There was a particularly brave sergeant called Semba in the Eighth Company. In the battle of Kenzan he distinguished himself by rushing in before others upon the enemy. He was used to march on, crying all the time, “_I_ will avenge you, depend upon it!” thus comforting the dying or wounded who lay along his way. This he meant as an eternal farewell or a healing word as the case might be. So his subordinates loved him as their elder brother and thought they would be perfectly satisfied if they could die with Sergeant Semba. His lieutenant especially loved this sergeant and believed him to be better than a hundred ordinary men. For all difficult duties, he singled out this Semba, whose efforts were usually successful because of his composure and bravery. On the 27th, when the desperate march was set afoot, the sergeant held his men firmly together and pressed on headlong, crying, as usual, “_I_ will avenge you, depend upon it!” to those falling right and left. At last he himself fell at the feet of his lieutenant, who tried to raise him and felt warm blood running over his hands. “I’m done for!” said the sergeant, faintly. “Keep up your spirits, Sergeant Semba!” The brave fellow spat out the blood that was filling his throat and with his eyes full of tears said: “Lieutenant! Port Arthur—” Without finishing his sentence he expired. Did he mean to say that he regretted dying before the final assault on Port Arthur? Or did he pray with tears that that fortress might fall into our hands as quickly as possible? Whatever it might be, one thing is certain, that this true patriot thought of nothing but Port Arthur in the moment of his death! [Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XIX.] THE FIRST AID STATION SINCE the opening of hostilities on the heights to the northeast of Hwangni-chuan and Tashang-tun, I had been too excited over the fighting to think of anything else, but now I began to think of my friend, Surgeon Yasui, and to wonder whether he had passed through the struggle in safety. On the eve of the 28th, when threatening clouds were gathering in the sky, I was walking alone under the willow trees along a small stream below Taipo-shan, by which we had bivouacked. As I was thinking that he must be extremely busy taking care of the wounded, suddenly I heard the clicking sound of an officer’s boots, and he stood beside me. “Dr. Yasui!” “Lieutenant Sakurai!” “Are you quite well?” We shook hands heartily and, after commenting upon each other’s emaciated appearance, discussed the severity and horror of the recent fight. Captain Matsumaru, who had been wounded, also came along, shouldering his sword, which had been bent out of shape by the shot that had opened a round window in its blade. He too joined earnestly in our conversation about the recent battle. From Surgeon Yasui we obtained a minute description of the sad and horrible scenes at the first aid station.