THE PASSAGE OF THE YALU.
The night passed without alarm, and on the morning of April 30th the
guns on the heights above Chiu-lien-cheng began to speak once more.
Soon after dawn the Russian General discovered that his left flank was
in danger, and withdrew it to a position North of the Ai-ho.
Up to this moment General Kuroki was undecided as to the wisdom of
disclosing his gun positions. It was a question with the staff whether
the bombardment should begin on the 30th day of April or should be
reserved for the day of assault. If the artillery opened on the 30th
its position North of the main stream of the Yalu would be known to the
Russians, who would retire their own guns further into the mountains.
After anxious consideration it was determined that the Japanese
artillery should remain silent as long as no fire was opened upon the
pontoon bridges. In the event of any attempt to destroy the bridges
the guns were ordered to reply. Precisely at eleven o’clock, when the
sun was at their back and the light was in favour of the Japanese, the
Russian guns were directed on the pontoons.
There was no longer need for concealment. The Japanese unmasked their
batteries near Wiju and on the island of Kontonto. For two hours the
duel raged with increasing violence. At first the Russian guns were
turned upon some infantry scouts and against the pontoons, but they
speedily abandoned these targets and strove to silence the batteries.
The gunners on a conical hill, East of Chiu-lien-cheng, were especially
active and were distinctly visible against the sky line. Upon this hill
the Japanese presently opened a severe and concentrated cannonade with
field gun and howitzer. Shell after shell crowned the summit with smoke
and flame. Surely nothing could live in that inferno, yet the Russians
stood to their guns and answered shell with shell. But so deadly was
the fire that courage gave place to discretion, and three dark objects
appeared on the slope making their way toward the road that wound into
the valley beyond.
They were guns and their teams. How slowly they moved through the smoke
and flame, as shrapnel rained upon them and common shell rent the earth
about them like some mighty convulsion of nature. Not a yard did they
cover but the iron leapt upon them with the force of a hurricane. Now
a horse rolled over; now a man stumbled forward to rise no more. Still
the storm swept over them--one second a blue smoke in the air that
told of shrapnel, and the next a geyser of brown earth that marked the
explosion of common shell. The scene caught one by the throat and held
the breath. It lasted little more than half an hour, but it seemed an
age of agony. Life had departed from the dark objects; they lay on the
hillside motionless--the dead gunners and their guns.
Meanwhile along the foot of the mountains across the river wound a
thin black line like a mamba uncoiling its length out of a ravine. The
sight of it called to my memory the dark cataract that flowed from
the heights beyond Lombards Kop to engulf the men at Nicholson’s Nek.
This was the Japanese infantry on the right who had made good their
footing and were swarming up the precipitous slopes to storm the left
wing of the Russian army, and to perform a feat of arms more daring
and successful than that which gave General de Wet his first victory
in Natal. Upward and onward they went--now vanishing in some dark
depression; now visible against the bare rock, until at last they began
to fall over the crest like a mountain torrent that swept down to the
banks of the river Ai. The Russians could not have been ignorant of
this incursion, but for a long time they gave no sign. Presently three
or four mounted men came down from the low hills North-east of Tiger
Hill and halted under cover of the houses near the river. Their mission
was quickly apparent. The buildings burst into flame and the Cossacks
rode off into the smoke, followed by shrapnel from the battery East of
Wiju.
The night of the 30th was one of crowded yet silent activity on the
South bank of the Yalu and the island of Kontonto. Two Divisions--the
Guards and the Second--had still to cross and pontoons had to be
placed. At ten o’clock all was ready and men and guns passed over.
The speed and silence with which these movements were effected was
remarkable. Every man knew his part and his place: there was no noise
or confusion: the approaches to the river were screened and the men
reached them from behind sheltering hills: the pontoons were padded
with straw and matting. Meanwhile two important problems had been
solved by a few gallant officers--whether the field guns on Kontonto
island could be moved to Temple island, and whether the river Ai must
be bridged or could be forded. In the event of disaster the guns must
inevitably be lost, as there was no means of retreat across the river
and the only way to reach Temple island was by pontoon ferries. Late
in the night the batteries were ferried over to Temple island. For
men to cross the Ai under rifle fire seemed a hopeless task, and many
suggestions were made and discussed. One proposal was that the men
should carry floats of wood or small tubs: another that a picked body
of swimmers prepared to die should cross the river with leading ropes
for their comrades.
