As we approached the harbour we began to realise that we were in a city that had been bombarded and besieged for one hundred and forty-eight days. Nearly every building bore marks of violence. When shells had been merciful, fire had not spared. A dusty heap of stones and charred beams out of which stuck the fragments of a printing press, revealed the sudden close of newspaper enterprise; and Sikh watchmen, who smiled a welcome to the English _sahib_, kept ward over smouldering shop and warehouse. Havoc reigned close to the harbour, which had been shelled from sea and shore. In the narrow dock lay the Amur--an inert black mass: and in the broader waters beyond were piled up battleships and cruisers that had swept the Eastern seas and defied the might and majesty of Japan. Maimed they were and broken, like warriors sorely wounded in battle--not dead, but sleeping with their armour laid aside. Crossing the bridge over a lagoon we peered into a submarine armoury. The shallow waters were paved with rifles and shells, and we felt that we had discovered the secret of the failure of ammunition, and the surrender of only thirty-five thousand small arms. [Illustration: What we found in Port Arthur.] [Illustration: What we found in Port Arthur.] The New Town has none of the characteristics of the old. It is essentially new and Western. Trim villas and great edifices of brick and stucco rise from wide open spaces in which you can breathe and move. Here the damage was not apparent, and you had to look long and closely to discover traces of bombardment. Yet there were signs and tokens in the Red Cross flags that floated over every palatial building to tell of wounds and suffering that remained after glory had departed.