IN MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
A SHINTO SERVICE.
The priest stood on the mountain facing the multitude. In his uplifted
hand was a pine branch hung with strips of white paper--emblems of
the soul’s purity. Swish! Swish! Swish! Thrice the branch swept the
air above the bowed heads in the plain below. The simplicity of this
act of purification, the silence of the vast congregation, the beauty
of the scene--all combined to fill with awe and reverence the alien
spectator as well as the native worshipper. It has been my lot to
attend many services on the field of battle. I have knelt with soldiers
in the desert strewn with ten thousand dead outside the grey walls
of Omdurman; I have heard the song of thanksgiving echo among the
ruins of Khartoum over which hovered the Shade of Gordon; and under a
shell-swept hill in Ladysmith I have joined in the prayer of a besieged
garrison. These are memories that can never fade. Nor will there pass
out of remembrance the scene of that day when an army assembled among
the mountains of Manchuria to do honour to its dead.
No temple raised by human hands could be so majestic and so inspiring
as this valley edged round with purple hills and the deep blue of
heaven above. The walls of the tabernacle were flowing contours of
nearer hills clothed with pine trees and the shelving side of Mount
Phœnix seamed with dark coombs in which nestle shrines and sepulchral
mounds. Old marbles, ever beautiful, were never so rich and rare as
this carpet of brown and green and gold woven by field and grove and
river. Through every shade and tint they ran--from nutbrown to russet
and auburn, from verd antique to emerald and the tender green of
young corn; from orange to saffron and amber and burnished gold--all
blended in one splendid polychrome. Upon this spacious floor stood the
soldiers--eight thousand or more. They were men of the Second Division.
On the right were three regiments of infantry in brigade formation; a
regiment of cavalry was mounted between them and the artillery, who
were without their guns, and on the left stood the engineers and train
battalions. The long lines of khaki looked like a border of old gold in
a gorgeous prayer mat spread before an altar raised upon the heights.
Afar off on a lofty terrace in the shadow of a green bluff the priests
had built their sanctuary--an oblong enclosure marked by banners. The
entrance was a gate of two slender tree stems with a crossbar from
which hung two flags--white with a red sun in the centre--emblems
of Empire and of the Sun Goddess, from whom sprang the long line of
Mikados who have ruled Japan. On the right front of the enclosure
floated a black banner and on the left front a yellow, symbolising
victory and the return home.
At regular intervals were flags of white, blue, yellow, black, and red.
Each colour has its meaning, though what it is must remain the subject
of controversy. Some maintain that these primary colours represent five
elements--earth, air, water, fire, and death: others contend that they
are emblems of the four seasons and of the end of all things: some hold
that yellow signifies the earth, blue the East, red the South, white
the West, and black the North: others will urge that blue symbolises
the beginning of life, red prosperity, white perfection, yellow the
earth, and black death. That they have meaning is certain, though, like
much of the ritual of Shinto and Buddha, it is lost in the mist of ages.
At the back of the enclosure was the inner sanctuary, formed by four
poles hung with rope, from which were suspended narrow strips of white
paper known as “go-hei,” emblems of purity and resting places for the
souls of the departed. The altar was a table spread with a white cloth
upon which rested a mirror--symbol of perfection borrowed from the
Shingon sect of Buddhists. On each side stood an earthen pot from which
rose great paper flowers, red and white and blue, and before the altar
was a small table with a porcelain bowl that held a large pine branch
hung with strips of white paper. At the back of this inner sanctuary
rose a tablet of plain white wood bearing in Chinese characters the
legend: “To the memory of the souls of the departed.” Close by stood a
wooden pail with a wooden dipper, decorated with “go-hei,” to perform
the ceremony of lustration before prayer, and, at a short distance on
the right, was a small screened enclosure where the offerings were
laid. And about the shrine stood white covered trays and baskets,
laden with sacrificial gifts for the solace of the _manes_--heaps
of radishes, piles of rice cake, bottles of beer, flasks of saki, or
rice spirit, fish, and fowl--the fruits of the earth and of the waters
thereof.
