Ch. XXI.
UPON the seacoast east of the great fortress there is a rugged mountain towering high with almost perpendicular sides, its beetling rocks and crags spotted here and there with dwarf trees. The whole looks, from a distance, like an old tiger squatting on a hill. This is Taku-shan, or the Great Orphan. Hsiaoku-shan, or the Little Orphan, lies to the south, and on the opposite side, at the foot of Laolütszu. Taku-shan is a solitary peak 188 metres in height; its southwestern side looks down into the fortress of Port Arthur, and its northwestern side overlooked the inside of the line of investment formed by our left and central columns. Our works of investment, the movements of every division, and the position of our artillery were plainly visible from there. The side facing our army was particularly steep and precipitous, almost impossible to climb. It was as bad as Kenzan and Taipo-shan. While these two hills allowed the enemy to look into our position, they could not help becoming the mark and target for our fire. The commanding general of our division made the following remark about them:—
“The Great and Little Orphans may be likened to the meat between the ribs of a chicken, which is hard to get and yet we are reluctant to throw it away.[50] As long as these hills are left in the enemy’s hands, we are sure to be overlooked and shot from them, even though after we have taken them ourselves we cannot help becoming a target for the enemy.”
Such a naturally protected position is extremely hard to take, and harder to keep, even when we have succeeded in taking it after untold struggles, because it will be fired at by all the neighboring forts as a convenient object. Therefore, in spite of the unanimous conclusion of the staff that the place must be taken from geographic and strategic necessity, we waited for the proper opportunity without firing a shot, though the enemy fired at us incessantly; and we hurried on our preparations for the close investment.
The 7th of August was finally fixed for our march and attack. Our field-artillery and siege-artillery, with shrapnels and mortars, had already taken their position in great secrecy. At 4 P. M. all the guns simultaneously opened fire, and directed it to the sky-line of both Orphans.
The boom and roar rent the air and white smoke shut out the sky, and not only the forts on both Orphans, but also those on Panlung, Kikuan-shan, and Laolütszu in the rear responded to our fire at once. As far as the eye could reach the whole country was covered with smoke, and the tremendous noise of a hundred thunders at the same time went ceaselessly through the gloomy sky, which threatened rain at any moment. Whenever one of our shells struck a rock on Taku-shan, light yellowish-white sparks and fragments of rock flew far and wide—truly it was one of the sublimest sights of war. The enemy’s artillery was superior in strength and they had the great advantage of overlooking us, hence our artillery labored under great difficulty and disadvantage and suffered damage of great magnitude. But the enemy’s artillery seemed ignorant of the fact that our shrapnel guns and mortars were posted in the valley; they merely concentrated their fire on the artillery belonging to the columns, and on our infantry. Thus our big guns remained entirely free from damage, and toward sunset their effect on the enemy became more apparent, so that the Russian guns on Taku-shan seemed more or less silenced. At 4 P. M. our regiment left its place of bivouac and began to march, with a view to crossing the river Taiko and attacking the enemy as soon as our guns should open a proper opportunity for such an assault.
Before proceeding to describe this fierce struggle, let me tell you what I had thought and done just before it. This experience was not mine only, but rather common to all fighters before a decisive battle. You will understand by this story one of the weaknesses of soldiers. During the three months since I had first stepped on the soil of Liaotung, I, humble and insignificant as I was, had borne the grave responsibility of carrying the regimental colors representing the person of His Majesty himself, and had already gone through three battles—on Kenzan, Taipo-shan, and Kanta-shan. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had not had a scratch as yet, while a large number of brave men had fallen under the standard, and the standard itself had been torn by the enemy’s shell. When the regimental flag was damaged, a soldier quite close by me was killed and yet I remained unhurt. However, the rumors of my death had repeatedly reached home by this time, and a false story of my being wounded had appeared in the newspapers. I had heard of all this while at the front. One of these rumors said that at the time of our landing the storm was so violent that my sampan was upset and I was swallowed by big waves, and that, though I swam for several cho[51] with the regimental flag in my mouth, I was at last buried in the sea by the angry billows. Another rumor reported that I had encountered the enemy soon after landing and was killed, together with the captain of our First Company. All these mistaken reports had already made me a hero, and later I was frequently reported to have been wounded, with wonderful details accompanying each story. But when I examined myself I felt that I had no merit, neither the slightest wound upon my body. I could not help being ashamed of myself, and thought I was unworthy the great expectations of my friends. This idea made me miserable. So therefore I made up my mind to fight desperately and sacrifice my life at this battle of Taku-shan. A few days before the attack began, I told my servant that I was fully determined to die this time; that I did not know how to thank him for all his great goodness to me, and asked him to consider the assurance of my death as my only memento of my gratitude to him—I also asked him to fight valiantly. My servant, his eyes dim with tears, said that if his lieutenant died he would die with him. I told him that I would prepare a box for my ashes, but that, if I should be so beautifully killed as to leave no bones, he was to send home some of my hair. Then I went on to make a box of fragments of planks that had been used for packing big shells; they were fastened together with bamboo nails made by my servant. A clumsy box of about three inches square was thus prepared, in which I placed a lock of my hair, as well as sheets of paper for wrapping up my ashes; on the lid of the box I wrote my name and my posthumous Buddhistic name as well. My coffin being thus ready, the only thing remaining for me to do was to exert myself to the very last, to repay the favor of the Emperor and of the country with my own life. But, after all, this box has not borne the distinction of carrying my remains. Alas! it is now a mere laughing-stock for myself and my friends.
