Ch. IV.
WHERE were we to land? This was the question that exercised our minds from the beginning to the end of our voyage. To land at Taku-shan and attack Haicheng and Liao Yang in the north, was one of the suggestions made. To go straight to the Gulf of Pechili and land at Iakao was another. A third suggestion was that we were to land at a certain point on the coast of Liaotung, and then go south to attack the stronghold of Port Arthur. Of course, all the views and opinions advanced were changed according to the direction in which our bows pointed. But at last, when we saw on the chart that we were sailing south of the Elliot Isles, all agreed at once that our destination was some spot leading to Port Arthur. What excitement and joy when we saw the transports and the guard-ships proceeding together toward that spot! After a while we began to notice a dark gray, long, slender piece of land dimly visible through thick mist. That was indeed the Peninsula of Liaotung! the place where, ten years before, so many brave and loyal sons of Yamato had laid their bones, and the field of action on which our own bodies were to be left! Since the previous evening the sky had been dark, the gray mist and clouds opening and shutting from time to time, the wind howling at our mast-heads, and the waves beating against our bows flying like snowflakes and scattering themselves like fallen flowers. Behind us there was only boundless cloud and water. Beyond those clouds was the sky of Nippon! The enthusiastic Banzais of the cheering nation, the sound of rosaries rubbed together in old women’s hands, the war-songs coming from the innocent lips of children—all these seemed still to reach our ears, conveyed by the swift winds.
We were to land at a gulf called Yenta-ao, on the eastern coast of the peninsula, to the southwest of Pitsu-we. This was only a small inlet on the sea of China. There was no good harbor in the vicinity except Talienwan, on the east side of Liaotung Peninsula; but that good harbor was then in possession of the enemy; so we had to risk everything and land on this less desirable spot, from the strategic necessity of the case. The sea and the currents of that neighborhood are both very treacherous; a storm of the least degree would make it extremely difficult, not only to land, but even to stay there at anchor. Moreover, the water is very shallow and a ship of any size must anchor one ri[25] away from the shore. When the wind is strong, a ship is sure to drift several miles further to the offing. Such being the case, we can well imagine the difficulty and anxiety those in charge of our debarkation experienced. Just as mother birds watch over their young, our convoys were watching us far and near, to protect our landing from surprise by the enemy. But the wind that had begun to blow in the morning became fiercer and fiercer, angry seas and frantic waves rose in mountains, transports and sampans were shaken like flying leaves, Chinese junks chartered by our government, raising their masts like forest trees, were being tossed and teazed by the winds as in the time of the great Mongol invasion in the Bay of Hakata.[26]
Could we land safely in such a storm? Were we to face the enemy at once on going ashore? We were like horses harnessed to a carriage—we did not know anything about our surroundings. All was known only to our colonel, in whose hands lay our lives. We did know, however, that two things were ahead of us, and they were—landing and marching. After a short wait, our landing was begun in spite of the risk; evidently the condition of the campaign did not admit delay. Hundreds of sampans, boats, and steam-launches—whence they had come, we did not know—surrounded the transports to carry men and officers away. Tremendous waves, now rising like high mountains and now sinking like deep valleys, seemed to swallow men and boats together. Carrying the flag with due solemnity, I got into the boat with the colonel. Innumerable small boats were to be fastened to steam-launches like beads on a rosary. Rolling and tumbling, these rosaries of boats would whistle their way to the shore. Our regimental flag braved the wind and waves and safely reached its destination. Ah, the first step and the second on this land occupied by the enemy! It seemed as if we had left our Fatherland but yesterday, and now, not in a dream, but in reality, we were treading on the soil of promise!
What an exquisite joy, to plant once more the Imperial Flag of His Illustrious Virtues on the Peninsula of Liaotung, also the soil of Japan, consecrated by the blood of our brothers!
The storm went from bad to worse; it seemed impossible to complete the landing, neither could the men go back to the transports. The only thing possible was to trust to the mercy of winds and waves, jump into the water and struggle for the shore as soon as the boats came near. The experience of my friend Captain Tsukudo is an illustration of the extreme difficulty of landing.
Captain Tsukudo, with over sixty men under his care, was in a boat, which was towed away from the transport by a small launch. His boat rolled in the waves like a ball and was in constant danger of being swallowed in the vortex. The tug cast off her tow and fled for safety. The gigantic ho[27] which sweeps through ten thousand miles without rest, even his wings are said to be broken by the waves of the sea. Much less could a small boat stand the force of such waves. It seemed as if the bravest of men had no other choice than being “buried in the stomachs of fishes.” Rescue seemed impossible. Heaven’s decree they must obey. Death they were ready for, but to die and become refuse of the sea, without having struck one blow at the enemy now close at hand, was something too hard for them to bear. With bloodshot eyes and hair on end, the captain tried in every way to save his men, but alas! they were like a man that falls into an old well in the midst of a lonely meadow, not sinking, yet not able to climb up—the root of the vine that he clings to as a life rope being gnawed by a wild rat!
