It was ten o’clock the second night in town, and Soichi had been asleep
in his warm red blankets two hours or more when the sergeant shook him
awake and told him to get up. He was to take rifle and cartridge belt and
follow, making no noise. In the darkness he joined a squad of his mates
and saw Omori, Ito, and two or three others of his friends, all equipped
as he was. Presently an officer came up and Soichi recognized Kokan. He
saw the lieutenant give him a sharp look, and heard him mutter something
he did not understand. Then without a word Kokan strode away and the
sergeant told them to come on. Nothing had been said of the duty, but
Soichi knew it was not sentry-go and guessed they were going scouting.
In silence broken only by the muffled footsteps on the soft earth they
followed Kokan to the river’s edge. A man with a boat was waiting and
they stepped in softly, careful to make no noise. The man stood up, and
with his long oar skillfully and silently drove the boat out into the
stream.
In a whisper the order was passed to load magazines, but not to fire
except to avoid capture. The hard, metallic click of a magazine spring
betrayed the haste of one of the men in shoving his cartridge home. In
the ghostly stillness it came like the crack of a rifle and brought a
sharp whisper from Kokan:
“Kutami, was that you?”
But Soichi had thought of that and muffled his magazine with his blouse
so that no sound came from it.
“Even here!” he thought, surprised. “Will he forget his duty to think of
me now? Well, he shall have no just complaint.”
Softly the boat came up to the bank of the island, and noiselessly the
men made their way to land. Then, while they gathered about him in a
ring, Kokan whispered their instructions. They were to spread out and
endeavor to get by the Russian outposts concealed in the clumps of
willows that dotted the island, to work across to the next stream, note
the width of the island and the character of the ground, the number of
the outposts of the enemy they saw and their position. They had three
hours for the work. At the end of that time they must be back at the
boat. Any who did not return would be left to get back to camp as best
he could. They must estimate the time, and in no case strike matches to
consult watches. Kokan asked each man if he understood, and when all
replied that they did he sent them away one by one. Then he himself
started straight across the island alone.
Soichi had the downstream end of the line. It was a bad time for such
work, one of those blue-black nights when the stars shine with multiplied
brilliance, and the white sand of the island was a dangerous background
for their dark uniforms. He took a long look at the heavens to select
a guide and then pushed away from the bank, and, crouching stealthily,
walked with long steps directly toward a single willow that stood a few
yards inshore. There he paused and took stock of his situation. Off to
his right he saw dimly a dark figure crawling across the sand. It was one
of his comrades, and he realized what a telltale his uniform was. With
sudden resolve he took it Off, and smiled to see how his gray flannels
matched the sand. Then he pulled off his boots, and with only his rifle
and shells started on. He walked upright, with the rifle held close by
his side, and moved as fast as he could. His soldier’s instinct warned
him to avoid the clumps of trees and bushes, and from tree to tree that
stood alone he worked his way. A queer fancy struck him to count his
steps the better to estimate the distance he traveled, but he soon found
that it distracted his attention from his work. So he changed his plan,
and at each pause under a bush calculated its distance from the last and
mentally kept the sum of the whole. To reckon the time was the hardest,
and after a little he gave up guessing at that. He would do his work
first and let the time take care of itself.
[Illustration: He saw dimly a dark figure.]
Suddenly as he sat resting and thinking under cover of a thick willow,
he heard a sound that seemed close at his left. With every sense alert
he gazed in the direction whence it came, and waited. Presently it was
repeated, and now he recognized a man’s voice, husky and guttural from
the unsuccessful effort to whisper. He lay face down on the sand to
muffle his heart, for it seemed that the enemy surely must hear its
beating. Then as he watched he saw a match struck in a clump of willows
scarcely forty yards away, and presently caught the glow of a lighted
cigarette. Soon another and another appeared, and then their aroma came
faintly to him across the night. Three men awake, he thought; did that
mean a dozen in the post? He wasted no time in guessing, but flat on his
face wriggled away across the sand. He was inside the line of outposts
now, and when he had crawled a long distance and put some bushes between
himself and the men he had so nearly run into, he rose and walked rapidly
forward.
He had advanced what he calculated to be nearly a mile from the boat, and
thought he must be nearing the stream he was seeking. The ground became
less sandy and there were fewer trees and bushes. He thought it unlikely
that the Russians would have more outposts there. He had almost concluded
to make a run for it to the river, when a rifle shot to his right and
behind him sent him flat to the ground in breathless suspense. Someone
had been discovered! Other shots followed, and then a fusillade that
sounded like that morning brush when he had first heard fire. He crawled
to the nearest bush and lay still.
No bullets whistled his way and he heard no reports from the rifles of
his men. The fire was all Russian, and he hoped it was only a scare and
that his men had got away. Then he saw that the firing was extending
toward the river, and the reports of Japanese rifles mingled in the
sound. They were caught back there, and his heart stood still at the
thought that the success of the night’s work might depend on him. From
the direction in which the firing came he thought the Russians must be
near his boat. Perhaps his party were all cut off and killed, or worse
than that, captured.