That evening I wrote a letter to my elder brother in Tokyo and reported to him the recent events in the struggle, and told him that our attack was to begin on the morrow; that I was ready and determined to die; that though my body be lost at Port Arthur, my spirit would not forget loyalty to the Emperor for seven lives. Of course this was meant as my eternal farewell. On the same day I received a letter from that brother, in which I found the following passages of admonition:—
“Think not of honor or of merit—only be faithful to thy duty.”
“When Nelson died a glorious death in the sea-fight of Trafalgar, he said, ‘Thank God, I have done my duty.’”
On the eve of this great battle I received these words of encouragement and instruction, which made my heart still braver and my determination still firmer.
At 5 P. M. on the 7th of August, a great downpour of rain mingled with the thunder of cannon, and the afternoon sky became utterly dark, dismal, and dreary. We were halted on an eminence over the river Taiko, waiting anxiously for the command “Forward!” The rain became heavier and the sky darker. The Russian search-light, falling on one side of the hills and valleys, occasionally threw a whitish-blue light over the scene and impeded the march of our infantry. The plunging fire of the enemy became more and more violent as time went on. It made a strange noise, mingled with the tremendous downpour of rain. Lieutenant Hayashi and myself under one overcoat would exchange words now and then.
“We may separate at any moment,” was Hayashi’s abrupt remark, as if he were thinking of his death.
“I also am determined to die to-night,” was my response. Whereupon Hayashi said:—
“What a long time we have been together!”
We had no more chance to continue this conversation, but had to separate. We had been comrades through the campaign, and while at home had been messmates for a long time. It was this Lieutenant Hayashi who, at the last rush upon Taipo-shan, achieved the first entry within the enemy’s ramparts brandishing his sword. This hurried farewell was indeed our last—our hand-shaking an eternal good-by.
As was said before, our artillery fire began to take effect toward evening. Whereupon our detachment began to advance as had been previously planned. The rain fell more and more heavily, and the narrow paths became mud-holes. We marched with great difficulty knee-deep in water and mud. The enemy’s battery on Taku-shan was not silenced or weakened as we had supposed. As soon as they discovered us marching through the rain and smoke, they resumed their firing with fresh vigor. When we reached the river, the muddy water was overrunning its banks, and we did not know how deep it was. The enemy, taking advantage of the heavy rain, had dammed the stream below, and was trying to impede our march by this inundation. However brave we might be, we could not help hesitating before this unexpected ally of the Russians. Should we brave the water, we might merely drown, instead of dying by the enemy’s projectiles. But behold! a forlorn hope of our engineers jumped into the dark flood and broke the dam; very soon the water subsided and the infantry could cross the river. Our whole force jumped into the water and waded. Instead of being drowned, many were killed in the stream by the enemy’s fire; their dead bodies were strewn so thick that they formed almost a bridge across the river.
At last we reached the foot of Taku-shan, but we had then to break the wire-entanglements and run the risk of stepping on mines. One danger over, others were awaiting us! This was not, however, the time or place to hesitate; we began to clamber over rocks and scale precipices. Pitch darkness and violent rain increased our difficulties. The pouring rain and the crossing of the river had wet us through and through, yet we could not exercise our muscles freely to promote the circulation of blood. Moreover, as we came nearer and nearer the Russian trenches, they poured shrapnel bullets upon our heads, or hurled stones and beams upon us, so that the difficulty of pushing forward was very great. A neighboring detachment had already approached the skirmish-trenches which formed a horseshoe half-way up on the side of the mountain. Meanwhile our detachment was busy making firm footholds in the rocks on the mountain-side, preparing for an early opportunity of trying a night assault. But the enemy with search-light and star-shells worked so hard to impede progress, that the night surprise was given up as an impossibility. Accordingly we planned an attack at early dawn instead; we had now to wait, facing each other and the enemy, exposed to the rain, which continued to fall without intermission.
When the eastern sky began to lighten, the rain was still falling. The bodies of our comrades scattered along the river Taiko could not be picked up, nor could an orderly reach the other side of the stream, because we were right under the enemy’s eyes. In spite of this, orderlies were dispatched, but were shot down without a single exception. Such a horrible scene! Such a disappointing result! No one had any plan to propose, and we did not know when and how the object of storming the enemy could be accomplished. Sergeant-Major Iino, who was shot through the abdomen and lying flat in agony at the foot of Taku-shan, was at this moment begging every orderly that passed by to kill him and relieve his suffering. How could we defeat the enemy and care for the dead and wounded? Our minds ran right and left, but still no desirable opportunity offered itself. On the top of all this, eleven ships of the Russian fleet, including the Novic, made their appearance near Yenchang and began bombarding our infantry marching toward the Taku and Hsiaoku-shan from the rear. There was nothing to shield us; we became a certain target for the enemy’s fire, and were killed and wounded at their will. We were thus reduced to a state of uttermost desperation, as if a wolf had attacked us at the back gate while we were defending the front gate against a tiger. But, after all, how did we capture this Taiku-shan?
