said the same voice, lapsing with awe into Japanese. "So desu!"--which is "truly" in response,--said the Guardsman with satisfaction, and we had a thrill. The Italian now had blithely drawn near. He seemed unafraid, but perhaps he had been unaware of his peril on the skyline only ten miles from a Russian gun. Then we cautiously advanced along the road for another half a mile to an empty trench in a little camp near which there must have been all of twenty Japanese soldiers. One correspondent stepped across the trench and was gesticulated back with some warmth. Davis sat down on the trench and was politely asked to get up and move back--not that he would hurt the trench, but because he was sitting on the half of it that was next the ten-mile-away enemy--and apparently the Guardsman had orders that we must not cross a carefully marked line. Davis got up like a shot and hurriedly went away back to sit down. The major of the post there gave us tea and beer at his quarters near by. He was a big fellow and was most kind and courteous. He had been a professor in a war-college and had asked the privilege of death at the front. He got it, poor fellow, and later I saw a picture of his body being burned after the fight at Liao-Yang. We are getting pretty restless now. The Irishman and I were denied admittance at the monastery yesterday by the order of the Imperial Highness whom we met the other day. However, he relaxed it in our favor. Dean Prior started to go up on the city wall to-day to sketch, and was stopped by a sentry, who put a naked bayonet within two feet of his breast. He came back raging, and wrote a scathing letter which I don't think he will send. * * * * * This morning _Wong_ came. At ten o'clock the Irishman appeared at the entrance of the compound, leading by the hand a little Chinese boy some eight or ten years old. He was the dirtiest little wretch I ever saw, but he smiled--and never saw I such teeth or such a winsome smile. The Irishman said simply and gravely: