When I went up to take observations from Red Hill I often shot small birds sitting in the bushes on the slopes of the hill, which we ate with great relish. I think night-hawks, particularly, are most delicious, and I do not know why we do not eat more of them in the ordinary way of living.
There was a small fir-wood behind Red Hill, towards its northern side, which became my favourite place for resting, and was a splendid observation point. One could walk through this wood and breathe the air, heavy with the odour of firs, and at the same time see all the positions. On a bright sunny day every man on the hills round could be seen, and the occupations of the various units defending the positions could be clearly observed. There, on Division Hill, they would be preparing dinner in the kitchens of the 7th Company; a little to the left, the dinners of the 6th Company had already been served out; and along the communication trench a whole company was moving in relief of our scout detachments on the left flank of Division Hill, who were in constant touch with the Japanese.
Under Red Hill was a row of small ponds, used as watering places for the artillery horses. They were a source of real pleasure to our men, who frequently bathed in them and fished, in spite of bullets and shells constantly splashing into them.
Everything was quiet on 203 Metre Hill, and I was thankful that the Japanese were giving us time to fortify it.
There was a harmless bombardment of Forts Yi-tzu Shan and Ta-an-tzu Shan, all the shells falling short of the former and passing over the latter.
With what terrific force they burst! The gases are not very noticeable, nor do they collect in one large puff, but are whirled away in little streaks scarcely visible to the eye, and then above a cloud of black smoke is seen.
It was a remarkable thing that where the first shell fell “short,” the others all fell short likewise; if “over,” then the remainder fell over.
There was a road between Forts Chi-kuan and Ehr-lung. Standing on this road, one could watch the practice of a certain Japanese gun. The shells, coming across the road from behind the hill, always struck in exactly the same place, which was fought shy of by every one, and this continued throughout the siege, from the beginning to the end. The soldiers used to joke about it, and say that it was some gunner calibrating his gun.
Very few shells burst near my walk through the wood. They all fell on the battery on Red Hill, where Lieutenant Kornilovitch, a most gallant officer, who came from Kiev to Colonel Petrov’s battery, was killed.
I spent much time in the wood on Red Hill, living again through all that had passed, and trying not to think of either the present or the future. I always used to say to the men: “Never think about what is going to happen to you, but only about what has passed.”