Happily neither of these adventurous schemes proved necessary. A ford
was found; the water came up to the neck and was under rifle fire, yet
that sufficed for the Japanese. On the night of the 30th the Twelfth
Division occupied a position with its right on Sandoan and its front
toward the river Ai at Ishiko: the Guards Division was north of Tiger
Hill on the South bank of the Ai: and the Second Division formed on
the South-west of Temple island. Small wonder if the Russians were
surprised by the rapidity of this manœuvre. According to the story told
by prisoners, they believed that at least a week would be required by
the Japanese to complete their crossing to Temple island, and they did
not credit the report that they had with them heavy guns.
It was on the morning of the 1st of May that the Japanese won their
great victory on the Yalu. A strange stillness haunted hill and dale as
we rode from camp to the scene of the final struggle. The path across
the cultivated plain was deserted: the sentries had left the bridge
unguarded, and only deep ruts and hoof-prints told that an army had
passed. Wiju was a city of the dead.
We entered through the stone arch which was a gate in the olden time,
and the tramp of our horses’ hoofs echoed along the silent streets of
mean houses. Taking our appointed places near the tower overlooking the
river, we awaited the attack. The sun rose upon a scene that banished
all thought of war. At our feet flowed the rivers that form the delta.
The central and main stream of the Yalu has the deep blue of the
_lapis lazuli_, and shone like a girdle between the yellow sand
and the dark green bush.
Away beyond the river plain rose the bare and silent hills, in the
shadow of which slumbered the village of Chiu-lien-cheng with its
tiled houses and walls of light stone. Only when you looked very
closely could you discover signs of the impending conflict. Among the
shrub near the island lurked dark forms denoting men and howitzers;
behind the charred ruins of houses on Temple island lay more dark
figures; they filled the dongas, the trenches and the broken ground.
The stillness was uncanny and the question rose to every lip: “Have
the Russians fled?” The moments crept on and still our eyes and ears
sought some sign of the presence of the enemy. A few scouts were sent
forward and were not fired upon. Was it the design of the enemy to draw
the Japanese across the river and fall upon them unexpectant? If that
was their hope it was destined to fall. At last the silence was broken
by field gun and howitzer, but it was from the Japanese side. The
batteries posted under Tiger Hill and the howitzers on the South island
sent their shells screaming through the air to the heights beyond the
river. Shot after shot was fired, yet drew forth no response save the
echo of their reverberation among the mountains. Surely the enemy had
retired, and the order to advance would be given. But the Japanese were
not lured into recklessness. The bombardment went on systematically.
The foothills in front of the Russian position have many spurs and
ravines. To the slopes East of Chiu-lien-cheng was turned the fire of
thirty-six guns from Tiger Hill while the howitzers bombarded the
heights above the position. Every nook and cranny was searched again
and again; the slopes obverse and reverse were rent with common shell
and rained upon with shrapnel; and the crests spurted flame and smoke.
To anyone without experience of shell-fire and its effects it must
have seemed that nothing could live in such a hell. For more than an
hour--from half-past five until nearly seven o’clock--the hills were
ransacked for sign of the enemy, but not a sound came back.
The order for the general attack was given and from the plain rose the
small sturdy figures of the Japanese infantry. Their dark blue uniform
showed up against the sand and bush. What targets they were for gun and
rifle! Surely the Russians must sleep or have gone upon a journey! The
line extended Eastward from beyond Chiu-lien-cheng, nearly ten miles,
with a front of six miles, and the right flank--four miles long--thrown
forward. You saw the skirmishers advancing steadily in open order and
behind them the fighting line with the reserves well under cover in the
rear. Near to the left flank a little to the East of Conical Hill the
troops were in echelon column of company and began to deploy only as
they approached rifle range. On the left the formation was much closer
than experience in South Africa would have led us to adopt, but the
Japanese had no faith in what it pleased them to call “Boer tactics.”
