TO PORT ARTHUR.
The reader is now asked to transport himself on the magic carpet of
his imagination to that great fortress at the Southern extremity of
the Kwantung Peninsula, whose occupation by Russia must be regarded
as the _fons et origo_ of the war. I have already described how
little the Mikado’s strategists suspected that Port Arthur was capable
of prolonged resistance against determined and repeated assault;
how materially their plan of campaign would have been modified had
their calculations been more accurate; and yet how essential it was
to their complete command of the sea that this ice-free port should
pass into their hands. It was on October 8th, a month after his
retreat from Liao-yang, that General Kuropatkin exhorted the army in
Mukden to renewed efforts, by the assurance that the time had come
for a triumphant advance, and that the Czar had at length given him
a sufficient force to command victory. But we know that the dismayed
and distracted Ministers at St. Petersburg had commanded the General
to strike one last despairing blow for the relief of the fortress. We
know, also, that on the following day Field-Marshal Oyama was obliged,
by the seriousness of the Russian movements, to engage in battle,
although his own desire had been to refrain from action until the
expected news of the fall of Port Arthur had arrived. In their estimate
of the garrison’s capacity for further resistance, the Russians were
more correct than their foes, for had he carried out his predilection,
Oyama would have lingered in his position till the dawn of the New
Year. As will be shown in the following chapters, the condition of
the stronghold was by no means so desperate as was imagined by friend
and enemy alike; and, as a matter of fact, the surrender, when it did
come, was, in the opinion of many competent to arrive at a verdict,
premature, and not the occasion of sheer necessity.
The Japanese in Manchuria, however, seemed confident that the end
was at hand. One heard the capture spoken of as an impending event,
that might any morning prove to be a reality; and I have little
doubt that in the background of the Field Marshal’s schemes lay the
expectation that he would soon receive the welcome reinforcement of
General Nogi’s legions. I owe it to the exceptional kindness of the
military authorities that they fell in with my request to be allowed
to detach myself from General Kuroki’s command and to turn my steps
southward. When we correspondents were released from the wearisome
and exasperating detention in Tokyo, and were at length allowed to
land in the theatre of war, we were given clearly to understand that
each must remain with the particular command to which he was allotted,
and that any attempt to break away and attach himself to a different
portion of the army would render one liable to condign punishment,
in the form of a restricted or cancelled permit. These conditions
involved less of a lottery than might, superficially, appear to be
the case, for the scale of operations was so gigantic that there was
fair reason to hope that everyone would witness a good share of the
fighting. Some might miss this engagement and some that, but as it was
evident that every available Japanese soldier would be required at one
point or another, there was not much risk of being left ingloriously
on lines of communication, or of eating one’s heart out in inaction
when stupendous doings were being enacted at another part of the area
of warfare. Still, I must own to a peculiar sense of gratification
when the permission arrived for me to proceed to Port Arthur, and need
hardly say that I lost as little time as possible in availing myself of
the privilege. Of course, it entailed the loss of witnessing the fierce
struggle before Mukden--even a war correspondent cannot be North and
South at the same time--but I had seen my share of the fighting between
the armies in the field, and was confident of the result. The surrender
of Port Arthur was a far more important and stirring episode in the
history of the war than another defeat, on however grand a scale, of
Kuropatkin’s gallant but disheartened soldiers.
I will not delay the narrative by describing my progress south to
General Nogi’s command. Suffice it to say that fear lent wings to
my feet--fear, lest I should arrive too late. But, however eager my
desire to proceed with all speed, the means available, the state of
the country, and the war conditions prevailing, did not conduce to
rapid travelling, and I arrived almost on the eve of the surrender,
and counted myself highly fortunate in doing so. My credentials at
once obtained for me the kindest reception from General Nogi and his
Staff, and I was privileged to be an eye-witness of the proceedings
that attended the handing over of the proud fortress to the triumphant
Japanese. Of the awful fighting that for months preceded the final act
it is not my duty to speak. The assaults by land and sea, the mines
and counter-mines, the spade work above ground and below, the gradual
advance of the trenches, the nearer approach of the crescent of siege
artillery, the ferocious bayonet struggles in attack and defence, the
ghastly stories of empalements on merciless stakes, of destruction of
life by grenade and bomb, of living bodies torn to shreds on barbed
wire entanglements--these have been described by other pens, wielded by
those who have the authority of personal knowledge. I simply present to
the reader the record of my own experiences.