Captain Tsukudo jumped into the sea and swam toward the shore with all his might; but the waves were too relentless to yield to his impatient and impetuous desire to rescue his men. They swallowed him, vomited him, tossed and hurled him without mercy; the brave captain was at last exhausted and fainted away before reaching the shore. Heaven, however, did not give up his case; he was picked up on the beach, and when he recovered consciousness he found himself perfectly naked. Without waiting to dress, he ran to the headquarters of the landing forces, and with frantic gestures asked for help for the men in his boat; he could not weep, for tears were dried up; he could not speak, for his mouth was parched, but he succeeded in getting his men saved.
Another boat loaded with baggage and horses capsized; one of the poor animals swam away toward the offing. The soldier in charge of the horse also swam to catch the animal. Before he reached it, the steed went down and soon afterward the faithful man also disappeared in the billows. Poor, brave soul! his love of his four-legged charge was stronger even than that of the stork who cries after its young in the lonesome night. Though he did not face the enemy’s bullets, he died a pioneer’s death on the battle-field of duty.
Was the Canaan of our hopes the country that we had pictured to ourselves? Contrary to our expectations, it did not look at all like a place our brethren had bought with their blood ten years before. It was simply a desolate wilderness, a deserted sand-plain, a boundless expanse of rolling country, a monotonous insipid canvas, with dark red and light gray all over. Compared with the detailed, variegated picture of Japan that we had been accustomed to, what a sense of untouched and unfinished carelessness! What a change of scene to see hundreds of natives swarm to the spot of our landing, with horses and wagons, to get their job! Were they men or animals? With ill-favored faces, they would whisper to each other and pass on. As knavish fellows they deserve anything but love, but as subjects of an ill-governed empire they certainly deserve pity. At first they dreaded the Japanese; they stared at us from a distance, but did not come near us; probably because they had been robbed of their possessions by the Russians, and their wives and daughters had been insulted by them. The Japanese army, from the very first, was extremely careful to be just and kind to the natives and encouraged them to pursue their daily work in peace. Consequently they soon began to be friendly with us and to welcome us eagerly. However, they are a race of men who would risk even their lives to make money, and would live in a pig-pen with ten thousand pieces of gold in their pockets. How our army suffered from the treachery of these money-grubbers will be told later on.
“Ata, ata! Wo, wo!”
This strange cry we constantly heard at the front—it is the natives’ way of driving horses and cows. Their skill in managing cattle and horses is far beyond ours. We could not help being struck with the manner in which the animals obeyed their orders; they would go to right or left at the sound of these signals, and would move as one’s own limbs without the slightest use of whips. The relation between these natives and their cattle and horses is like that between well-disciplined soldiers and their commanders; not the fear of whip and scolding, but a voluntary respect and submission, is the secret of military discipline and success. The fact that the Russian soldiers were lacking in this important factor became clear later by the testimony of the captives.
After some companies of our division had landed with much ado, the storm grew worse and the landing was suspended. The colonel, an aide-de-camp, the interpreter, the chaplain, and myself, accompanied by a handful of guards, crossed the wilderness and wended our way toward Wangchia-tun, fixed as our stopping-place for that night. We busied ourselves with the map and the compass, while the interpreter asked question after question of the natives. I consulted a Chinese-Japanese conversation book, and asked them in broken words, “Russian soldiers, have they come?” to which they replied, “To Port Arthur they have fled.” We were of course disappointed not to encounter the long-looked-for antagonists at once!
Seven ri’s journey through a sand plain brought us to the willow-covered village Wangchia-tun in the rainy and windy evening, when strange birds were hastening to their roosts.
Stupid-looking old men and dirty-faced boys gathered round us like ants and looked at us with curiosity. Long pipes were sticking out from the mouths of the older men; they seemed utterly unconcerned or ignorant of the great trouble in their own country. The filth and dirt of the houses and their occupants were beyond description; we newcomers to the place had to hold our noses against the fearful smells. Military camp though it was in name, we only found shelter under the eaves of the houses, with penetrating smells attacking us from below, and surrounded by large and small Chinese highly scented with garlic! Before our hungry stomachs could welcome the toasted rice-balls, our olfactory nerves would rebel against the feast.
