Exhausted by long hours of continuous combat upon a few handfuls of dry rice, the Japanese were unable to make any progress. To add to their troubles the field wire failed and General Kuroki was ignorant of the movements of the armies in front of Liao-yang. All he could hope was that the last report was an accomplished fact, and that they had advanced as far as the river. But so far from showing signs of retreating, the enemy, under General Kuropatkin himself, continued to receive reinforcements, and pressed hard upon the Twelfth Division. Throughout the 2nd of September, General Kuroki’s divisions were merely a target for the Russian guns. No advance was possible until the Guards on his left could make good their position. As this appeared remote, the commander ordered them to leave three batteries with a small force to occupy the Russians, while the greater part of the division joined the main body at Kokanton. Meanwhile the fight went on with unabated fury. At three o’clock on the morning of the 3rd, the last desperate assault of the Russians was repelled and Manjuyama was silent. Upon the reverse slope within a few yards from the summit lay a triple line of Russian dead. They lay as they had fallen--like brave men with their faces to the foe--in almost perfect alignment as if stricken down by one blow. Already the air was tainted with corruption and the Chinese were robbing the dead. An awful sight was that hill, littered with blood-sprinkled equipment, broken bayonets and shattered rifles. Dark stains showed where many had fallen, and out of the reeking earth that strove to hide them many a blackened hand was raised in mute appeal to Heaven. Talk of the glory of a soldier’s grave! The poet who sings of it cannot imagine its horrors. Though driven from the hill the enemy held stubbornly to a position three thousand yards South, and a great force was concentrated at Yentai on the railway, and at another point to the North. Anxious to push on and to turn the Russian retreat into a rout, General Kuroki found it impossible to advance. He had now two divisions, and another brigade was hurrying to his support. But his men were exhausted by many days of hard fighting. Two army corps confronted him, and all he could reasonably hope and expect to do was to hold his ground in the event of attack. Moreover, he knew nothing of the situation South of Liao-yang, for his communication by wire was still interrupted. Had he been informed of the success of the assault on the trenches before the city he might have taken the risk and pushed on toward the railway. In the circumstances, his hesitation was natural and perhaps prudent, for it is open to doubt whether he could have succeeded, and failure would have meant disaster.