Ch. XXII.
THE powder-smoke covering the whole scene was like surging waves, and the dark shower of rain may be likened to angry lions. Above us the steep mountain stood high, kissing the heavens—even monkeys could hardly climb it. Each step upward presented a still steeper place—one precipice climbed brought us to another still harder. And the fierce Russian eagle threatened us from the top of this formidable height. All our fire from every direction was being concentrated upon the enemy’s position on Taku-shan. To respond to this attack, the Russian big guns were putting out red tongues at us in front, and from behind their warships were coming to shatter our backs. The enemy, with this natural advantage and with this strong defensive array, was not easy to defeat. But if we failed to take this place, not only would our whole army be checked here and be unable to assault the great fortress, but also we should be without any base for investing Port Arthur. Hence the urgent necessity of storming the enemy irrespective of any amount of sacrifice and difficulty.
Our regiment spent that night and morning on the hillside, exposed to heavy rain and strong fire. But at about 3 P. M. the right opportunity for us to attack the enemy offered itself. Our siege-gunners had so successfully bombarded the enemy’s ships that they were obliged to retreat for a while, and gave us more freedom of action. When this opportunity came, the brigadier-general gave us the following order: “The left wing is now to storm Taku-shan, and your regiment, in connection with the left wing, is to attack the northern slope.”
At the same time we received the following intimation from the commander of the left wing: “Our regiment is now starting for an assault irrespective of damage—I hope that your regiment also will join in this memorable assault and occupy Taku-shan with us.”
As soon as this order was made public, both wings started at the same time. All of us braved the anger and fury of the king of hell, braved the natural steepness and formidable fire, and attacked and pressed upward with strength and courage as of the gods. The shriek and yell of men, the boom and roar of guns, the gleam of bayonets and swords, the flying of dust, the flowing of blood, the smashing of brains and bowels—a grand confusion and a tremendous hand-to-hand fight! The enemy rolled down huge stones from the top, and many an unfortunate was thrown into the deep valley or crushed against the rocks. Shrieks of pain and yells of anger made the whole scene more like hell than like this world. The heavy batteries of Kikuan-shan and Erhlung-shan were well aimed and their shells exploded right over the top of Taku-shan, while fiery bundles of spherical shells and fougasse presented long lines of bright light crossing and intersecting from all directions. Presently a great shout of Banzai shook the whole mountain, rising from top and foot simultaneously. What? What had happened? Behold, a flag is waving in the dark clouds of smoke! Is it not our dear Rising Sun? Our assault has succeeded! Our standard is already unfurled on the top of the hill! We saw this and we cried for joy.
Taku-shan, enshrouded in its light gray dress of smoke, was now ours. But as soon as it came into our possession, all the fortresses of the enemy began concentrating their fire upon our main position on this mountain. Heavy-gun shells, as big as a common water jar,[52] came whizzing like locomotives, causing heavy vibrations in the air. When they exploded with a tremendous noise, a miraculous light glittered where the white smoke rose, and rocks were shattered where the dark cloud hung. It seemed as if the very centre of the earth were shaken, and the bodies of the dead were cut into small fragments. Our position was far from safe. Our detachments occupying the new place could hardly keep their post. If the enemy should try a counter-assault, as they were sure to, how could we keep them in check on such a perilous mountain-top? If we even stretched our necks to look across the slopes into the enemy’s defenses, we were sure to be visited by their fire at once. We could not move a step. One soldier, who was on guard over six field-guns captured on the top, was hit by a whole shell and literally shattered to bits. One piece of his flesh, which flew above our heads and stuck to a rock behind us, was all that was left of him. Another shell fell into a group of soldiers, and twenty-six men became small dust in one minute; the rock that was shattered by this shell buried alive three more.
Lieutenant Kunio Segawa was shot through the abdomen on this day; toward evening his end seemed near. His servant and others were nursing him, when his elder brother, Captain Segawa, who knew nothing of his wound, happened to come along and was asked to give his dying brother the farewell drink of water. Whereupon the captain quickly came near to his brother and shouted, “Kunio!” As soon as the dying man heard his dear brother’s voice, as if he had been thinking of him and longing to see him, he opened his dim eyes in the midst of his hard breathing, gazed on his brother’s face, grasped his hand firmly with tears, and for a while both were silent with emotion. The captain said presently: “Kunio, you have done well! Have you anything to say?” and he wiped his dying brother’s face and poured water into his mouth from his water bottle. The younger brother faintly nodded and said, “Dear elder brother!”[53]
That was his last word, and soon he started for another world. What was the grief of the surviving brother then! The bystanders could not repress tears of sympathy for both. Two weeks later, in the battle of August 24, the captain followed his beloved brother and joined the ranks of those who were not.
