A rock came sailing through the air and hit me square on my cheekbone. At the same time, someone clubbed me in the back from behind with a stick. "Teachers are joining the fight! Attack!" "Two teachers, a big one and a small one. Stone them!" Outraged at the impertinence of these country bumpkins, I whacked the head of the teachers' college student nearest to me. Another rock came flying. This time it grazed my close-cropped head and flew on past. I'd lost sight of Yama Arashi, and now there was no turning back. I'd jumped in to break things up, but what kind of fool retreats in shame after being stoned and clubbed? I may be small in stature, but I've been trained by fire in the school of hard knocks. I engaged pell-mell, sending opponents reeling and receiving a drubbing in return. Finally someone shouted, "Police! Police!" and, "Run for it!" I'd been constrained in my movements, like swimming in arrowroot paste, but I was suddenly freed as friend and foe alike withdrew. These country folk were masters of strategic retreat, even better than Kuropatkin.
I found Yama Arashi a short distance away. His crested single-layered haori was in tatters, and he was mopping his face. He told me he'd been hit in the bridge of the nose and bled profusely. His nose was an appalling sight, bright red and swollen. I was wearing a padded kimono with a splashed pattern. It was covered in dirt but had fared better than Yama Arashi's haori. However, my cheek was stinging terribly. Yama Arashi informed me that it was bleeding.
About fifteen policemen had arrived, and the students had fled in the opposite direction, so Yama Arashi and I were the only ones detained. We gave our full names and a complete account of events. They told us to come along to the station, so we went and delivered a detailed statement before the chief. Afterward I returned home to my lodgings.