The firing ceased, and he lay under his bush and wondered what to do. He
remembered that he had not yet reached the river, and he rose and ran
swiftly forward. Soon he caught the gleam of water, and in a moment was
at the bank. He lay down and went over his calculation of the distance
he had come. Then he looked up at the stars, marked out his course, and
started back.
He knew the location of one outpost, and he thought at first his best
chance was to go as close to it as he had come. But he reflected that
all the sleeping men must have been roused by the firing, and that if
they had discovered the boat they would watch to see if any of the
scouting party came back to it. No, he must go another way and swim the
stream. But he wanted his uniform. He dreaded what would be said to him
if he went back without it. How to get it was the question. The aroused
Russians were between him and the bush where it lay.
The fire had not extended much to his right and he judged that the line
of outposts did not reach far that way. He turned sharply downstream and
moved as rapidly as he dared. At times, when the way was open, he ran;
but in the bushes it was slow work. At last he ventured to turn back
toward his own shore. Cautiously he made his way until the soft lap of
the water on the bank caught his ear. Here was the stream. Should he
strike in, or try for the uniform? He wondered how long he had been on
the island. It might be an hour, it might be two. The night was yet far
from spent. A low ridge of sand ran parallel with the bank, shutting
the stream from his sight. He moved stealthily to the river side of it
and made up his mind to go after his uniform. The ridge would guide him
to the bush where it lay, and if worse came to worst a quick leap would
take him into the water and he would trust to the darkness to escape the
Russian lead.
At first he walked upright, near the water, and traveled rapidly. Then as
he approached the point where he judged the Russians might be, he came
close under the ridge and crawled on hands and knees. It was ticklish
work, and the rifle bothered him badly. Not a sound came to his alert
ears. By and by he wriggled to the top of the ridge and peered over.
After a time he thought he could make out the willows where the smokers
had been. His own bush was not far off now and he crawled on.
A new thought stopped him like a blow. Suppose the Russians had found his
clothes and were waiting for him to come for them. That was a matter to
be considered, and he pondered it seriously for some time. Then he went
on. He would take the chance. Keeping the ridge between himself and it
he crawled opposite the bush and lay a long time listening intently. He
was so near he thought he could hear the breathing of any man waiting,
and knew he would hear a movement. Not a sound came from the bush, and
at length he ventured on. It was but an instant’s work to gather up
trousers, blouse, and boots and scuttle back over the ridge.
One foot was in a trouser leg when he stopped. The river was wide and
swift. It would be hard enough to swim as he was, and the thick uniform
would hamper him terribly. He thought it over a moment, then swiftly
rolled up blouse and boots and tied them with the trouser legs in a
bundle at the back of his neck. Then he slung his rifle across his back
and waded in. The water was icy cold, but he moved slowly lest he make a
noise and arouse some Russian. He was up to his waist and almost ready
to strike out when an unlucky step brought his foot down on a stone that
turned and he stumbled forward with a loud splash.
Instantly there came a hoarse, Russian shout from up the stream and he
ducked. As he went down he heard the loud report of a rifle and felt the
wind of a bullet over his head. He plunged forward and swam rapidly out
and downstream. Low in the water, with head as far down as he could keep
it, he put all his strength into his strokes. Behind him the Russians
along the shore fired as if charged by an army. The bullets sang over his
head and hissed in the water beside him. He heard the roar of the rifles
and the shouts of the men, and tried to dive, but under water the bundle
and rifle held him back, and he gave that up.
Gradually the firing slackened, and when it ceased he judged by the
current that he was in mid-stream. He was very tired now, and very cold.
He began to fear he could not get across. But the thought of the disgrace
of failure after all he had done nerved him for fresh effort. He had the
information the party had been sent to get, and it might be that none of
the others had secured it. He must go on. In spite of his exertion the
cold was agonizing. His bones ached from it, and his heart was bursting
with the strain. He had done his best. He could do no more. The bank
that seemed so near was yet out of reach. He had taken his last stroke.
No, one more, and now another. A third, and his feet struck bottom. He
staggered out and fell exhausted on the sand.
How long he lay thus he did not know. Aching from head to foot, shivering
with cold and with rattling teeth, he struggled to his feet. Somewhere
upstream lay his goal and he reeled toward it. Presently the walking
warmed him a little. He unslung the bundle from his shoulders and put on
the sodden uniform. Then he thrust his feet into the boots and went on.
Dawn was breaking when he stood at his captain’s door and heard the voice
of Kokan saying:
“That fool Kutami aroused the Russians and we could not go on. We just
barely got away. He spoiled it all, and probably was captured as well.”
Then he went in and reported, and when he finished, heard, like a voice
in a dream, his captain’s comment:
“That is the spirit of _Yamato Damashii_!” (the soul of old Japan).
He turned and went out, with Kokan staring after him in speechless
amazement.
[Illustration]