Taku-shan, the keystone to their main line of defense, being now wrested from their hands, the Russians must have been very indignant and greatly disappointed. As was expected, they tried counter-attacks over and over again with a view to retaking Taku-shan, but each time we repulsed them and reduced them to deeper disappointment. A few days after the occupation of Taku-shan, one of the sentinels stationed at the top of the mountain was unexpectedly shot and killed at early dawn by a Russian scout. Ready to encounter the enemy, the Second Company ran up to the top, where they saw, only ten or fifteen feet below them, some Russian officers at the head of over seventy men brandishing their swords and hurrying up the mountain. Without a moment’s hesitation, a fierce rifle fire was directed at the enemy, who seemed startled by this unexpected reception and, turning, took to their heels and ran away, almost rolling and tumbling in their haste. Our company took this good opportunity and shot them right away. What a splendid result! Not one of them was left alive! Their bodies made dark spots scattered over the mountain-side. At that very moment a large detachment of the enemy was stationed as a reinforcement at the point where the roads branch toward Hsaioku-shan and toward our position on Taku-shan. Their plan was probably this: an advance detachment was sent to both mountains, and this reinforcing body was to hurry to whichever hill should offer the better opportunity for a counter-attack. Such a half-hearted, uncertain policy can never succeed.
However, as has been repeatedly remarked, the stubborn pertinacity of the Russians was something that surprised us. When any position is attacked, the loss of one part of it may necessitate the retreat of its defenders in another part, with the alternatives of annihilation or of being made captives: in such a case, the Russian soldiers will not vacate the spot, but stick firmly to it until they are killed. Even when they are reduced to one single man, that one man will still continue shooting; if we go near him, he will fix his bayonet and fight on obstinately until finally an idea of surrender suggests itself to his mind. Such things happened frequently at Kenzan, at Taipo-shan, and at Taku-shan. I am told that after the battle of Nanshan, mysterious shot came flying, whence no one knew, and killed or wounded more than ten of our men. After long search it was found that a Russian soldier was hiding himself in a kitchen and shooting us from the window eagerly and fearlessly. Whenever we asked Russian captives why they resisted us so stubbornly, they were sure to answer: “We could not disobey the officer’s command.” We had heard of the absolute, obsequious obedience of the Russian soldiers, and here on the real battle-field we found that it was true and that they were faithful to their duty unto death. This perhaps comes from the fact that the old relation between the nobility and serfs in the Middle Ages is now kept up between Russian officers and men. This Russian spirit of obedience is totally different in origin from the unfeigned harmony and friendliness and the sincere, voluntary obedience obtaining through all the ranks of the Japanese Army. An English officer, who spent several months in Manchuria with the Japanese Army, remarked that the strongest characteristic and the most attractive thing about it was the friendly harmony prevailing from the top to the bottom, the like of which could not be found in the army of any other nation, not even in England or in democratic America. Perhaps the real strength of our army comes from this special moral and spiritual condition. But the obstinate courage of the Russian soldiers is a characteristic worthy of our admiration. While holding fast to Port Arthur, their provisions and ammunition became scarce, thousands and tens of thousands of lives were taken, and their sad situation was like a light before a gust of wind; yet, in the midst of such disheartening conditions, they did not change their attitude at all, but went on resisting us with dogged determination. This was done by the Russians through the force of their Russian characteristics and shows plainly what was the education and discipline they had undergone. A passage in the Military Reader of Russia runs:—
“The laurel of victory in battle can be won by the bayonet and the war-cry. When your shot is exhausted, knock down the enemy with the stock of your rifle. If the rifle stock be broken, bite with your teeth.”
Yes, they were stubborn in their resistance and attack, but at the same time they were extremely careful of their lives. These two characteristics are contradictory to each other. “Rather live as a tile than be broken as a jewel,” seemed their great principle, the contrary of the Japanese ideal, “rather die beautifully than live in ignominy.” One Russian captive is reported to have said: “I have a dear wife; she must be extremely anxious about me. Our officers told us that the Japanese Army was brittle as a clay statue. But, contrary to our expectation, they are as strong as devils. Rather than fight and be killed, I must save my life for my wife. If I die she will grieve and go mad. I am no match for the Japanese. It is silly to fight on, knowing that we shall surely be killed by the Japanese Army.” There is an impassable gulf between this and the Japanese ideal and determination to die in honor but never live in shame.
We defended and held on to this Taku-shan, though it was extremely difficult to hold against the enemy’s assault. Fortunately all their attempts at retaking it came to naught. Eventually the Russians seemed to give up the idea of any further counter-attack, and began to busy themselves with strengthening the already strong constructions on the main line of defense and with impeding our work of fortification by firing incessantly the heavy guns of the different forts. At the same time, our detachment was fortifying Taku-shan on the side toward the enemy, gathering siege material, constructing strong positions for heavy batteries, and sending out efficient scouts to ascertain the positions of the enemy’s mines, the condition of their wire-entanglements, and to see how their fire would affect the routes assigned for our march. All these preparations, and all these investigations about the condition of the zone of our attack being completed, the 19th of August was fixed for the first general assault, and East Kikuan was given to our detachment as our chief objective. Because this battle was expected to seal the fate of Port Arthur, everything was most carefully and accurately planned and mapped out.
Ch. XXIII.