We who had succeeded in landing spent our first night in Liaotung in this condition. The spirits of the deceased comrades of ten years before must have welcomed us with outstretched arms and told us what they expected of us. Under tents, half exposed to the cold and wet, the men slept the good sleep of the innocent on millet straw, and an occasional smile came to their unconscious lips. What were they dreaming of? Some there were who sat by the smoky fire of millet straw all the night through, buried in deep thought and munching the remnant of their parting gifts with their lunch boxes hanging from the stone wall.
The day was about to dawn, when suddenly thunder and lightning arose in the western sky. Not lightning, but flames of fire; not thunder, but roar of cannon! Furious winds added to the dreariness of the scene; the sky was the color of blood.
The great battle of Nanshan! We could not keep still from fullness of joy and excitement.
Ch. V.
THAT glorious January 2, of the thirty-eighth year of Meiji, will never be forgotten to the end of time. That happy day of the victorious New Year was doubly crowned by the birth of an Imperial grandson and by the capitulation of Port Arthur! There has never been a New Year in all our history so auspicious and so memorable!
The fall of Port Arthur was an event that marked an epoch in the history of the world! Do not forget, however, that this result was achieved only through the shedding of rivers of blood. General Kuropatkin had boasted of the invincible strength of the fortress and had said that it could live out over a year against the fiercest attacks imaginable. But the incessant, indefatigable rain of bullets and shells upon the place by the invading army obliged the Russians to surrender in less than two hundred and fifty days. Between the first battle at Nanshan and the final capitulation of Stoessel, the bodies of our soldiers became hills and their blood rivulets. Spectators often doubted our success. But the spirit of Yamato, as firm as the iron of a hundred times beating and as beautiful as the cherries blooming on ten thousand boughs—that tamashii[28] proved too powerful for the completest of mechanical defense. At the same time, we cannot but admire the stubborn courage with which the Russian generals and soldiers defended their posts under circumstances of extreme difficulty and suffering. We fully endorse the remark of a foreign critic: “Well attacked and well defended!”
Port Arthur had been attracting the keen attention of the whole world ever since the Japan-China war. Russia had spent nearly ten years and hundreds of millions of yen[29] in fortifying the place. It had been considered of such strategic importance that its fall would mark the practical termination of the Russo-Japanese struggle, just as the fall of Plevna decided the fate of the Russo-Turkish war. The fortress of Port Arthur embraces within its arms its town and harbor—innumerable hills of from two to five hundred metres in height form a natural protection to the place. To these natural advantages was added the world-famous skill of the Russians in fortification. Every hill, every eminence had every variety of fortification, with countless cannon, machine-guns, and rifles, so that an attack either from the front or from the side could easily be met. Each spot was made still more unapproachable by ground-mines, pitfalls, wire-entanglements, etc. There was hardly any space where even an ant could get in unmolested. It was surely impregnable. On the other hand, our position was extremely disadvantageous. We had to climb a steep hill, or go down into a deep valley, or up an exposed slope to attack any Russian fort. The position of the whole place was such that it was as easy to defend as it was difficult to attack. Moreover, the Russians had on the spot enough provisions and ammunition to withstand a longer siege, without relying upon supplies from outside.
But there is no single instance in history of any fort that has withstood siege permanently; sooner or later it must either capitulate or else lose all its men and fall. The same will also be the case in the future. The only question is whether a fort will fall as easily as a castle of amé.[30] Sebastopol withstood the allied armies of England and France for more than three hundred and twenty days, but eventually fell after the docks had been destroyed, the forts blown up, and the town utterly demolished. At Kars the gallant General Williams, with only three months’ provision and three days’ ammunition, supported by the Turkish soldiers, withstood for seven months the Russian army of fifty thousand men; but it fell at last. The Russian General Muravieff admired the hero of Kars and sent him this message:—
“All the world and future generations will marvel at your valor and discipline. Let us have the glory of consulting together about the way of satisfying the requirements of war, without doing harm to the cause of humanity.”
Paris resisted the Prussian siege for one hundred and thirty-two days before surrendering. These are only a few remarkable examples in history; but all besieged places have fallen sooner or later. The only purpose a fort can serve is to resist the besiegers as long as possible, so as to hinder the general plan of the enemy. This principle applied to Port Arthur; it had to detain as many as possible of the Japanese in the south, for as many days as possible, in order to let Kuropatkin develop his plan in North Manchuria without hindrance. For this great object, General Stoessel held fast to the marvelously fortified place and tried his best to keep off the besieging army. Supposing that Port Arthur had not fallen before the great battle of Moukden, what would it have meant to our general plan of campaign? This supposition will make the true value of Port Arthur clear to every mind. Therefore they tried to hold it, and we endeavored to take it; a desperate defense on one side and a desperate attack on the other. General Nogi bought the fortress at a tremendous price—the sacrifice of tens of thousands of lives; but once in our possession, its value became greater than ever.
