We're in a village called Chefoo, upon North China's shore, 'A village quite unknown to fame, until these days of. war, When suddenly it woke from sleep, and sent both far and wide Rumours of fights on land and sea, near the Port Arthur side.
One day a victory Japaneso—the next day ala Russe, And anything and everything but that there's been a truce.
The "Fawan" too, comes often in for mail, And strange accounts of floating mines her master doth retail.
They tell us Russian words are flashed by wireless o'er the sea, And Japan ships come in at night to wire their "powers that be."
We don't believe quite all we hear, nor everything we see, But we keep our eyes well open to scan the refuges.
For Russians, Greeks, and Chinamen arrive by many junks, And some have left so hurrioily, they haven't brought their trunks.
We've every nationality, and costumes rich and rare, When we gather in the dining room to try the hotel fare.
The men they come, the men they go, we question what they are, While the Japanese sit side by side with subjects of the Czai Thore's an air of expectation—a mysterious sort of pall, And we one and all are wondering when will Port Arthur fall The Beach Hotel,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.