203 METRE HILL AND MUKDEN.
Before a crowded audience and under the auspices of the Young People's Club, Mr. Devoau said: "Now, before I launch right out into a description of battle charges, ladies and gentlemen, I want you to understand that I feel so humble and modest in this matter that I believe if I had never seen Port Arthur the defence would have been just as stubborn, and if I had not been in the advanced works at Mukden the battle would have lasted nineteen days all the same, and the army of the Czar would have been saved. Nothing worthy of notice occurred during my long voyage from Montreal; at least everything was so tame in the shape of the railway trip from Ottawa to the above-mentioned place, and the tossing upon the waters of the mighty deep until a blockade runner landed me at the seat of war, to what followed afterwards that I will not weary you to-night by relating it.
"When I arrived at headquarters General Stoessel did not require my services, as Russians only were preferred, but I pleaded so hard with him through an interpreter, and told him I had come all the way from Canada, and was just spoiling for a fight, telling him at the same time if he desired to know more about me to send a cable message to their consul at Ottawa. This seemed to satisfy the general, and he at last assigned me to the Prebensky Regiment of sharpshooters that held 203, after testing me with a rifle. I soon got well acquainted with my comrades, and a jollier lot of fellows never lived, who had no end of fun at the expense of the little niggers, as they termed the Japanese. Our fun, however, was shortlived, for one day the hills opposite our position burst into flame as though struck by lightning, and 203 Metre spurted flame, and boiled like a cauldron from a succession of fearful explosions, as shells alighted upon it. Our colonel signalled us to lie close. Every little while a gun would be tossed clean into the air by the explosion of an eleven-inch shell, and sometimes a whole squad of men would be literally torn to pieces, legs, arms and fragments of flesh flying in all directions. This pounding made us dreadful angry, a number of the men swearing fluently, even the grey-haired colonel, I was told, made some unmentionable remarks, and I, who had never sworn in my life, made some very sarcastic references to the proceeding.
"Those horrible eleven-inch shells made bomb-proofs and covered works of all kinds very little more secure than the open. Many men were struck down around me, some of them horribly mangled, and portions of the works literally smashed to splinters, but such is war, and some call it glory.
"After this fearful hammering had gone on for a time with hell reigning all around, as suddenly as it started the appalling din ceased, and nothing could be heard but the piteous moaning of men who were so horribly mangled, many of them, that if their own mothers were present, they could not recognize them. During the awful bombardment, just as we had expected, the enemy, who had made considerable progress under cover of the night, had advanced right to the foot of the hill. Hitherto we could see nothing, as not a soldier was in sight, and all that we could do was to pound the naked hillside, but now the little brown squads, in twenties, began rushing across the fire zone, and it appeared as if they were reserves coming up to reinforce the men at the base of the hill.
"Our blood was up after the abuse we had received, and we pounded them with big guns, pom-poms, Maxims and rifles, but still they came, and quickly forming, marched up the valley of the shadow of death until a shrill whistle rang out, when they turned square toward our position, another whistle and they doubled files, and came on with splendid precision. Their colonel, a grey-haired veteran, stood on a spur, and heedless of shrieking missiles, had only one thought, and that was of 203. It is true the hill had been assaulted before, while it is equally true that the enemy had been beaten back with frightful carnage. Now, however, something seemed to say that the end was near, as old Teleda, the veteran of twenty-seven engagements, stood as if on parade, directing the attack. His men sank to mother earth singly and in mangled heaps, but he had no eye for their dead or ear for the moaning of their wounded; 203 was the game, and anything smaller, such as noting the mutilated forms upon the blood-drenched sands in the valley, was beneath contempt. A battery of six guns came up to the foot of the hill at a gallop, the gunners setting them at an angle of many degrees, so as to rake our works, but though they concealed themselves as best they could, our sharpshooters frequently got a bead, and an artilleryman would throw up his hands with a shriek and tumble in a heap.
"After a rest the enemy opened again, the hills in front spouting flame, and the battery at the foot of our position vomiting death. Between the explosions, however, and they came thick and fast, we saw the figures of men as numerous as ants swarming up the base of the hill. Our machine guns were soon angled upon them, and our rifles sent rattling volleys among them, but the explosions in our position now come so frequently that we are soon choked in clouds of dust, and battered by splinters of gun carriages and even falling sand bags. The signal now rang out to fix bayonets, and this was no sooner done than hand grenades were hurled in upon us, the explosions of which tore the heads off some of our men, the legs and arms off others, but the most sickening sight to me was that of a man not three yards away who had the fore part of his chest clean torn away, leaving his mangled lungs exposed to view. At this stage observation was cut short by a whole battalion of Japanese infantry tumbling over the parapet, followed by swarms of reserves. We sprang upon them with the steel, and a frightful conflict ensued, men fell dead in twos, often with their bayonets buried in one another's bodies. For two or three minutes nothing could be heard but shots, and imprecations, and shrieks, and rattling steel, and then all was over, 203 Metre Hill was taken, but after we got out—that is, all that was left of us—it was turned into a smoking volcano by the shells from our forts around, and the enemy nearly shared our fate in being ejected."