Still the mountains in front are silent, though the sound of artillery
and rifle fire came feebly back from the extreme right, where the
enemy was apparently on the defensive. At half-past seven o’clock the
infantry on the left advanced at the double and began to ford the
river. A cheer resounded over river and plain as they dashed into the
stream. The water reached up to their necks. With rifles held high in
the air, the Japanese plunged through the Ai-ho, many of them stripped
to the skin. Then the hills spoke. From the upper ground and foothills
about Chiu-lien-cheng: from the slope and base of Conical Hill: and
from the higher ground came the burr-burr of machine guns and sharp
volley of rifles. Many rolled over in the river and were swept away,
but the line formed on the further bank and went on. Again volleys
flew toward them and machine guns rattled. The effect of this sudden
awakening of the hills was to check the advance and to send the front
line of the Japanese back at the double. They retired in good order,
opening out as they came and taking cover where the nature of the
ground permitted. Many fell, however, and there were significant gaps
in the line when it reached shelter. Once more guns and howitzers came
into action, and the foothills were searched with a destructive fire.
While this artillery preparation was in progress the troops East of
Chiu-lien-cheng extended by the left, and changing front advanced upon
the hills. They met with considerable opposition, but held steadily on
their way.
The spur of the hill East of Chiu-lien-cheng, which guards the ravine
along which the road ascends was held tenaciously. The narrow and
precipitous gorge was entrenched along the base and slopes, and the
crest was crowned with earthworks and empalements. Toward this point
the left, having rallied, advanced once more. Steadily, and in more
extended order, they moved across the plain with their backs to the
river. Officers on horseback directed their movements as calmly as on
parade, and men, now singly, now in groups, dropped into the river and
forded to their comrades. In a few moments the line was moving toward
the spur in the shape of a bow well strung, and a shield of rifles
was cast about the foot of the hill. Here they remained and fought
with the utmost bravery and stubbornness, suffering heavily, as one
could see from the gaps in their formation. Twice the fighting line
was reinforced, and all the time over their heads sang the shells from
the howitzers, rending the earth about the trenches, and covering the
hill sides with clouds of brown dust. Thus the minutes passed, and
the shield drew closer and closer about the spur. But the resistance
was desperate, though unaided by artillery, and it was clear that the
position must be taken in reverse. The left centre was already well
forward, and was rapidly approaching the foot of the ridge from which
stands Conical Hill. The opposition here was feeble, for the enemy
was retiring, and made only one effort to reinforce the trenches in
the pass. Once across the flat, the left centre swarmed up the slope,
a flag marking their progress. Away on the extreme right the Twelfth
Division was pressing home the flanking attack, and the guns on the
high ground north had been silenced by the batteries on Tiger Hill.
[Illustration: A close View of the Yalu.]
The position was taken. On the reverse slope East of Chiu-lien-cheng
the Japanese were now in force. Their flag was climbing higher
and higher up the hill until it waved proudly from the crest, and
thunderous cheers echoed from the walls and towers of Wiju. The left
was still advancing on Chiu-lien-cheng under cover of guns that
searched even crevices in the hills beyond. In a moment more they
reached the line of stone houses, and were moving toward the hills,
while others tending to the East rushed the shoulder of the heights on
the West of the pass. Upon this spur, sheltered from observation by the
peak of the hill they stood in dense mass. Suddenly hurtling through
the air came two shells. A spurt of brown earth sprang from their
midst, and the mass breaking into fragments scattered down the hill.
Sixteen inanimate forms showed where the shells had fallen short. It
was an accident common enough in battle--one of the kind witnessed at
Elandslaagte when our gunners shelled our own advance.
Hard pressed on both flanks, their communications threatened by
the rapidity with which the movement of their left was developing,
there was nothing left for the Russians but to retire. Some, who had
remained in the trenches, fled up the pass. You could see them hurrying
along the brown road, pursued by shrapnel and common shell. The gun
empalement on the summit was wreathed in flame through which men passed
unscathed, and disappeared over the ridge. One man I saw turn back
for a wounded comrade. He did not return. The gorge now swarmed with
dark uniforms, and an officer carrying a flag--white, with the red sun
for centre--mounted the crest, and planted the Japanese ensign on the
Russian earthworks amid shouts of “Banzai.”