OF course we left Japan fully determined to turn into dust under the hoofs of His Majesty’s steed, saying, “Here I stand ready to die.” Our hearts were impatient, but the opportunity was slow in coming. More than one hundred days had passed since we had left for the front. Then hundreds of blossoms on home fields and mountains made our uniforms fragrant with their sweet smell, the spring breeze that wafted us to a strange land far away lightly kissed the sun-colors. Time flies quickly, and now we sit under the shadow of green leaves. At night, sleeping on our arms, or in the day, exposed to the hail-storm of bullets, we had never forgotten our desire to return the Imperial favor and beneficence with death, and death only. The time, however, was not yet full. Thousands of our comrades had died without the joy of seeing the final success; their spirits must be unconsoled and unable to find eternal rest. We were eager to avenge them, but ah! the opportunity had not yet come. We survivors lived in the stink of rotting flesh and crumbling bones; our own flesh wasted and even our bones seemed thinner. We were like a group of spirits with sharp, eager passions in miserable bodies, but still we were offshoots of the genuine cherry tree of Yamato. How was it that we were still alive after fighting one, two, three, already four battles, without having fallen like beautiful cherry petals of the battle-field? I had been fully resolved to die on Taku-shan, but still I was left behind by a great many of my friends. Surely this time, in this general assault, I must have the honor and distinction of offering my little self to our beloved country. With this idea, this desire, this determination, I started for the battle.
I was promoted to first lieutenant in the early part of August, but the news reached me just on this occasion. Colonel Aoki called me before him and told me most gravely: “I congratulate you on your promotion. You have carried the regimental colors from the very beginning. You are now released from that duty, but strive harder still, for to-morrow is assigned for our general assault. I have eaten and slept with you for a long time and am grieved to part with you, but I say good-by to you now because I am anxious for your success.”
Yes, I had eaten and slept with the dear regimental commander from our first arrival and had fought at his side. In the bivouac, exposed to rain and dew, the colonel had shared his mat with me so that I might sleep the better. Even his scanty food he divided with me, smiling as cheerily as if he were eating with his family at home. I had always feared that the colonel, who was used to sleeping on a comfortable couch at home, might contract an illness from this bed and pillow of grass. With three thousand lives in his hand, the life of the regimental commander is very precious, and the morale of the whole regiment depends largely upon his health. I had tried my best to serve him attentively and make him as comfortable as the uncomfortable circumstances of the battle-field would allow. Some time ago, while we were at Changchia-tun, I prepared hot water in a water jar and offered him the first hot bath he had had since leaving Japan. He was pleased with it from the bottom of his heart, and I shall never forget his glad countenance of that moment. Now I had to part with the colonel who was as dear to me as my own father, and my grief was without limit. Of course I still belonged to one of his companies and I was still his subordinate. It was not a real separation, but I felt as if I were going far away from him. When I heard these farewell words of his, I felt my throat choked with tears and could not raise my head for a while. It was also a great sorrow for me to part with the regimental colors that I had taken care of through thick and thin. When I looked at the faded, torn standard now hanging to the left of the colonel, I could not help feeling that among the three thousand men whose hearts all stir at the sight of that flag, I had a right to a special emotion in the presence of the regimental insignia.
After a moment of thoughtful silence, I sorrowing over my separation from the flag and the colonel, and the colonel apparently regretting his parting with me, I said earnestly: “Colonel, I will show you what a splendid fight I can make—” I could not say anything more and, turning on my heel quietly, walked off a few steps and then ran to my servant and said: “I am now ordered to go to my company. You, in consequence, must leave me, but I shall never forget your kindness. Remember me as your true elder brother to eternity. I cannot say anything more. Fight like a brave soldier.”
Bunkichi Takao, my servant soldier, wept bitterly and said he could never leave me. That, however, could not be. I soothed and comforted him, saying that he must obey his superiors’ commands faithfully and not be behind anybody else in doing and suffering, and that the box we had made together before the battle of Taku-shan was certainly to be used this time. I, too, was very reluctant to lose him, and my heart was full of emotion.
“Lieutenant, do you really think of me as your younger brother?” Takao said, in tears; and I too shed hot tears.
“We part now, but may meet again. If we die, let us die together a glorious death and talk over the past together in another world.” So saying, I started to go after he had brushed the dust off my uniform and retied the strings of my leggings.
“Well, then, lieutenant—” he began to say, but, too sad to look at me any longer, he covered his face and turned away.
“Takao, don’t forget what I have told you from time to time,” I said, and walked to the position where the Third Battalion was stationed.
Separated from the regimental flag, from the colonel, and from my own servant, I directed my solitary steps through the wild country. As I looked at the hills and valleys, now turned into the graves of my dear comrades, and watched the clouds gather and disperse in the sky, I could not help thinking of the inconstancy of earthly things. Suddenly it occurred to me that I must see Surgeon Yasui once more, and say good-by to Captain Matsuoka, my senior officer from my native province. At once I turned back and walked some distance to a ravine at the northern foot of Taku-shan. Captain Matsuoka was sitting alone in his tent and was glad to see me.
“I have not seen you for some time,” he said. “Are you quite well?”
“Thank you, I am, and I have been promoted to be first lieutenant. I am now ordered to join the Third Battalion. Please continue your favor toward me.”
The captain said, abruptly, “Then this is our last chance of meeting in this world!”