That such an invincible and unapproachable place was taken in eight months tells how fierce was the struggle. The siege of Port Arthur was one of the bloodiest contests that the world has known. In modern history, the siege of Plevna had until then been considered the most sanguinary. The great but unfortunate artist, Vereshtchagin, who went to the bottom of the sea outside Port Arthur with Admiral Makaroff, painted for posterity the scenes of Plevna. If he had survived to see the last of Port Arthur, he must have portrayed a scene even more bloody. Mr. George Kennan, the war-correspondent of the “Outlook,” described this siege as representing the shriek of the lowest hell on this earthly abode of ours. And these horrible scenes were necessitated by the strategic value of Port Arthur itself.
How was Port Arthur besieged and attacked? The answer to this question is the centre and object of my little sketch; hence this brief explanation of its value.
The night of our landing at Liaotung, we heard the din of battle arising from Nanshan, the only entrance to Port Arthur. Let us now return to that battle.
Ch. VI.
THE thunder and lightning in the direction of Nanshan became fiercer and fiercer as time went on. How was it being fought? With what courage and perseverance were our comrades acquitting themselves? Was the place already occupied, or were they still struggling on? We must hurry forward to take part in this our first battle; it was an opportunity too great for us to miss. How soon should we be ordered to march? We were thus impatient and fidgeting, our minds racing toward Nanshan. But, on the other hand, we did not know whether the battalions to follow us had accomplished their landing in safety or not. The messenger sent for news had not come back after a day and night. The colonel had only five hundred men in hand. What a slender force! Would our commander venture out with this handful of men? His anxious face told us that he could not lead us at once into the fight. Were we merely to watch it from a distance, as if it were a fire on the other side of a river, without offering to help? We began to be disappointed. Of course the prospect of the war was long—the curtain had just risen; this Nanshan could not be the last act. But it was tantalizing to be on the spot and yet not to encounter the enemy, to hear the din of battle and yet not be able to join!
All things come to him who waits. We received the following orders:—
“Proceed without delay to join the Second Army under General Oku at Nanshan.”
This was proclaimed by our colonel, who was full of joy and eagerness—his voice rang with energy and enthusiasm. Both men and officers welcomed the news as they would glad tidings from heaven. They were more than ready to start. March! tear on! We spread our legs as wide as possible. We kicked and spurned village after village, field after field. We did not think of how many miles we ran. With the enemy’s visage lurking before our eyes, we did not feel any pain or fatigue; the drops of perspiration mixed with dust formed a mask over our faces—but what did it matter? Our water bottles were emptied ere long, our throats were dry and parched, we were almost suffocating, but not a single man was out of rank. We all looked toward the supposed post of the enemy, and ran forward. The sound of roaring cannon made us forget fatigue, difficulty, and pain.
“Is Nanshan still holding out?”
“They’re just in the thick of the fight—hurry on, men!”
Such conversations were frequently heard between the coolies coming back from Nanshan and the men now marching to it. It sounds foolish, but we all wished that Nanshan would not yield before our arrival. Perhaps we were conceited enough to think that, without the help of us fresh men, our comrades would be too exhausted to occupy the place. When we saw on our way two or three captured officers being escorted to our headquarters, we were half happy to have a first sight of the defeated enemy and half afraid lest Nanshan had already been taken!
I wish to say in passing that in the army a sharp line is drawn between the things that may be granted to the soldiers when possible and those that must not be allowed under any circumstances. This is particularly the case in time of a march. In a march for practice, or in a march in time of war, but not for an actual engagement, as much rest and as ample a supply of provisions are allowed as possible. But when we march to a fight, we go on even without food or water, or in spite of a heavy storm. Each soldier carries a knapsack about ten kwan[31] in weight, and has only one bottleful of water to drink. When he has emptied it, he cannot get one drop more. Day after day, he rests and sleeps in a field-encampment; in pouring rain or howling storm, he is not allowed to take shelter even under the eaves of a house. Exhaustion or pain is no reason for an exception. He has no time to wipe the perspiration from his face, which soon becomes white with dried-up salt. Panting and suffocating, he struggles on. It seems cruelty to subject men to this ordeal, but they must sacrifice everything to duty. Even one single soldier must not be missing, even one single rifle must not be lacking from the skirmish line. And after such a hard march, they engage in a severe fight at once; so, therefore, the success or failure of the battle is practically settled during the march. Hence the great importance of training men in time of peace in waterless marches, night marches, and quick marches. This practice may seem needlessly inflicted hardship, but its true value is made clear when it comes to a real fight.
