A GALLANT FIGHT.
The weak point in the Japanese line of defence was on the right near
Ponchiho, twenty miles East of General Kuroki’s main position at
Yentai. To this flank General Umizawa had returned after the battle of
Liao-yang in order to keep watch on the enemy’s movements. The greater
part of his brigade was ten miles north of Ponchiho--an important
depot--but was withdrawn as soon as it became evident that the Russians
were advancing in force. The retirement began at noon on October
7th, when stringent measures were taken to prevent the Chinese from
communicating with the enemy. Stores enough to feed the brigade for
three days and one hundred thousand rounds of ammunition were removed
during the night, and the last straggler reached Karensei at six
o’clock next morning before the Russians discovered that the position
had been abandoned.
The enemy did not lose much time. At ten o’clock on the 8th, infantry,
cavalry and artillery appeared in front of Ponchiho, and it was
manifest that General Umizawa’s small force was about to engage in a
desperate struggle, upon the success of which depended the security
of the whole Japanese army. On the following day the garrison found
itself threatened in front and on a flank. Its position was extremely
hazardous and the peril increased hourly. A battalion of infantry, a
regiment of cavalry, and three field pieces had crossed the Tai-tsu
with the intention of taking Ponchiho in the rear. Had the Japanese
been able to command even a mountain battery they might have prevented
the passage of the river, which was effected with provoking coolness
under their very noses. General Umizawa at Tumentiutzu was appealed
to for help, but was so hard pressed that he could spare only two
companies of infantry and two field guns. The enemy on the other hand
continued to receive large reinforcements and pressed the attack with
fury. After a short artillery preparation they made a fierce assault on
the position. Working their way up a steep and rugged mountain, three
hundred Russians charged the trenches. Only fifteen lived to carry
back the tale of heroism, which brought fresh troops to the venture.
Overwhelmed, the Japanese had to abandon the heights. The hills on
the road between Ponchiho and Tumentogling also were captured after
a Titanic struggle. The field wire was cut and communication with
the rest of the army was impossible. Couriers were dispatched with
messages for instant aid. Most of them fell by the way, but one or
two succeeded in carrying the news to Head-Quarters and returned with
the command: “You must hold the position to the last man.” A Japanese
soldier hardly needs to be told that. Like the Old Guard he dies--never
surrenders.
But help was at hand. General Kuroki and his staff were keenly alive
to the critical state of the right flank. As General Fujii graphically
remarked: “My food tasted bitter in my mouth,” for he realised that
unless aid was given without delay the whole army must fall back upon
Liao-yang. Though he could ill spare a man from any part of the line,
General Kuroki ordered the Twelfth Division to march to the relief of
Ponchiho.
The advance guard under General Shimamura came upon the scene late in
the afternoon and was received with frantic shouts of “Banzai” as they
rushed forward to the aid of their sorely pressed comrades. But this
accession by no means restored the balance, for the enemy received
fresh reinforcements and showed the greatest valour and determination.
Many and desperate were the encounters by day and by night. Rocky
Hill, to the North-west of Ponchiho, which commanded the neighbouring
heights, was assailed again and again and was finally retaken by the
Japanese. A company of infantry, sleeping near the foot of the hill,
was roused by its commander who had climbed the height and found the
Russians in possession.
Seizing the regimental colour the officer placed himself at the head of
the company. So swift and desperate was the counter attack that the
enemy was swept headlong down the slope and threw into confusion the
advance line of a battalion coming to the rescue. Before the Russians
recover themselves the Japanese were pouring volleys into their ranks.
The victory was complete and no attempt was made to recapture the
position.
