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-a Tuesday-the Knee-Pants Union had especially asked him to take the hero's part, and had chosen this play. "When he goes mad, then you will see it is fine--fine! No one can act it but Adler, this play."

It was, indeed, well acted. The story was simple and tragic. Solomon Kaus, the inventor, starving, perfecting his invention of the steam-engine, or something like it, has his plans stolen by the English, is contemptuously sent to a madhouse by Cardinal Richelieu as insane, and, when his child dies and his machine is gone, goes mad in earnest and dies raving. The audience followed the play breathlessly. One small girl of perhaps twelve, in a red satin waist, hung over the gallery railing with both arms, rapt in the scenes, her long necklace of bright blue beads pendent in the air, like the Blessed Damosel; and when the tragic climaxes came, like the Blessed Damosel again,

"She cast her arms along

The golden barriers,

And laid her face between her hands, And wept (I heard her tears)." For that matter, the Spectator heard everybody's tears. At times, as when the child died, the whole house was dissolved. The feelings of the audience were genuine and deep. When, in response to the curtain call, the villain, the soubrette, and the hero came out after the first act, the villain was hissed vehemently off the stage. Even the children stopped sucking the sticks of candy and joined in. Jacob Adler was called half a dozen times before the curtain after the last act, and was applauded wildly each time. "Adler, he is a good man,"explained the neighbor; "he always helps when there is need. He has a heart for the poor."

Between the acts everybody went visiting all over the theater. Few seemed to go out, but there was continual movement up and down the aisles, and loud greetings were interchanged. After the second act, an official of the Knee-Pants Union made a speech from the 'stage. It was very long and fluent, and full of

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talk about the open shop and the closed shop and President Roosevelt and the Broadway manufacturers. The Spectator knew that because these English words were used over and over again, Yiddish evidently having no equivalents for them. Also, the audience were being urged to join the Knee-Pants Union, and to stick by it, and by the closed shop; and when the harangue was over, the orchestra played the Marseillaise as a curtainraiser for the next act, while all the audience got back into their own seats again. But the great sensation of the evening was after the last act, when Adler, at the fifth curtain call, led out a slender, eager-faced Jew over whom the audience fairly went wild. That is Joseph Barondess," said the Spectator's friend, "who was so active in the last garment workers' strike. We are tainly in luck," and the Spectator felt so, too, when Barondess began to speak. He had the musical, powerful voice of the born orator, and the Spectator managed to understand a great deal of what he said. It was an appeal to the unions to stand together and fight their way forward, and to the Russian Jews to cultivate a just pride in their race and country. Why should the Irish Roman Catholic rejoice in his race and religion, he asked, and the Russian Jew be behindhand in standing up for his country and his faith, "lifting his head in this country of the free? Japan was paying Russia now for all her sins 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.' But Russia was still "unser land," still to be

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loved, still to be helped. "Do you see that man in the first row, second seat?"

whispered the Spectator's companion. "He needs none of Barondess's urging. He is my tailor-not very much of a tailor, perhaps, but with a good trade. Well, he sent fifty thousand rifles to Russia yesterday, to help the revolutionists."

The Spectator came out into the cold night air and took the up-town car. The brownstone district looked very dull and lifeless after Grand Street. What Broadway theater could have shown drama and audience to match the Yiddish play? The Spectator knows of none.

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would not only act as interpreter for us in our intercourse with the Japanese authorities en route, but would furnish us with all necessary information when we should get into the field. On the 8th of October I was officially notified to hold myself in readiness to embark, and at 6 P.M. on the following Thursday Lieutenant Oata, Toku, and I left the capital by the Tokaido night express for the city of Osaka, where we expected to meet Mr. Curtis and take a steamer for Dalny.

The Japanese armies in Manchuria get most of their supplies from two great military bases-Osaka and Ujina, both of which are situated on the Inland Sea. Between these ports of Japan and various harbors in Manchuria eighty or a hundred steam transports ply constantly to and fro, carrying outward fresh troops, horses, and munitions of war, and bringing back thousands of sick and wounded from Port Arthur and Liaoyang, for distribution among the military hospitals of Japan.

On the morning of Saturday, October 15, Lieutenant Oata, Mr. Curtis, and I, with two Japanese servants and a cartload of baggage, rode down one of the boat-crowded arms of the Odagawathe steel-gray river in whose delta the city of Osaka lies and alighted from our jinrikshas near the entrance to a long and spacious stone pier, where two large four-masted steamers were taking on board horses and troops destined for Port Arthur and Liaoyang. Although the approaches to the pier were thronged with officers, soldiers, 'rikshamen, bareheaded coolies in blue tunics, and nondescript civilians of all ages and both sexes who had come down to see the soldiers off, there was no noise, confusion, or disorder. Gendarmes in French

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military caps trimmed with red kept the crowd away from the steamers, and the pier was occupied only by squads of men engaged in loading horses by means of derricks and slings, and three or four companies of soldiers standing at ease in double lines while awaiting the order to embark.