I told him that I, too, expected to die, and expressed my desire that we might die together on the top of Kikuan. When I rose to go, the captain tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “What have you there at your belt?” Whereupon I smiled faintly and said, “It is my coffin.” “Well, indeed! You are well prepared!” That was our farewell, and I left the ravine. Soon this separation in life was to be followed by the separation of death.
I then went over to the headquarters of the First Battalion, which were hidden behind the rocks near Chuchia-tun, and found Surgeon Yasui. Soon after my arrival there, a few of the enemy’s shot fell with a tremendous noise in front of the tent. Four or five more followed, but we were so accustomed to such things that we paid little attention to it. This position, I was told, was frequently a target for the enemy’s fire. I was grieved to hear that the commander of the First Battalion had been slightly wounded in the battle of Taku-shan. When I told Surgeon Yasui of my promotion, he took me aside to where the powder-boxes were piled and said that he had been longing to see me; that, though we were in the same place, we had had no chance of a friendly chat, and that every day and night he had been waiting impatiently to hear from me. I was deeply moved and said to him that it was strange that both of us had been spared so far, but that this time I was fully prepared for death, and that I had come on purpose to see him once more and take a last farewell. I also reminded him of our promise in that ruined house at Hwangni-chuan, and said that if both should die that would be all, but if he should survive me he was to cut off a part of my bloodstained uniform and keep it as a memento. We grasped each other’s hands firmly, saying that this was our eternal farewell in this world, and, praying for each other’s success, we parted in tears. Reluctantly I left his tent, crossed the river Taiko, climbed the mountain slope facing the enemy’s fortress, and went to the headquarters of the brigade to pay my respects to the brigadier-general. Just at the time when I arrived at headquarters the adjutant was relieved from duty on account of illness, so, as a temporary arrangement, I was put in his place as aide-de-camp. Later I was put in charge of the Twelfth Company.
On the night previous to the beginning of the general attack of the 19th, I received two letters brought to me by the cook. Of course no mail was expected to reach us in such a place and under such circumstances, but these two letters had been miscarried and mislaid for some time before finally reaching me. They were both from my elder brother, one inclosing a fountain pen and the other a photograph of my two little nieces, one four and the other three years of age. They seemed to say “Dear Uncle” to me from the picture. Such sweet little faces! If, however, the little babies in the photograph had had eyes that could see, they would perhaps have cried at my changed, emaciated features. Night and day I had been seeing nothing but unkempt soldiers or shattered flesh and broken bones. Even the flowers that had smiled from the grassy fields were now trodden down and crushed. In such a battle-field, and on the night before a great fight, I was honored with the visit of these dear nieces. How it softened my wild heart! What joy they brought to me! I could not help kissing their dear eyes and mouths and murmuring to myself: “You brave little ones, that have left your dear mother’s lap to cross the broad sea and wild waves to visit me in this place of powder-smoke and shot-rain! Your uncle will take you with him to-morrow and let you see how he chastises the enemy of dear Japan.”
The cloud of smoke had passed away for this night and bright stars were twinkling in the sky. I slept in the camp with my two little nieces by my side. Nelson’s last words came forcibly to my mind, and I also repeated over and over again the couplet that I had written and given my father when leaving Japan, in which I had spoken of “the glory of death in battle, loyalty for seven lives.” To leave my skull bleaching in the wilderness and become a patriotic spirit returning to life seven times—was this to take place on the morrow or on the day after? My time was almost full!
There was a lance-corporal by the name of Yamamoto, who about this time sent clippings of his nails and hair to his mother and brother, together with a farewell letter and poem; and this letter proved to be his last. It ran thus:—
“Twice already I have joined a forlorn hope, and still I am keeping my head on my shoulders. I am filled with grief when I think of my dead comrades. Out of over two hundred men who advanced before the others of our company, there are only twenty left who are able-bodied. Fortunately or unfortunately I am among this small number. But the life of man is only fifty years. Unless I give up that life betimes, I may have no proper opportunity again. Sooner or later I must die, as all must die. So I prefer being broken to pieces as a jewel to remaining whole as a tile. Shot or bayonet or whatever may come, I can die but once. My comrade is shot at my right hand, my officer’s thigh and arm are blown up into the air at my left—and I in the middle am not hurt at all, and I pinch myself, doubting whether it is not a dream. I feel the pinching, so I must be alive still. My time for dying has not come yet. I must brace myself up to avenge my comrades. You proud, impudent Ruskies! I will chastise you severely.—Thus my heart is ever impatient though I am lacking in brilliant parts. Born a farmer’s son, I shall yet be sung as a flower of the cherry tree, if I fight bravely and die in the battle-field, instead of dying naturally but ignobly in a thatched hut on a straw mat.
“Banzai, banzai, banzai to H. M. the Commander-in-chief!
“Taketoshi Yamamoto,
“Late Lance-Corporal of the Infantry of the Army.”
You notice that he used the word “late” before his title, showing beyond any doubt his resolve to enter the death-ground with a smile. Such a resolve was held by all at that time, and Yamamoto only gave a clear though unsophisticated expression to the general sentiment.
Ch XXIV.