On the same night the enemy approached a narrow defile, and finding no
Japanese marched boldly into the Pass. Both sides of the defile however
where held by men who watched the advent of the Russians and waited
silently until they had entered. Crowded together in this narrow space
the enemy suffered severely. Throughout the day both sides fought with
indomitable courage and energy, attack and counter-attack following
in swift succession. The advantage however was with the enemy, who
threw upon our flank ever increasing numbers and brought to bear on
our position no fewer than eighty guns--among them howitzers, against
which mountain guns were as children’s toys. Our losses were heavy,
and it was with profound relief that we heard that the division sent
to aid Ponchiho was in sight. The arrival of reinforcements gave new
energy to the gallant brigade that had so long withstood this desperate
onslaught, but produced no immediate change in the situation. The force
in front was still overwhelming, and had by no means abandoned the hope
of conquest. Attack was therefore impossible, and for a time, at any
rate, the Japanese were content to maintain their position.
The 9th of October was one of the most critical days of the war. The
Japanese losses near Ponchiho had been great; important positions had
been abandoned; ammunition was running short; the men were without
food, and communication with the rest of the army was difficult and
precarious.
Field Marshal Oyama recognised that the situation demanded desperate
measures. Though anxious to await the fall of Port Arthur before taking
the offensive, he felt that his hand had been forced. Orders were,
therefore, given for a general attack. When I left the field on the
night of the 10th it was manifest that passive resistance was at an
end, and that darkness would bring important developments. During the
night an attack was made by the Guards Division against the heights in
front of Bastion Hill. The enemy had adopted several ingenious devices
to guard against surprises. In some places they had stretched wires
and chains charged with electricity of high potentiality. Their latest
artifice was a string of camel bells, against which an unwary enemy
stumbling announces his approach, and is welcomed with a volley.
Despite this warning and the use of hand grenades the attack was so far
successful that at daybreak we had strengthened our hold on the hills
North of Yentai, though the Russians continued to occupy Bastion Hill
and the spurs in front.
With dawn the battle began. A mist hung over the plain and clung to the
skirts of the hills, making it impossible to see what progress was
on our front. Out of the white vapours came the rattle of rifles and
the roar of artillery resounding through the valley like a tornado.
The Pride of the Morning scattered, and the sun lit up the scene with
a gentle radiance. Before us lay the broad valley with its sheaves of
giant millet among the brown furrows and yellow stubble. The villages
were deserted save for a few of their blue-gowned habitants who stood
in terrified groups behind the outer walls. Chentow, a large village
nearest the hills, was under fire from two batteries at the foot of
Bastion Hill. Behind the walls lay our riflemen listening to the angry
snarl of the shrapnel as it burst overhead, and laughing as they felt
the solid stone masonry throb and sputter under the leaden hail. Our
batteries had moved from under the hills near the coal mine. One stood
in the open South-west of Chentow masked by millet, striving to silence
Bastion Hill and drawing upon itself the concentrated fire of sixteen
guns.
I have called attention to the grave disability under which the
Japanese labour by reason of the inferior range and weight of their
artillery. Never was the disadvantage more painfully demonstrated than
on this day, when the infantry were in need of their support, and when
the chances of a whole lifetime escaped under their very muzzles. The
ground about the battery was covered with shrapnel as the tiny white
clouds burst in the sky, the bases of shells throwing up brown clouds
of earth, and the bullets rippling over the loose friable loam like
heavy rain drops. Very terrible it looked, yet no damage was done. The
men took refuge in deep pits, out of which they came occasionally to
serve the guns, or to bring ammunition from the wagons. The practice
of taking shelter when a battery is under fire is one that commends
itself at first sight, but reflection and observation shew that it
may become a vicious and a dangerous habit, and may seriously affect
the usefulness of artillery in action. In every other respect the
Japanese guns are skilfully handled. Happily, the Russian gunners are
not without defects. Their shrapnel bursts high, and the French system
of _Rafale_--that is giving each gun in a battery a slightly
different range--is not a success in their hands. For several hours the
unequal artillery duel went on. Occasionally the batteries at Bastion
Hill would seek a new objective, and the tree tops about the villages
would be flecked with white clouds. From the mountains beyond Bastion
Hill to the East the enemy’s guns kept up a desultory cannonade against
the hills on our front, and from one of our batteries on the plain to
the West came spasmodic replies.