In an unpretentious wooden building near the entrance to the pier we made the acquaintance of Major Fusei, local chief of military transportation, and were introduced by him to half a dozen other officers who were going with us as far as Dalny, on their way to Liaoyang. I noticed with interest, on a table in the Major's office, a large pile of St. John's Gospels, in Japanese and English, which were intended, apparently, for distribution among soldiers going to the front. Inasmuch as Christianity is not the dominant religious faith of Japan, the co-operation of the Government in the distribution of St. John's Gospels among its soldiers struck me as a noteworthy evidence of enlightenment and toleration. One would not find a local chief of transportation in Russia supplying soldiers with New Testaments, and still less with the sacred books of the Buddhists. The Czar holds up before his regiments miracle-working portraits of madonnas and saints, and invites the men to bare their heads and fall on their knees in adoration, while he himself sits on horseback in a military cap; but he does not furnish his troops with sacred literature. Books have a tendency to "excite the mind," while miracle-working ikons encourage a feeling of dependence and submission, and are therefore among the strongest bulwarks of the throne.

After exchanging compliments and drinking colorless Japan tea with Major Fusei and the officers who were to be our fellow-voyagers, we all went on board the Tosa-maru- -a twin-screw steamer of about 6,000 tons, which belonged to the Nippon Yusen Steamship Company, and which ran, before the war, on the route between Yokohama and Seattle. She was scheduled to sail at noon, and fifteen or twenty minutes before that time the last of the five hundred soldiers and three hundred horses that she was

to carry came on board; the gendarmes beckoned to the waiting crowd in front of the transportation office, and a long, orderly procession of men and women marched on to the pier and drew up in a line parallel with the steamer's side. We thought at first that these were relatives of the soldiers who had come to bid the latter good-by; but we learned upon inquiry that the officers and men on board were all from the remote northern province of Mutsu, and that not one of them had a relative in Osaka or its vicinity. The hundreds of men, women, and children who had walked three or four miles that morning to see us sail were all members of Osaka households upon which the soldiers had been quartered while waiting for a steamer. Their presence on the pier, the long walk that they had taken in order to get there, and the manifestly affectionate interest with which they regarded the departing troops were unmistakable evidences of patriotic feeling on one side, and sobriety, good character, and good behavior on the other.

Precisely at noon the steamer's lines were cast off; the soldiers on board crowded to the port rail; the men and women on the pier waved their caps and handkerchiefs enthusiastically as they shouted "Banzai !" and the Tosamaru, turning in a great circle to starboard, started westward through the Inland Sea. A few hours later we bade good-by to Japan at a small island known as Ikishima, where there is a telegraphic signal station, and where we made a brief stop for the purpose of ascertaining whether any Vladivostok cruisers, or destroyers from Port Arthur, were lying in wait for us in the Korean Strait. A string of particolored flags fluttering from the arm of a white, cross-shaped staff in front of the cable station informed us that the "enemy's position" was "unchanged;" and as this meant that he was still bottled up in Port Arthur and had not finished making repairs to his war-ships at Vladivostok, we hauled down our inquiry signal and shaped a course for Dalny. Thirty-six hours' steaming carried us across Tsushima Strait and the Yellow Sea, and at eight o'clock on Tuesday morning, after an uneventful voyage of

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three days, we caught sight of Terminal Head and the long, desolate stretch of coast which lies between it and Port Arthur.

The Liaotung Peninsula, when seen under a leaden October sky and across a strip of yellowish-green sea lashed into ridges of foam by a cold northerly wind, looks more bleak, cheerless, and inhospitable than any part of the Far East that I have yet seen. Its bare, treeless hills are not high enough to be impressive, nor varied enough in outline to be picturesque; its arid slopes show no color except that of the withered russet-brown grass with which they are scantily clothed; and even in its sheltered valleys one sees no traces of tillage and no signs whatever of human habitation. The whole country looks like a crumpled-up, frost-scorched Siberian tundra.

Owing to the existence of uncleared Russian mine-fields in the middle of Talienwan Bay, steamers approaching Dalny follow a channel which runs, for a distance of six or eight miles, close under the hills and bluffs of the northern shore. They then turn sharply to port, and cross the wide bay on a course perpendicular to the line of entrance, and nearly equal to the latter in length: From the first leg of the rectangle Dalny cannot be seen, on account of the distance, but as the steamer crosses the bay, after making the sharp southerly turn, the fiat city of the Russian concession slowly takes form behind a brownish haze of coal smoke.

As seen from the bay, Dalny is neither picturesque nor impressive. It has been It has been laid out on an extensive scale, and it attempts to cover an immense extent of ground, but the one-story Chinese shops in the mercantile quarter make no architectural show, while the really good. public buildings are scattered here and there, at wide intervals, over an area almost equal to that of Washington, D. C. If the city had a more pleasing and attractive environment-if it were surrounded by the sheltering forests, cultivated fields, and terraced slopes which give an air of thrift and prosperity to so many towns and villages in Japan-the bareness of its site and the raggedness of its architectural outline might be less

noticeable; but the reddish, dusty plain upon which it stands slopes upward to a background of brown, arid hills, over which the eye may range for miles without seeing a tree, a thicket, or even a solitary bush. The whole region, outside the area of actual settlement, looks as bare and desolate as a stretch of unreclaimed Arizona desert. As a commercial terminus for a transcontinental railway, the bay of Talienwan is as satisfactory, perhaps, as any harbor to be found on the Manchurian coast; but nothing except the urgent need of access to the sea would have induced the Russians to build a city in so lonely and barren a place.

