On the night previous to the beginning of the general attack of the 19th, I received two letters brought to me by the cook. Of course no mail was expected to reach us in such a place and under such circumstances, but these two letters had been miscarried and mislaid for some time before finally reaching me. They were both from my elder brother, one inclosing a fountain pen and the other a photograph of my two little nieces, one four and the other three years of age. They seemed to say “Dear Uncle” to me from the picture. Such sweet little faces! If, however, the little babies in the photograph had had eyes that could see, they would perhaps have cried at my changed, emaciated features. Night and day I had been seeing nothing but unkempt soldiers or shattered flesh and broken bones. Even the flowers that had smiled from the grassy fields were now trodden down and crushed. In such a battle-field, and on the night before a great fight, I was honored with the visit of these dear nieces. How it softened my wild heart! What joy they brought to me! I could not help kissing their dear eyes and mouths and murmuring to myself: “You brave little ones, that have left your dear mother’s lap to cross the broad sea and wild waves to visit me in this place of powder-smoke and shot-rain! Your uncle will take you with him to-morrow and let you see how he chastises the enemy of dear Japan.” The cloud of smoke had passed away for this night and bright stars were twinkling in the sky. I slept in the camp with my two little nieces by my side. Nelson’s last words came forcibly to my mind, and I also repeated over and over again the couplet that I had written and given my father when leaving Japan, in which I had spoken of “the glory of death in battle, loyalty for seven lives.” To leave my skull bleaching in the wilderness and become a patriotic spirit returning to life seven times—was this to take place on the morrow or on the day after? My time was almost full! There was a lance-corporal by the name of Yamamoto, who about this time sent clippings of his nails and hair to his mother and brother, together with a farewell letter and poem; and this letter proved to be his last. It ran thus:—