To return to our story, we pressed on in great enthusiasm or rather in a state of frenzy, thinking all the while of the first battle at Nanshan. When we came near our destination, we saw cone-shaped tents nestling under the trees or on the sides of the hills. They were our field-hospitals. The large number of these tents made us very anxious about the issue of the struggle. Stretcher after stretcher would bring fresh patients and hurry back to the line of battle to fetch more. The wounded who could walk accompanied the stretchers on foot in large numbers and panting all the way. Both those on foot and those on stretchers were covered with blood and mud, which told more eloquently than words the story of their valiant fight and hard struggle. Their white bandages, stained with red, covered wounds of honor; the drops of blood falling through the stretchers seemed to hallow the ground. They impressed us with an inexpressible dignity—we could not help sighing with reverence and gratitude.
Just at this moment, the aide-de-camp who had gone forward to receive instructions came back and reported that Nanshan had fallen, and that all the reserves were to lodge in the neighborhood of Chungchia-tun to await further orders. What a disappointment! From the commander down to the grooms all felt dispirited and disheartened—stroked their hard-strained arms and stamped on the ground with regret. It is true, this early fall of Nanshan, which the enemy had considered the key to Port Arthur, would be a great advantage to our future plan of campaign. We ought to have rejoiced over the news, and we did of course rejoice; but at the same time you cannot blame us for being thus disappointed when you think how we had hurried and pressed on from the point of our landing, without stopping to recover our breath, only to learn at our destination that the object of our efforts had been attained by other people.
Only one more hill in front of us! Beyond it were blood-streams and corpse-hills. When we reached this spot the deafening cannon roar suddenly ceased, the mountains and valleys recovered their ancient silence. The only thing we saw was the continuous sending back of the wounded. Whenever we met them, we comforted them and thanked them for their work. We had a rest at the bottom of the hill, where a groom, who had been in the battle, recounted to us the story with great pride. Shaking his head and flourishing his arms, he talked like a professional story-teller—his story was a great excitement for us then. He showed us a water bottle that had belonged to a Russian soldier. Altogether he talked as if he had vanquished the enemy all by himself. We who had not yet loaded our guns, we who had not yet unsheathed our swords, felt shamefaced and crestfallen; even this non-combatant groom seemed like a hero to us. We praised him, and piled question after question on him, and eagerly devoured his triumphant accounts.
We, all the reserves under the direct command of General Oku, Commander-in-chief of the Second Army, were ordered to spend the night at Chungchia-tun. We had to go back a ri and a half over the same road to that place. How lacking in spirit was that backward march! Both men and horses hung their heads and walked on dejectedly. The yellow dust rising from the ground made us look like dumplings covered with yellow bean-flour. In our forced march by day and night, we had thought only of Nanshan and had not felt any pain in our legs. Everything was reversed on our return! Even in a manœuvre in time of peace, the sound of cannon and rifles makes us forget the pain in our feet and the exhaustion of our bodies, changes our walking into running, and incites us to assault the enemy with a frantic zeal; but once we begin to retrace our steps, our feet grow heavy at once, every rut and every pebble tries our temper, and we are entirely without energy or spirit. This may come from the Japanese characteristic that thinks only of going forward and not at all of retreating. The Russian soldiers are masterly in retreat, whilst the Japanese are very unskilled in it. But once they begin to advance, the Japanese are never defeated by the Russians. We have inherited a temperament which knows no retreating even before sure death, and that inheritance has been made stronger by discipline. Our constant victory over the fierce enemy must largely be due to this characteristic of ours.
At last we reached Chungchia-tun. It was a desolate village with a small stream running through it. The moon looked dismal that night and the stars were few. Nature seemed to sympathize with the disappointed, worn-out men and officers, sleeping on millet straw and mourning over those who had died in the battle of that day. Here and there we saw men unable to go to sleep till late at night—their hearts must have been full of new emotions. The cuckoo[32] hurrying through the sky, with one brief note or two—a few bars of a biwa-song[33] crooned by a sleepless man—Ah, what a lonesome, touching evening it was!
Thus I failed to take part in the battle of Nanshan, and I have no right to recount the story of that severe struggle, although the title of this chapter may suggest a full recital. The only thing I can do is to tell you in the next chapter what I saw on the scene of the battle immediately after its actual occurrence. This will be followed up later by my own story of the siege of Port Arthur. Before concluding this chapter, however, I wish to introduce a brave soldier to my readers.