WHEN a correspondent of the “Novoe Vremya” inspected the defenses of Port Arthur, his remark is reported to have been: “It is like an eagle’s nest that even a sky-scraping ladder cannot reach.” Yes, it was even so. As far as the eye could reach, every hill and every mountain was covered with forts and ramparts; the landward side was encircled with iron walls of tenfold strength, and its defenders were brave soldiers trained by the veteran General Dragomiloff,—courageous men, the strongest and quickest,—the flower of the Russian Army. We were now in front of this “impregnable” fortress to prove that it was “pregnable” after all. The 19th of August was the first day of the general attack, the starting-point of the historic incident of the fall of Port Arthur. The struggle that was to be characterized in the world’s history of warfare as the most difficult and most horrible of all struggles began on this day and lasted for more than four months. During this period our desperate attack was responded to by as desperate a defense, and our army paid an immense price for its victory, turning the mountains and valleys of Port Arthur into scorched earth honeycombed by shells, butchering men and capturing the fortress at last with bullets of human flesh shot out by the Yamato-Damashii itself. The gazing world was astonished by the wonderful efficiency of such a mode of warfare!
We, at the foot of Taku-shan, were hurrying on the various preparations for attack. We were making a special investigation of the ways and means of encountering the wire-entanglements, upon which the enemy depended as the most efficient of their secondary defensive works, and by the stakes and wires of which so many of our men had been killed in previous battles. All the hills in our sight, large or small, high or low, were wrapped about with these horrible things, that looked at a distance like dark dots on the ground.
We had to break these entanglements, step on them, and proceed. The cutting properly belonged to the engineers, but their number was limited while that of the wire-entanglements was almost limitless. So the infantry had to learn to cut them for themselves. An imitation entanglement was made on the bank of the river Taiko and we were taught by the engineers how to break it down. First of all, a group of shears-men would march up and cut the iron wires, then the saw-men would follow and knock down the stakes or else saw them through. When a part of the entanglement was thus opened, a detachment of men would rush through the opening.
This kind of work was of urgent necessity for us and we practiced it with zeal and diligence. But in actual fighting the work cannot be done so easily. The forlorn-hope engineers, who march up to destroy the entanglements, are always annihilated without exception, because they have to work before the very muzzles of the machine-guns. Moreover, it was discovered that these wires were charged with electricity. There were, however, two opinions about the electric current: one was that the electricity was strong enough to kill whoever touched the wires, and the other that it was only intended to inform the enemy’s watchtowers, by a weak current of electricity, of the approach of the destroyers. Whichever it might be, we could not cut the wires with ordinary scissors so long as they were charged with electricity, so we contrived to bind bamboo sticks to the handles of the shears to make them non-conducting. In spite of all these precautions, we found in actual fight that the wires were charged with a very strong current; some of our men were killed instantly by the shock, others had their limbs split like brushes of bamboo. We also practiced methods of crossing the enemy’s trenches with ladders, but again in actual fight we found that their trenches were too wide or too deep for these ladders to be of much use.
The fortress was protected by earth-mines, which were buried everywhere. They had to be destroyed by our engineers, by cutting off the fuse. Until the very day of our attack we could see through field-glasses groups of Russians at work here and there, burying these explosives in the ground with picks. We marked those places on our maps. We found out and remembered everything that we could; for instance, that each of the stakes of the entanglements was beaten down with twelve blows of a hammer, or how many earth-mines were being buried in any particular valley. Our reconnoitring parties found that every ravine up which our infantry was likely to march was set with mines, and that the methods of disposing them were very clever. To cite one example, where the ravine was narrowest there was buried a mine that would explode when stepped on. When the first man was killed in this way, the rest would of course divide themselves on either side of the ravine, where a series of mines would burst and kill all of the attacking party. It was extremely hard to go through these places in safety. On the top of all this, all the guns and rifles of all the forts and skirmish-trenches were so directed as to be able to aim at every ravine and every rock, so that none of us could escape the concentrated cross-fire from three directions. Their defense left almost nothing to be desired.
At dawn on the 19th of August, the whole line of our artillery opened fire simultaneously, with East Kikuan as our chief objective, but bombarding other forts at the same time. This was the first step in our general assault. Soon, our assaulting columns pushed on their way under cover of the artillery fire, approaching the enemy inch by inch, ready to rush upon them with one accord as soon as our fire began to take effect upon the Russians. Therefore our batteries devoted their whole energy to breaking the forts, shattering the bomb-proofs, and opening breaches in the skirmish-trenches through which our storming parties could enter.
No sooner had our firing begun than the enemy responded from all their batteries and tried hard to silence our artillery and impede the progress of our infantry. What a terrible scene presented itself when huge shells were exchanged between the heavy guns of both sides! Explosive shells as big as saké-casks[54] and spherical shells caused great vibrations in the air, and their groaning reverberation set at naught the fury of pealing thunders. The bursting of shells scattered lightning everywhere, and the smoke covered the scene with thick steamy clouds, in which it seemed impossible for any living thing to breathe. We nicknamed the enemy’s shells “train shells,” because they came moaning and shrieking just like a train leaving the station with sharp whistling. When we heard such a sound near us the whole earth shook, and in the tremendous roaring men, horses, rocks, and sand were all hurled up together. Everything that came into collision with these terrible trains was reduced to small fragments; these fragments would fall to the ground and then go up again, as if they had wings to fly with. One lieutenant’s neck was torn by a fragment of shell, and his head hung by the skin only. Both arms of a private were cut off clean from the shoulders by the same process.
