The 13th witnessed events of supreme importance, and was made memorable by one of the most desperate and daring encounters that history records. North of Temple Hill rises a cluster of mountains united by broad ridges, and from the centre of which springs a lofty peak. Here the Russians were entrenched in force, and it was necessary to expel them before any further advance could be made. These heights lay directly in the path of the Okasaki brigade, which has distinguished itself for reckless courage and stubborn tenacity. Covered by the fire of six batteries at the foot of Bastion Hill and on the plain to the North-east, this brigade advanced to the assault. As they crossed the valley they came under heavy artillery fire from guns posted on the Northern heights. The movement began at dawn, and the sun was still low in the heavens when at the base of the mountains appeared lines of khaki and blue. Here progress was arrested. Stormed at by shot and shell the Japanese clung close to the side of the hill. Overhead screamed the shrapnel of their batteries searching the crest and reverse slope. From summit and ridge a brigade of the enemy swept their front with a blizzard of lead. Over the heads of the Russians, too, came the shells of their own batteries. It was a strange artillery duel, and raged with unabated fury the live-long day, making that cluster of brown hills a real inferno. To advance looked impossible; to remain seemed certain death. Yet the Japanese held fast with amazing courage. As the sun drew near to the West we saw them creeping slowly up the hill. Russians came out of the trenches over the crest and poured into the prostrate ranks volley after volley. Guns drove them back to cover and the Japanese struggled upward a few paces. Again the rifles appeared above and again they vanished under the showers of shrapnel. So the conflict went on hour after hour, and with every hour we saw that our thinned lines were advancing. It was nearly six o’clock in the evening when a company struggled to the summit. Then was witnessed a terrible combat that held us breathless. Every movement was distinctly visible from the plain. Thirty or forty men of that gallant company had resolved to capture the hill or die. Springing to their feet they dashed toward the enemy, who rose to meet them. The onset was fierce, but the advantage was altogether in favour of the defenders. Against that terrible fusilade no man could stand however brave and reckless. The survivors of the little band turned and fled. One man did not stop till he reached the bottom of the hill. Undismayed, another section ran forward and was rolled back, leaving several dark figures prone on the slope.