annihilating them. Their shrieks were in his ears. Then as if by magic the firing stopped. A little figure he knew it well, the whole battalion knew itleaped in front of the firing. For a moment the face was turned towards the Foreigner. The mildness, the culture, the charm were gone: animal ferocity alone remained. It was Kamimoto as he would have been a hundred years ago. His two-handed sword was bare in his hand. He raised it gleaming above his head and dashed down into the amphitheatre. Like a pack of hounds his men streamed down after him. The Foreigner covered his face with his hands. The end was too terrible, and was he not a white man too? He turned and fled back to the trench. Here he collected his rain-coat and water-bottle, and then, with the horrible picture ever before him, went south to collect his thoughts. The same old smile, the same pleasant, mild, and friendly Kamimoto. He greeted the Foreigner warmly; but no reference was made between the two to the yesterday. His men were carrying the corpses up the hill and throwing them into the enemy's trench to mingle with the Russian dead. "Would it not have been simpler to have burned or buried them at the foot of the rise?" the Foreigner asked in all simplicity. "Of course; but you must remember that at ten o'clock their excellencies the honourable foreign attachés will come round to see the positions which our infantry won with the bayonet. Therefore, most honourable Foreigner, it were better that you went back to your camp. It would not please any of the staff to know that you had already been here. It is very unfortunate that one so humble as myself should have to request your honourable good self to remove!" The Foreigner was still lost. Fighting had prevented him from rejoining after witnessing There was a merry twinkle the untoward end of the Orloff in Kamimoto's eye. But he Regiment. He found food and was expecting an officer from lodging for the night with some the staff immediately. The Buddhist monks, and at day- Foreigner made his way down break on the following morn- the hillside deep in thought. ing, now that the enemy had The speculation uppermost in completely evacuated it, climbed his mind was whether Kamito the nearest position. A moto would have the first Japanese fatigue - party was field-dressings taken off those toiling, carrying the corpses corpses. It would prove of their comrades up the slopes. bad case for Bushido if this At the top stood Kamimoto. were forgotten. Printed by William Blackwood and Sons. TSINGTAU, September. THE flag-lieutenant leaned wearily on the rail. It would have been difficult to have adequately analysed his thoughts. They were conjured up by the weariness of life which possessed his body, and the fierce despair and utter humiliation which had crushed his soul. The rim of the beam from the searchlight on Golden Hill, as it was lighting the water-way for the passage of the last of the battleships, flooded the superstructure of the flagship as she rode at anchor. Yet it was more than the intensity of the unnatural light that blanched the faces of the little group of officers on the bridge. It was not fear,-Russians are not VOL. CLXXVI.-NO. MLXX. point, and illuminated with dazzling contrasts the gaunt hull and heavy tops of the battleship in their every detail, as with laborious toil it was towed between the artificial sags,legacies of Japanese efforts to obstruct the fairway. In front of it three launches were dragging a mine-trawl. The busy panting of the tugs and the swirl of the water beneath the trawl - hawse were the only sounds in the vicinity. But other sounds punctuated the stillness of the night,—there was ever present the dull reverberation of the Japanese shells from the investing lines, as they burst with maddening monotony on the hill-crests of the outer defences. Just for a moment the rim of the beam had rested on the flagship, then its focus was readjusted, and all was darkness, except where the moving vessel glided past, conjuring up the vision of some spectre vessel in a grim stage setting. It glided past until it was two cables' length distant from the flagship. Then three or four short sharp orders in a deep voice. One tug at least seemed to redouble its panting, and then the jarring rattle of metal links told that the warship was anchoring. Almost immediately a light was shown from a casemate on the lee-side of the flagship, and as if by magic the beams of the searchlights disappeared. but the greater was to come. The flag-lieutenant took his orders, and moved lethargically down the ladder. A launch was piped to the gangway, and in two minutes he was on his way to give directions to the trawlers. They would now be required to cover the advance of the squadron as it felt its way to the open sea. What were the risks of the home waters in comparison to the open sea! Presently the flashlights burst up again. Now the reflectors threw the faltering beams well out to sea. was essential that the adventurous squadron might lie unseen in the shadow of complementary darkness. The lights now traversed as in normal circumstances, lest the reconnoitring torpedo craft from the blockading squadron should become suspicious. As soon as the trawlers were in position, the flagship showed a stern light, and the sound of her winches conveyed to the squadron the order for the momentous movement. It Daylight, and a thick haze. Thank Providence for the haze. Might it hold until they made the Shantung promontory! The flag-lieutenant was still leaning over the bridge-rail. Now you could see his features clearly. The estimate formed in the fierce beam of the searchlight had not been unjust. He was a tall spare youth, fined down now below his normal standard by the distressing tension of adverse war. His aristocratic