This day was to come to an end with bombardment only. It had been our plan to employ the first day or two in bombarding the enemy and then to go on with an infantry attack. That evening I went on business to the headquarters of our division, that is, the place where our artillery was posted. It was a dark night, and through the sky whitish-blue bars of fire were flying to and fro between the contending parties; it looked to me like the highway leading to hell. The Russian search-lights were being thrown over the position of our artillery from Kikuan-shan and Hokuginzan. These terrible lights would turn every now and then toward our infantry, who were approaching the enemy step by step. We, too, used the search-lights captured from the enemy and tried to counteract the power of theirs and also to expose the Russian battery to view, but they were far inferior to those still in the enemy’s possession. Star-shells were shot off from time to time by the enemy, which illuminated the sky far better than the annual display of fireworks at Ryogoku.[55] They were like great electric lamps hanging in the air, making the whole place as light as day, so that even the movement of an ant could easily be detected. They were powerful in thwarting the progress of our assaulting column, because every movement of the detachment was exposed by this light and could be accurately seen by the enemy, and the usual machine-guns were sure to pour a rain of horrible shot upon the invaders. Therefore, as soon as we saw the star-rocket burst in the sky, we used to caution each other, saying, “Don’t move! don’t move!”
When I reached headquarters, the division-commander and his staff were standing at our artillery position and watching this scene of night fighting without the cover of darkness. As soon as a search-light was seen in a Russian fort, our chief-of-staff would order, “Hit that! Smash that fellow!” He said, folding his arms in utter unconcern: “I feel like a young bride! Exposed to such a full glare of light, I am awfully shy and bashful!”
Our detachment marched as far as Yangchia-kou during this night. Soon after we reached there, a shell came near us with a tremendous noise. We said to each other: “Some must have been killed. Who are they? Who?” When the smoke cleared, we found four or five men lying dead or wounded, two of them recruits who had arrived only a few days before from home. One of the two was killed in a horrible manner; the half of his body below the waist was entirely gone. The legs of the other were shattered and the blood was gushing out like water. His captain went to him and encouraged him, saying: “Don’t be afraid! Be brave!”
“Captain, I am very sorry to be thus disabled without having fought at all. I will come back healed as quickly as possible. Please let me be in your company again.”
“Even without having fought, your wounds are honorable. Get well quickly and come back!”
Why one is shot on the battle-field and the other not seems an inscrutable mystery. Some there are who in one severe fight after another do not sustain a single scratch; others seem to be followed by shot or to draw shot to themselves. Some are killed very soon after landing and before knowing how it feels to be shot at. When once you become a target for shot, forty or fifty may come to you, as to that man in the battle of Taipo-shan of whom I have already spoken. Is this what is called fate, or is it mere chance? On the 19th, when the headquarters of the division were removed to the northern slope of Taku-shan, the division-commander was observing the enemy, with a staff-officer on either side, when a projectile came and both the staff-officers were killed on the spot, while the general in the middle was not even slightly hurt. In an assault on a fortress those in front have of course the highest probability of being hit, but even those in the rear sustain more injury than in a field battle. Napoleon said: “A shot may be aimed at you, but cannot pursue you. If it could pursue you at all, it would overtake you even if you fled to the uttermost parts of the earth.” Yes, a shot is an uncanny thing, like an apparition. With our human power we cannot tell whether it will hit us or not. It depends entirely upon one’s luck. There is another incident that I recollect in this connection. After the battle of Taipo-shan, five or six of the retreating Russians were walking off in a leisurely way, without hurrying, and swinging their arms. This behavior we thought very impudent, and each of us aimed at them as carefully as in drill-ground practice and fired at them with our rifles resting on something steady, but all in vain. One officer was sure he could hit them, but he too failed, and the Russians continued to walk off slowly and were eventually lost sight of. Several times after this, we tried our skill in musketry on a Russian standing on a fort and waving his handkerchief to challenge us, or on some audacious fellow who would dare to come out of the breastwork and insult us. In spite of our skill, indignation, and curiosity combined, these impudent fellows often escaped in safety. Such being the case, those who have been through several battles become naturally careless and fearless. At first we involuntarily lower our heads a little at the sound of a small bullet. Even the officer who scolds his men, saying, “Who is it that salutes the enemy’s shot?” cannot help nodding to the enemy at first. Of course this does not imply timidity at all; it seems to be the result of some sort of reflex action of the nerves. But when the shot begin to come like a shower of rain, we can no longer give each shot a bow, but become bold at once. The boom and roar of big shells excite in us no special sensation. When we know that by the time we hear these horrible sounds the projectiles have gone far past us, our courage is confirmed and, instead of bowing to an empty sound, we begin to think of standing on the breastwork and munching rice-balls to show off to the enemy! And the shot seems to shun those audacious ones as a rule, to go round them and call upon others!