Unattractive, however, as Dalny may appear from the deck of a steamer lying at anchor in the bay, it is a most interesting town when one gets into it. I had never before seen an advanced military base of the first rank-a base furnishing supplies to an army of 300,000 men-and I was not at all prepared for the hurly-burly of activity in which we found ourselves when we went ashore. Five large transports lay alongside the spacious pier at which we landed; twice as many cranes and donkey-engines were hoisting packages out of their holds and lowering them to the dock in big rope nets; hundreds of bareheaded soldiers were receiving these packages and assorting them in symmetrical piles, while thousands of Chinese coolies, in skullcaps of gray felt and baggy tunics and trousers of faded Nankin blue, were carrying the boxes and bales away on their backs, on pack-ponies, on small tram-cars pushed by hand, or in clumsy Manchurian carts drawn by mixed teams of horses, mules, donkeys, and young steers.

Provisions and munitions of war are handled and transported by the Japanese with great ease and facility on account of the limited weight and small size of the packages in which they are contained. With a few exceptions, in the shape of field guns, lumber, timber, and heavy shells, all of the supplies forwarded to the armies in Manchuria are put up either in bags and bales of matting and rice straw, or in strongly made wooden boxes having a capacity of only

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six or eight cubic feet. These packages seldom measure more than thirtysix inches by twenty inches in length and thickness, while the maximum limit of weight for a single box or bale is seventy-five pounds. Such packages can be carried on men's backs, slung in a net from a shoulder-pole, trundled in a wheelbarrow, lashed to the saddle of a pack-pony, or put into a vehicle of any size or shape; and the method of transportation chosen is that which happens to be best adapted to the circumstances, the nature of the country, or the state of the roads. The thousands of Chinese coolies who were carrying provisions and munitions of war away from the Dalny piers employed all of these methods simultaneously, and the amount of stuff disposed of in the course of an hour was something astonishing. I counted twelve thousand packages on one end of the pier at which we landed, and they were being removed at the rate of at least three thousand packages per hour. As all of the available storehouses in Dalny were full, most of the boxes and bales that we saw were taken to an extensive field or common at the eastern end of the town, where they were piled up in immense pyramids, sixty feet square and fifty feet or more in height, and then covered with big overlapping sheets of closely woven Japanese matting. There were twenty or thirty of these great pyramids within half a mile of the piers. From a single point of view, near the Harbor Office, we could see provisions and munitions of war enough to keep the Japanese armies in Manchuria supplied for many weeks, even if the Baltic fleet from Russia or hostile cruisers from Vladivostok should sever communication with the home ports.

In most parts of the world, bags of rice and boxes of hard bread piled outof-doors on the ground in October would be liable to injury from storms; but the climate of the Liaotung Peninsula in the fall and early winter months is remarkably equable and dry. In Dalny, as at the naval base in Sasebo, I was impressed by the systematic and efficient methods of the Japanese in the handling, transportation, and storage of heterogeneous supplies. In the

first place, they make great use, everywhere, of narrow-gauge tramways, which they bring to the field in lengths or sections already put together, and which they lay down almost as rapidly as they would lay down a line of twenty-foot planks. On these double-track tramways Chinese coolies push small flat cars from place to place in almost continuous trains, and thus transport, in a given time, twice as much stuff as could be carried in any other way. In the second place, Japanese packages are so light in weight and so uniform in size that they can be handled, moved, and stored with great ease and facility. If they weighed two hundred pounds instead of seventyfive, they could not be built up into pyramids fifty feet high without the use of donkey-engines and big cranes; but a double line of men on each side of a pyramid toss them up from hand to hand, as baskets of coal are tossed up the sides of steamers at Nagasaki, with little effort and with great rapidity. Finally, all goods are so marked and stored that there is no possibility of error or delay in getting at a required article of a particular sort, even in the blackness of night. Things of a kind are always piled together; every box, bag, or bale is carefully marked or tagged; every pyramid of provisions rests on a foundation of broken stone, and is covered with sheets of canvas or matting; and every completed pile bears a big board label to indicate the nature of its contents. These details of transportation and storage may seem to be of trifling importance; but it is upon such management of details that the efficiency of an army in the field largely depends, and it was on account of the lack of such management that our army broke down in health and virtually went to pieces between Siboney and Santiago in 1898. General Shafter had plenty of supplies on board his ships, but inadequate transportation facilities and the utter lack of order and system in loading, unloading, and carriage made nine-tenths of the stuff unavailable at the time when it was most needed. The methods of our quartermaster and commissary departments have greatly improved since the Spanish War; but in the packing, handling,

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