Before we left I looked out of the windows and saw the corpse of a Chinese woman lying on the track, her husband and children beside her, wailing in a quiet sort of way. Smoke was rising from incense they were burning beside the poor body. It was a very pathetic sight.
The rolling stock of Puchi must have had a grim time yesterday—bombed four times in our day. We saw one engine literally in ribbons from shrapnel and bullet dents and some of the carriages were all splintered and pilled with bullets. As we slowly pulled out of the station I heaved a sigh of relief, as I was told the south station in which we were halted was considered one of the worst spots on the line. It amazes me how conductors can be found to run these trains, but I imagine their only alternative is to go soldiering. It is I suppose an easier life in the long run—if one is allowed a long run.
Our train boy was sitting in his little cubicle this morning looking dejected and worn out. He has had very little sleep the last few days and it has been the same with all of us. No water on the train and very little attendance.
We went on fitfully until we were stopped at a station before Ling Hsiang. We could not go on because there was an unexploded bomb on the line and the breakdown gang were gingerly trying to remove it.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.