When we were starting from Wangchia-tun we dispatched a bicycle orderly, Buichi Kusunoki by name, to our place of landing, Yenta-ao, to establish communication between ourselves and those who landed after we did. This man was known to be specially fitted to fulfill such a duty; his perseverance and undaunted courage had always made him successful. Consequently, when we started from Japan, he was singled out from his company as an orderly attached to the headquarters of our regiment. So, naturally, this first important duty after our landing devolved upon Kusunoki. Late in the afternoon, he started for Yenta-ao on his machine. We had come to Wangchia-tun through pathless plains—he could not expect to go back to Yenta-ao without great difficulty. In a strange land, not knowing anything of the place or the language, he went on with the pole-star as his only guide. His duty was very important. If he had reached his destination even one hour later, much time would have been lost in the movement of the other detachments. Of course he did not know that Nanshan was to fall without our help. He only knew that our whole regiment of reserves must be near Nanshan, so that we could join the battle-line at a moment’s notice. This Kusunoki was the sole means of communication by which the two separate parts of our regiment could be brought together. On starting, he was carefully told of the tremendous responsibility he was to undertake. But eight or nine ri’s journey in the pathless wilderness of Liaotung in pitch darkness was not an easy task. His bicycle, instead of being a help, was a burden to him; he had to carry it on his back and run. He went astray and could not find the right place all night. Toward daybreak he hoped to be able to find out where he was, but all in vain! With nothing to eat or drink, he struggled on without knowing whither he was going, but praying that he might chance to reach the right place. With his mind in a great hurry, he crept on all fours, resting every now and then, for his legs would carry him no further with his machine on his back. Fortunately, however, he came across a sentinel, who showed him the right way and gave him something to eat. He was thus enabled to accomplish his object in time,—though delayed. The orderly, and the aide-de-camp as well, bears a responsibility much greater than that of an ordinary soldier. The commander must rely upon them if he would move tens of thousands of men as easily as he moves his own fingers. The success or failure of a whole army often depends upon the efficiency of the aide-de-camp. Therefore he must possess the four important qualities of courage, perseverance, judgment, and prompt decision. And this Buichi Kusunoki was a true aide-de-camp, with bravery and faithfulness worthy of our profound respect.
Ch. VII.
NANSHAN guards Chin-chou at the entrance to the Liaotung Peninsula. Though its hills are not steep or rugged, they go far back in great waves. The place is convenient for defensive purposes, but it is inferior in this respect to Nankwanling, farther back. In the China-Japan War, the Chinese resisted us for a while at this Nankwanling. The reason why the Russians preferred to fortify Nanshan rather than Nankwanling was because the former was near Dalny, their only non-freezing port. They had chosen a spot on the opposite shore from Lin Shin Ton, the railway terminus at the head of Talie Bay, and had built there the large city of Dalny, making it their only commercial port in Liaotung and the starting-point of the Eastern China Railway. In order to protect this port, they had chosen Nanshan at its back and built there a fortification of a semi-permanent character. For ten years they had been spending hundreds of millions in building this city and fortifying Port Arthur, and at the same time in strengthening this important outpost of Nanshan. We were told by a captured Russian staff-officer that the Russians had believed that Nanshan could stand the fiercest attacks of the Japanese for more than half a year. However, when our second army began to attack the place, they set at naught every difficulty, did not grudge any amount of sacrifice, and precipitated themselves upon the enemy so violently that Chin-chou, Nanshan, and Dalny were all occupied in one single night and day (May 26). You can well imagine how desperate was this struggle. Even in the China-Japan War, the taking of Nankwanling and the occupation of Port Arthur were not quite as easy as to twist a baby’s arm. But one Japanese officer, who fought on both occasions, said to us, when he examined the elaborate defenses of Nanshan, that the battle of ten years before had only been a sham fight in comparison. We had to sacrifice over four thousand men killed and wounded in order to take this stronghold. The scene after the battle presented a terrible sight. True it is that this battle was very mild compared with the general assault on Port Arthur, but at Nanshan I saw for the first time in my life the shocking scenes after a furious fight.
We managed somehow to pass the night of the 26th at Chungchia-tun, and on the next morning we received instructions to go out and lodge at Yenchia-tun, a village at the foot of Nanshan. The fifth and sixth companies of our regiment were ordered to guard Nanshan.
