Late in the afternoon of August 25th we left Tien-sui-tien--the village near the foot of Mou-tien-ling Parr, where we had camped for nearly one month. Our orders were to march with three days’ rations in our saddle bags and to halt for the night in a glen four miles to the North-west. We bivouacked among the mealies near a mountain torrent, and rose at dawn with the consciousness that important events had happened in the night. Before starting from Tien-sui-tien we were told that no match was to be struck, no pipe or fire was to be lighted, and that restive and noisy horses were to be kept in the rear. These precautions could only portend some desperate enterprise under cover of darkness. Forcing a path through the tangle of bush that dripped with heavy dew, we reached the summit of a ridge and looked across the boundless ocean of bare hills. Away to the right loomed a bold spur in the shadow of which flowed the Tang-ho. Here the column, which formed our right flank, was operating, though of its progress we saw no sign and heard no sound. The heights on our left echoed the thunders of artillery, telling us that our left flank had forced the Pass of Yang-shu-ling and was hotly engaged. General Kuroki and his Staff watched from the ridge to which we had ascended. Across a deep valley on the North ran another steep ridge upon which stood General Nichi and his Staff. Here was the centre of our advance. The Russian line of defence, in front of which we found ourselves, was strong by nature, and had been improved by art. It stretched across hills, offering an extensive field of fire, and must be approached by deep and exposed valleys. One weakness, however, it had, and the Japanese were not slow to discover it. The line was too long to be strongly defended, even by the force at General Kuropatkin’s command. On an extended front the point for attack is the centre, and here General Kuroki determined to drive in a wedge that would leave the enemy no choice but to fall back on his second line beyond the river.