At noon there was no apparent change. Our infantry remained in the same
positions; some like locusts in the hollows; others behind the walls
of Chentow; still more in the brown seams of the heights beyond the
valley. Suddenly all eyes turned to the flowing contour of the ridge
in front of Bastion Hill. The advance had begun. With heads bent, as
in a hurricane, a company of Japanese were racing up a hill, on which
were two trenches. Taking them in reverse, they charged the Russians,
and shot them down before they seemed aware of the approach. The fight
was short and sharp and bloody. Then they vanished. Presently I saw
them again coming over the brow of the hill. They descended the slope
to the saddle and threw themselves into a deep gully on the flank of
another eminence. Here they lay to recover breath, and prepare for
another charge. Out they came in a few minutes; at first a dozen, then
six, then in twos and threes. Never were soldiers fleeter of foot
than these brave Japanese, and never did men stand in greater need of
speed and daring. Scattering, they ran, some to the right, others to
the left--all making for the summit. Bullets swept over and around and
among them. I could see the tiny spurts of yellow earth that rose in
their path as the zip, zip, zip of lead lashed the air with invisible
whips. One fell, and another and another. Would they ever gain the
crest? We held our breath. Now they have returned to the left, and are
lying down hugging the ground while the leaden storm sweeps over them.
They are up again, and moving forward more slowly in extended irregular
line. Half a dozen men are in front. They reach the summit. Then out
of the earth spring grey forms to meet them. Rifles flash and the dark
blue uniforms vanish. The noble six have fallen. But their comrades are
advancing. Another second, and they appear on the crest. Again the grey
figures rise--a steady resolute line tipped with steel. Back fall the
Japanese. Even in that terrible moment they obey the voice of their
officer, who stands before them with drawn sword. They have formed
line. Their bayonets flash in the sunlight. Twenty paces divide the
lines of grey and blue. In the twinkling of an eye they meet. One mad
rush, and they are welded together in a grip that nothing save death
can loosen. For a moment I see the thrusting of cold steel and the
scorching flash of rifle. Then the grey line breaks into fragments and
rolls out of sight. The dark blue uniforms draw closer together. Their
ranks are thinned, yet they never look back. Again they move forward,
and from a second trench springs another line of grey.
They are brave men these Russians, and face death unflinching. Another
rush--another wild scrimmage of steel and lead and human forms, and all
that is left of the grey line tumbles like a wave over the hill. The
slope is strewn with dead. Even now there is no pause in the Japanese
advance. Closing their broken ranks they run to the crest of the hill,
and standing boldly on the sky-line raise their rifles to the shoulder.
Not until I passed over this dreadful hill could I realise what was
happening in the ravine beyond. Here were trenches and gullies out of
which the enemy were fleeing into the wood and along the valley hidden
by low hills. The dead lay everywhere--in the trenches, in the gullies,
in the valley and in the wood--shot down by the rifles on the hill.
Few escaped that terrible battue. A score of fugitives we saw running
for life out of this valley of the shadow of death. They had thrown
aside great coat and rifle. Now and then a man would fall forward and
rise no more; here and there a man would stumble and rise to limp along
painfully. The hurricane of lead followed close on their tracks.
West of this ravine out of which the enemy ran in ones and twos and
threes the two Russian batteries were still at their ineffectual work,
and a large force of cavalry and infantry were massed. The front of the
plain near Bastion Hill was black with them. After a time they moved.
Column after column passed behind a grove of firs into a village at
the foot of the Northern heights. Had the retreat begun? Outside the
village they halted and faced to the front. Were they about to deliver
a counter attack? We looked again and saw a column return and march
away into the mountains. From the East along the plain beyond came
more Russians--infantry and cavalry and guns. They, too, crossed the
stream and made slowly for the hills. Two batteries with an escort of
Cossacks and infantry came from the village and moved Eastward as if to
meet some unseen danger where guns had been booming solemnly all day.
There was much marching and counter-marching that brought to the lips
of the observer the military adage: “Order, counter-order, disorder.”
Doubtless all these perplexing movements of the enemy had their
meaning. To us they admitted of one interpretation. The Russian attack
had failed all along the line and the retreat had begun.