HIROSHIMA, December, 1904.


Last Saturday I had to go across the bay to visit one of our branch
kindergartens. Many Russian prisoners are stationed on the island and
I was tremendously interested in the good time they were having. The
Japanese officials are entertaining them violently with concerts,
picnics, etc. Imagine a lot of these big muscular men being sent on an
all-day excursion with two little Japanese guards. Of course, it is
practically impossible for the men to escape from the island but I
don't believe they want to. A cook has actually been brought from
Vladivostock so that they may have Russian food, and the best things
in the markets are sent to them. The prisoners I saw seemed in high
spirits, and were having as much fun as a lot of school boys out on a
lark. I don't wonder! It is lots more comfortable being a prisoner in
Japan than a soldier in Manchuria.

I only had a few minutes to visit the hospital, but I was glad I
went. As the doctor took me through one of the wards where the sickest
men lay, I saw one big rough looking Russian with such a scowl on his
face that I hardly dared offer him my small posy. But I hated to pass
him by so I ventured to lay it on the foot of the cot. What was my
consternation when, after one glance, he clasped both hands over his
face and sobbed like a sick child. "Are you in pain?" asked the
doctor. "No," he said shortly, "I'm homesick." Oh! Mate, that
finished me! Didn't I know better than anybody in the world how he
felt? I just sat down on the side of the cot and patted him, and tried
to tell him how sorry I was though he could hardly understand a word.