To understand the ceremony it may be necessary to say something about
Shintoism. Whatever the country of its origin there can be little doubt
that in growth and development Shinto is a genuine product of Japanese
soil. The nature worship, which is a distinct part of its doctrine,
was probably inherited from the Ainu who first inhabited the island,
while the worship of heroes and ancestors was imported, like Buddhism,
from the mainland of Asia. The Pantheon of Shinto is crowded with a
host of deities; every stream, every mountain, every tree has its god
or goddess; and every hero and every ancestor has its place in Shinto
theocracy. Yet it is a religion only in name, for the Kannuski, or
priests, have no code of ethics and no doctrine of the destiny of man.
They teach no moral duty save that of obedience to natural impulses and
to the dictates of the Mikado. Their prayers are invocations to the
spirits of the dead, and their sermons are formal addresses, partly
eulogies, partly petitions, composed in a language of a remote period
not comprehended by the common people. Shinto, in short, is but a
shadowy cult of ghosts accompanied with sacrificial rites, and demands
of its disciples little more than a visit to some local temple at an
annual festival. Its creed may be summed up in two sentences: belief in
the continued existence of the dead--whether in a condition of joy or
pain is not revealed: and belief in the divine origin and divine right
of the Mikado. Its ritual is distinguished by severe simplicity; its
temples contain no idols; its priests wear no splendid garments; the
only incentives to worship are the mirror which symbolises perfection
and the white strips of paper which signify purity. Despite the absence
of inspiration, of a code of morals and of a theory of destiny--the
essentials of all religions--Shinto is still the national religion of
Japan, and every Japanese from his birth is placed under the protection
of some Shinto deity.
The bugles sounded the general salute, and the shrill notes lingered
in the sunlit air like dying peals of thunder as the solid lines of
khaki in the plain below came to attention. The ceremony had begun.
On the left of the sanctuary were arranged the officers of the First
Army--Major General Matsunaga, Major General Okaziki, Major General
Shibuya, and Major General Kodama--not the assistant chief of the
General Staff--with General Nishi, commander of the Second Division,
at their head. In this group were the foreign _attachés_, General
Sir Ian Hamilton and Colonel Hume having the places of honour. On the
opposite side stood three priests.
In ordinary times the Kannuski are not distinguishable from laymen, but
on this day they wore their sacerdotal robes--long loose gowns with
wide sleeves girdled at the waist. Upon their heads were black hats
shaped like the biretta with a widow’s cap and strings at the back. The
high priest--an old and bearded man of solemn and dignified bearing,
who looked more like a Parsee than a Japanese--wore a sword in a velvet
scabbard, and his gown was of red and black silk, closely resembling
the old-fashioned dimity. The gowns of his assistants were of
drab-watered silk, worn over regulation khaki trousers and regulation
army boots that compelled one to the conclusion that they were private
soldiers clothed for the nonce with priestly authority. Advancing
toward the altar, the priests stood before the shrine, clapped their
hands three times, placed them reverently together, bowed their heads,
and uttered the invocation to the dead. It was an invitation to the
souls of the departed to rest upon the white strips of paper, or
“go-hei.” Returning to their original places, one of the junior priests
took from the table in front of the altar the branch of pine. Raising
it aloft in his right hand he waved the branch over the heads of his
fellow priests, over the officers and _attachés_, and over the
offerings prepared in the little enclosed space. Then, moving to the
front of the sanctuary until he stood on the edge of the terrace, he
swept the air thrice over the heads of the multitude far below. This
was the act of purification in which the pine, or ever-green, signifies
sincerity.
The High Priest thereupon drew near to the altar, and bowing before it
took from his breast a scroll from which he recited in murmuring tones
these words:
“I, Hirokage Shimizu, Shinto priest, reverently speak to the souls of
Lieutenant Jiro Takuma and other officers and soldiers who died in the
battle of the Yalu and elsewhere, inviting them to approach the altar
which we have erected at the foot of Mount Teisen beyond the walls of
Feng-hoang-cheng. When friendly ties were broken and we came to the
Russians with weapons in our hands, you joined the Second Division and
marched to the front with the First Army, knowing that this was the
hour of sacrifice and of duty. Bravely did you endure hardship and
privation on sea and land, on mountain and in valley. But for you the
fight did not end there. On the first day in May you came to the Yalu
where the enemy had all the great advantages that nature had bestowed
on such a position. Here you fought with admirable courage amid hail of
bullet and flash of bayonet. Some of you did excellent service in the
work of reconnaissance, of road and bridge building and of transport.