features were drawn The flag-captain who was standing by the Admiral called the flag-lieutenant by name. Only the first half of the difficulties were over. The lesser had been accomplished, and pinched. His auburn beard was touzled and unkempt in its niggard growth; great dark rings encircled his blue eyes. His uniform was in keeping with his features. His duck trousers suggested rather the engineer on watch than the staff officer on the bridge. Yet in his state he was in keeping with the crew lying wearily at their stations. Few were sleeping. The Pacific Squadron, from Admiral to coal-trimmer, was in no mood for sleep that morning. Thank Providence only for the mist! The squadron crept on-the battleships in line ahead, the cruisers following in similar formation. The sea was smooth: it usually is so when the land mists lie. Presently a torpedo-boat appeared ahead. It was steaming at its utmost speed, as the great wave breaking over its whale-back showed. A desperate Jap? No; only a report from the scouting line ahead. The flags were fluttering from the tiny mast. The mist rendered the bunting indistinct. But in a minute she was abreast, and the megaphone told the story: "A division of Japanese torpedo - boats, an exchange of shots, and the escape of the hostile boats"! The Admiral bit his lip. It was not unexpected, but he had hoped that the mist might have shielded him longer. The gamble was over now: he must turn back immediately, or stand on to fight. The torpedo lieutenant was at his elbow, with a long thin strip of paper in his hand. He had come from the wireless chamber, and the paper was what the machine had recorded. It was a jumble of dots and dashes. But it was Japanese. It did not matter that it was in cipher; the Admiral could read the history the tape related as clearly as if it had been in his own language. It meant that the Japanese patrol boats had made his movement out. That they had raced to the guardship with the news, and that the guardship was now transmitting it, as fast as the wireless spark could make it, to the Japanese fleet lying under steam in the Elliott Group. It meant that the Russian fleet must turn back now, or stand on to fight. The Admiral looked over the head of the torpedo lieutenant and gazed out to sea. mist was disappearing. A south-westerly breeze was rolling it up into the Manchurian coast. The Admiral bit his lip, but no sign on his wan pale face gave evidence of the struggle that was throbbing in his mind. He turned and looked down the line of battleships he commanded. One, two, three, four, five! His decision was made in that moment. He would stand on: steer for the Korean Straits if he could; fight if he must! The The mist had lifted, and the sun shone brightly overhead. The swell just moved to the temper of the breeze, and the yellow sea for once was blue. The Russian flagship stood on her course. She was stately, though weather - stained; but in her stripped decks and towering superstructure she showed nothing of the battle scars which distinguished the lean-hulled cruiser flagship now abreast on the starboard beam. The flagship was fresh from the dockyard, while the cruisers had borne the brunt of six months' war. The Admiral was manoeuvring a fleet for the first time in his life. How soon would he be manoeuvring it in the presence of the enemy! The answer came almost at once. The navigating officer reported Encounter Rock on the port beam; at the same moment the officer in the foretop shouted down that he could make out a heavy cloud of smoke rising above the silver belt of mist which still clung to the north-eastern horizon. It might or it might not be the torpedo craft, who since daylight had been as tenacious to the movements of the squadron as pilot-fish. Every glass was turned in the direction indicated - every glass with the exception of the Admiral's: he stood against the rail with his hands clasping the metal bar behind him. Only the yeoman of the signals, with the slack of the halliards across his palm, could see that the long pale fingers were convulsively closing and opening their hold. To the rest of the little group on the bridge the Admiral's pale impassive features conveyed no inkling of the fearful anxiety that was battling in his mind. The great engines ground on below, making their sixteen knots, and each the smoke was not long in discovering itself. The breeze was still chasing the mist northwards, and the masts and tops of Togo's battle squadron separated quickly from the silver fog. Six vessels steaming line ahead were responsible for the suspicious smoke; and then the flagcaptain reported deliberately, "There is another squadron north-west of them, steering a course nearer to us." it a spasm in the engines, or was it a shudder that seemed to strike every man on the bridge, and almost simultaneously communicate itself to figures in dirty duck on the decks belows? What made so many ashen faces turn towards the bridge? Was ."Six-no, there are only five!" "Perhaps it is the British from Wei-hai-wei-the silhouette of their ships is very similar," was laconically suggested by the flag-lieutenant, with the faintest suspicion of optimism in his voice. "Japanese battleships!" A monotonous voice from the top killed this last hope. "Mikasa, Shikishima, Yashima, and Nisshin in line ahead!" droned the flag-captain as the Japanese squadron became "hull up," showing the white "bones in front of each. To fight was now imperative. In a moment the bridge resounded with the strident voice of the Admiral. The lethargy vanished, the flag-lieutenant the decks thrilled with the revolution dropped down the ladder, and bugle note. Even before the signal flags had left the yeo seemed to smite the Admiral as he awaited the verdict of the watchers. The mystery of |