The Russians seemed demoralized by the apparent impotency of their artillery to prevent these advances. Often the Russian lines suffered by their shrapnel, so thoroughly was the ground in front of their positions searched by their gunners. Nevertheless, the guns had hardly hushed before men seemed to spring from the ground and speed on toward them. To the more superstitious there was something uncanny about this little foe. The only solution was the open ranks, the each-man-for-himself, the use of every fragment of shelter. Russian solid formations fairly melted as they rushed into the Japanese shrapnel fire. A single shell mowed down a score. It took ten shells at least to disable a single Japanese because of the way they scattered out over the field. Just behind the final advance of the main force which never moved until the skirmish attack had engaged the Russians too closely for either artillery or a destructive rifle fire, came the engineers with telegraph and telephone equipment. Bamboo poles were swiftly in place, and yard by yard the wire followed the advance. Presently at Oku's headquarters, usually the shelter of a hut within a mile of the actual fighting, would come the thick click, click of the telegraph or the jingle of the telephone. "We have taken the village" was usually the message. Thus village after village was taken in this memorable struggle, until, as has been told, the Russian line had been driven from miles of positions upon which months of labor had been expended and in the closing days of the battle were paralleling the railroad from the Sha-ho to a point five miles northwest of Mukden. Oku had done his part. [Sidenote: When the Crushing Blow Fell]