"Just as many as they have now," was the illuminating answer.
I wonder if anybody but the Japanese knows how many men they have really had in any fight, and whether in consequence their victories have been due to astonishing skill or overwhelming numbers. There is rumor of one lost Japanese division, the whereabouts of which nobody—but the Japanese—knows. It could have been in every fight thus far and nobody—but the Japanese—could know.
We are getting mighty tired now. Several of us concluded up at the monastery to-day that we would go home pretty soon unless there was a change. There we took pictures of temples, monoliths, stone-turtles. The Irishman appeared suddenly—coming down the long steps above us, leading a Chinese child by the hand and carrying a younger one in his arms. How or where he gathers in children the way he does, is a mystery to all of us. Then we took more pictures and four officers came in. We communicated in a Babel of French, German, English, Chinese, and Japanese. They got tea for us from the priest, and were very polite. Later two more came in. Davis and I were writing, and they stood around and looked at us for a while. One approached.
"What are you doing there?"
"Writing," I said.
"Drawing?" he asked suspiciously.
"Yes, drawing," said Davis. "Why do you want to know what we are doing?" I don't think the officer understood—but he understood that something was wrong, and he stood a moment in some awkwardness.
"Good-a-by!" he said.
"Sayonara," we answered.