All of you helped to achieve that brilliant victory which has added
lustre to the Empire and renown to the Army. Here in the citadel of
Feng-hoang-cheng we have some leisure and would willingly tell again
the story of that battle and talk over the future--but, alas, you are
separated from us by the dark veil of death. Alas! we can neither see
your brave faces nor hear your cheerful voices. Deeply do we feel this
separation--we who in brotherly love shared with you the hardships and
privations of the campaign. His Majesty, the Emperor, pleased with
your victory, has proclaimed his recognition of your services; your
countrymen applaud your courage and loyalty. Your merit is loftier than
Mount Phœnix; your fame is brighter than the waters of the Yalu. More
than worldly honour have you won. Your spirits will be forever with
the gods who guard the Empire, and your name will be cherished as an
example of loyalty. Who could withhold his respect; who would venture
to disregard your services. The General who commands this Division and
we also pay respect to your loyal souls by this memorial service held
on the fiftieth day after the battle of the Yalu, and by offerings
of sacred wine and meats. Humbly and reverently do we serve you with
the rest of your comrades. We pray you to accept our services and the
offerings laid upon the altar.”
This allocution ended, the High Priest stood near the shrine with face
turned toward the East, while one of his assistants received from the
hands of a soldier offerings to the dead. These sacrifices represent
the chief substances of human food--rice, wine, fish, fowl, vegetables,
natural sweets, such as fruit, artificial sweets, such as cakes, and
water and salt. Each offering rested on a ceremonial tray or tiny table
covered with white paper and was reverently handed to the High Priest
who placed it upon the altar. For a moment the ceremony was interrupted
while General Nishi descended the slope to escort Prince Kunni to his
place at the head of the officers. His Royal Highness was attended by
General Fujii, Chief of the Staff, and Colonel Hagino.
At the invitation of the High Priest, General Nishi stepped up to the
altar, saluted and opening out a scroll read this eulogy to the dead:--
“We meet on this sacred spot outside the walls of Feng-huang-cheng on
the 19th day of June on the 37th year of Meiji to do honour to the
memory of brave men, officers and soldiers--one hundred and fourteen
in number--who belonged to the Second Division and died in the service
of their country. You, brave dead, bade adieu to your native land
on the 1st day in March, and took part in the memorable attack on
Chiu-lien-cheng on May 1st, having reached the banks of the Yalu in
face of privations and hardships. This our first battle was destined
to test before the eyes of the world the merits of our army, and to
influence the spirit of our soldiers. Japanese courage, as the proverb
says, never fails till death has conquered it. The whole world knows
how we stood to the proof. Our enemy’s defences, strengthened by nature
and art, were easily won. Thus has the glory of Japan been heightened
and the prowess of our soldiers has been sharpened. Most of you fell
on that memorable day. Even now we have before our minds the picture
of your gallantry. Some few died in skirmishes that followed; and many
have fallen a prey to disease which pays no respect to meritorious
deeds. Our hearts bleed at the thought of your brave and noble deeds.
Rest in peace, precious souls! Be comforted by the sweet consciousness
that your brilliant exploits will be blazoned in letters of gold on the
page of history, and that your grand example of self-sacrifice will
be handed down from generation to generation. Our situation at the
front renders it impossible for us to make fit preparation for such a
celebration. Our offerings are small, but we commend our praise and
gratitude to the consecrated memory of the dead.”
Again the bugles rang out filling the valley with the inspiring music
of the anthem “Save our Country”; rifles rattled to the salute and the
army below stirred into life. It was the end. Sharp words of command
followed the notes of the bugle and the troops marched away to their
appointed places at the outposts and lines of defence. Meanwhile the
officers were laying upon the altar the last tribute of respect to the
_manes_ of their comrades. Upon a table near the shrine there
were many small branches of pine to each of which was attached a strip
of white paper. General Nishi strode forward and receiving one of these
branches saluted the altar and laid upon it this emblem of sincerity
and purity. Prince Kunni followed with other officers and the foreign
_attachés_, each of whom paid this tribute to the men who had
fallen in battle.