Arrangements were made for our temporary lodgment at Yenchia-tun. When I reached the native house assigned for us that evening, I heard next door the piteous groanings of human beings. I hastened to the spot to see the tortures of hell itself. Fifteen or sixteen Japanese, and one Russian, all seriously wounded, were lying in the yard, heaped one above another, and writhing in an agony of pain. The first one who noticed my coming put his hands together in supplication and begged me for help. What need of his begging? To help is our privilege. I could not imagine why these poor comrades should have been left alone in such a condition. If we had known earlier, perhaps better assistance could have been given. With tears of sympathy I called in surgeons and helped in relieving their suffering. While the surgeons were attending to their wounds they would repeat: “I shall never forget your goodness; I am grateful to you.” These words were squeezed out of the bottom of their hearts, and their eyes were full of tears. On inquiry we learned that for two days they had not had a single grain of rice, or a single drop of water. They were all very severely wounded, with broken legs, shattered arms, or bullet wounds in head or chest. Some there were who could not live more than half an hour longer; even these were taking each other’s hands or stroking each other in sympathy and to comfort. How sad! How pitiful! How boundless must be our sadness and pity when we think that there were over four thousand killed and wounded on our side alone, and that it was impossible to give them the attention they needed! In a short time two of the men began to lose color, and breathe faintly. I ran to their side and watched. Their eyes gradually closed and their lips ceased to quiver. One comrade near by told me that one of these two had left an old mother at home alone.