We had passed the trains and left them about two hundred yards in our
rear when we were startled by rapid rifle-fire behind us. On looking
round, we were astonished to see spiteful jets of rifle-fire issuing
from both sides of the uninjured train directed against thick bunches of
Japanese troops who were passing along the track over which we had just
advanced. Even the Eastern temperament has limits to its serenity. For
a moment the Japs were completely off their guard, but they soon
recovered, and dropping flat in the grass, they opened a brisk
fusillade. The Magyars were protected by the plated sides of their
wagons, and were making sad havoc amongst the soldiers of the Rising
Sun. Taking in the situation at a glance, a Japanese officer gave the
order to charge. Every man instantly bounded forward, and, like a
disturbed nest of ants, they swarmed all over the train, stabbing,
clubbing and bayoneting every Bolshevik they could get at, tossing their
dead enemies out of the carriages off their bayonets with the same
motion as if they were shovelling coal. Then they posted a sentry on the
highest part of each train, and the gun in the road, and called them
their "trophies of war." My great regret was that no Bolshevik was left
alive to tell us the reason why they allowed about sixty English
officers and soldiers to pass unmolested at point-blank range of about
forty yards, and only began to fire when the Japanese soldiers came
under their rifles.
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