As soon as we reached the top of the steep hill that I have already mentioned, an extensive rolling country was before our eyes. At its right was Chin-chou, while on the left the steep Fahoshangshan reared its head. This was the site of the fierce battle of yesterday. The place was full of reminders of cannon roar and war-cries; we could not stand the sight. Horrible is the only word that describes the scene.
From a hill in front of us we saw white smoke rising and spreading a strange odor far and wide; that was the cremation of our brave dead, the altar on which the sacrifice to the country was being burned. Hundreds of patriotic souls must have risen to heaven enveloped in that smoke. We took off our caps and bowed to them. While the mothers at home were peacefully reeling thread and thinking of their beloved sons at the front, while the wives, with their babies on their backs, were sewing and thinking of their dear husbands, these sons and husbands were being crushed to pieces and turned into volumes of smoke.
It is not pleasant to see even a piece of a bloodstained bandage. It is shocking to see dead bodies piled up in this valley or near that rock, dyed with dark purple blood, their faces blue, their eyelids swollen, their hair clotted with blood and dust, their white teeth biting their lips, the red of their uniforms alone remaining unchanged. I could not help shuddering at the sight and thinking that I myself might soon become like that. No one dared to go near and look carefully at those corpses. We only pointed to them from a distance in horror and disgust. Everywhere were scattered blood-covered gaiters, pieces of uniform and underwear, caps, and so on; everywhere were loathsome smells and ghastly sights. Innumerable powder-boxes and empty cartridges, piled up near the skirmish-trenches, told us plainly how desperately the enemy had fired upon the invading army. Wherever we saw the enemy’s dead left on the field, we could not help sympathizing with them. They were enemies, but they also fought for their own country. We buried them carefully, but the defeated heroes of the battle had no names that we could hand down to posterity. At home their parents, their wives, and their children must have been anxiously waiting for their safe return, not knowing, in most cases, when, where, or how their beloved ones had been killed. Almost all of them had a cross on the chest, or an ikon in hand. Let us hope that they passed away with God’s blessing and guidance. The killed and wounded of a defeated army deserve the greatest pity. Of course they are entitled to equal and humane treatment by the enemy, according to the International Red Cross regulations. But defeat we must avoid by all means. Added to the ignominy of defeat, the wounded must have the sorrow of separating from their comrades and living or dying among perfect strangers, with whom they cannot even converse. The case of the killed is still sadder. Some had cards of identification, so that their numbers would eventually tell their names. As far as we could, we informed the enemy of those numbers; but there were many instances where there was no means of identification. Their names are buried in eternal obscurity.
Arrangements were made for our temporary lodgment at Yenchia-tun. When I reached the native house assigned for us that evening, I heard next door the piteous groanings of human beings. I hastened to the spot to see the tortures of hell itself. Fifteen or sixteen Japanese, and one Russian, all seriously wounded, were lying in the yard, heaped one above another, and writhing in an agony of pain. The first one who noticed my coming put his hands together in supplication and begged me for help. What need of his begging? To help is our privilege. I could not imagine why these poor comrades should have been left alone in such a condition. If we had known earlier, perhaps better assistance could have been given. With tears of sympathy I called in surgeons and helped in relieving their suffering. While the surgeons were attending to their wounds they would repeat: “I shall never forget your goodness; I am grateful to you.” These words were squeezed out of the bottom of their hearts, and their eyes were full of tears. On inquiry we learned that for two days they had not had a single grain of rice, or a single drop of water. They were all very severely wounded, with broken legs, shattered arms, or bullet wounds in head or chest. Some there were who could not live more than half an hour longer; even these were taking each other’s hands or stroking each other in sympathy and to comfort. How sad! How pitiful! How boundless must be our sadness and pity when we think that there were over four thousand killed and wounded on our side alone, and that it was impossible to give them the attention they needed! In a short time two of the men began to lose color, and breathe faintly. I ran to their side and watched. Their eyes gradually closed and their lips ceased to quiver. One comrade near by told me that one of these two had left an old mother at home alone.
One of the most pitiful of sights is, perhaps, the dead or wounded war-horses. They had crossed the seas to run and gallop in a strange land among flying bullets and the roar of cannon. They seemed to think that this was the time to return their masters’ kindness in keeping them comfortable so long. With their masters on their backs they would run about so cheerfully and gallantly on the battle-field! The pack-horses also seemed proud and anxious to show their long-practiced ability in bearing heavy burdens or drawing heavy carts, without complaining of their untold sufferings. Their usefulness in war is beyond description. The successful issue of a battle is due first to the efforts of the brave men and officers, but we must not forget what we owe to the help of our faithful animals. And yet they are so modest of their merits; are contented with coarse fodder and muddy water; do not grumble at continual exposure to rain and snow, and think their master’s caress the best comfort they can have. Their manner of performing their important duties is almost equal to that of soldiers. But they are speechless; they cannot tell of wound or pain. Sometimes they cannot get medicine, or even a comforting pat. They writhe in agony and die unnoticed, with a sad neigh of farewell. Their bodies are not buried, but are left in the field for wolves and crows to feed upon, their big strong bones to be bleached in the wild storms of the wilderness. These loyal horses also are heroes who die a horrible death in the performance of duty; their memory ought to be held in respect and gratitude. My teacher, the Rev. Kwatsurin Nakabayashi,[34] accompanied our army during the war as a volunteer nurse. While taking care of the wounded at the front, he collected fragments of shells to use in erecting an image of Bato-Kwanon[35] to comfort the spirits of the horses that died in the war. This plan of his has already been carried out. Another Buddhist by the name of Doami has been urging an International Red Cross Treaty for horses such as there is now for men. Without such a provision he says we cannot claim to be true to the principles of humanity. Our talk of love and kindness to animals will be an empty sound. He is said to be agitating the introduction of such a proposition at the next Hague Conference. Of course there are veterinary surgeons in the army, but no one can expect them to be able to bestow all necessary care on the unfortunate animals. To supply this deficiency and protect animals as best we can, a Red Cross for horses is a proposal worthy of serious attention.
I climbed Nanshan to inspect the arrangements of the enemy’s position there. Everything was almost ideal in their plan of defense, everything quite worthy of a great military power. Besides the wire-entanglements, pitfalls, ground-mines, strong lines of trenches went round and round the mountain, embrasure holes for machine guns were seen everywhere, a large number of heavy guns thrust out their muzzles from many a fort. As the place was fortified in a semi-permanent style, there were barracks and storehouses, and the latter were filled with all kinds of winter clothing. There was a railway and also a battery. When I entered a building used as the headquarters of the commander, I was astonished to find how luxuriously and comfortably he had lived there. His rooms were beautifully furnished, hardly reminding one of camp life. What was most curious, night garments and toilet articles of a feminine nature as well as children’s clothes were scattered here and there.
From this spot I looked through field-glasses far to the eastern seacoast, where were countless men and horses lying on the beach washed by the gray waves. They were the remains of the Cavalry Brigade of the enemy, who had been stationed about Laohu-shan to defend the right flank of their lines. Our Fourth Division surprised them from behind, from the west coast; they had no way of retreat, were driven into the sea, and thus were almost all drowned. This defeat was self-inflicted, in so far as they had relied too much upon the strength of their position and thus lost the opportunity for a timely retreat.
Half-way up the mountain we saw a damaged search-light and a pile of rockets. These were the things that often impeded our attempts at coming near the enemy under cover of night. The search-light had been damaged by our men in revenge after the occupation of the place, because they had been so severely harassed by the machine.
The scene before my eyes filled my heart with grief and sorrow. Hour after hour the wooden posts to mark the burial-places of the dead increased in number. On my trip of observation from Nanshan to Chin-chou I noticed a mound of loose earth, with a bamboo stick planted on it. I stepped on the mound to see what it was. I was shocked to discover a dead Russian underneath. It was my first experience of stepping on a corpse, and I cannot forget the horror I felt. At that time I had not yet tasted a fight and therefore could not help shuddering at its tragic and sinful effects. It is almost curious to think of it now, for the oftener flying bullets are encountered the less sensitive we become to the horrors of war. What is shocking and sickening becomes a matter of indifference. Familiarity takes off the edge of sensibility. If we should continue to be so shocked and disgusted we could not survive the strain.
For sixteen hours our army persevered, braved the cross-firing of the enemy, and finally captured Nanshan after several assaults with a large sacrifice of precious lives. We thus acquired the key to the whole peninsula of Chin-chou, cut off the communication of the enemy, were enabled to begin the clearing of Talien Bay unmolested, and also to make all necessary preparations for the general attack on Port Arthur. Our victory at Nanshan was a record-breaking event in the annals of warfare. And this signal success was won, not through the power of powder and gun, but primarily through the courage and perseverance of our men. During the battle, when the third assault failed of success, the commander, General Oku, cried in a voice of thunder, “What sort of a thing is Yamato-damashi?” Whereupon the whole army gained fresh strength, drew one long breath, and took the place by storm. Sir Claude MacDonald said that the secret of Japan’s unbroken record of success in this war was in the “men behind the guns.” This battle of Nanshan was a demonstration of their quality.