CROSSING THE RIVER
Despite the fact that there had been some hand-to-hand conflicts, the
great battle of the Yalu had so far been largely one of artillery. Many
batteries had been brought into play, and fearful execution had been
rendered, both on the islands and on either side of the broad river and
near the mouth of the Ai.
But now this was to be changed. Just in front of Tiger Hill rested
four miles of Japanese soldiers, awaiting the order to ford the stream
as best they could, and storm the Russian position before them. Other
soldiers were on the islands, also in readiness to cross. This was on
Sunday morning, May 1, 1904,—a date well worth remembering.
Before dawn the Japanese commander-in-chief had everything in readiness
for the advance. The soldiers were close to the water front, but
screened from view by low hills and small patches of timber.
“Forward,” came the command for Major Okopa’s battalion, about seven
o’clock, and in less than a minute they were on the move. As luck
would have it, they were placed next to the sharpshooters to which
Casey and Stummer belonged, and the two commands started to cross the
Ai less than a hundred feet apart.
The Japanese batteries had already “opened the ball,” as Ben termed it,
doing their best to disclose the batteries of the enemy. But General
Kashtalinsky had learned a lesson the day before, and did not allow a
shot to be fired in return until the troops of the Mikado absolutely
compelled him to do so. Then his batteries roared forth as never
before, doing execution that was frightful in the extreme.
The advance of the Japanese to the water’s edge was in open-front
order. But the fords were narrow, and as a consequence the infantry had
to bunch up the instant they entered the stream. They now formed an
excellent target for the Russians behind the hills of the other shore,
and man after man dropped, as bullets and shrapnel came whistling in
that direction. But the advance was not checked, those in the rear
fairly pushing those in front ahead. As the batteries of the Mikado
had now discovered the position of the enemy’s guns, they did all they
could to silence the pieces. This bombardment was deafening and created
a great smoke which swept along the river like a pall.
Along with their commands, Gilbert and Ben plunged into the stream,
which at some points in the fords was waist-deep. The footing was
slippery, and they had to be careful to keep from going down. Some
did fall, among them Carl Stummer, who struck on his back with a loud
splash and then disappeared for a second.
“Hullo, Cart, are ye hit?” sang out Dan Casey, who was close by.
“No, I ton’t vos hit,” spluttered the German sharpshooter. “Put I got
me apout a gallon of vater in alretty! Of I known der rifer vos so
schlippery, I but me sbikes mine shoes in, hey?”
“’Twouldn’t be a bad idea,” answered Casey, with a grin. “But come on,
onless ye want to be lift behind,” and forward he raced, to rejoin
those who had plunged ahead.
As the infantry gained the middle of the stream the fire of the
Russians became hotter than ever. Soldiers went down by the score, some
few killed and the rest wounded. Of the latter, sad to relate, many
were drowned before they could be picked up.
As Gilbert plunged on, he and his command drew closer to the
sharpshooters who were following Dan Casey. The gallant Irishman was
shouting and hurrahing wildly, and waving his hand for the others to
hurry up.
“Come, b’ys, come,” he called, regardless of the fact that nearly all
the Japanese understood not a word of what he said. “Come, I tell ye!
Be th’ first to make the Roossians run an’ win a medal! Don’t be after
actin’ like ye had lead in yer feet! _Banzai!_”
The last word was understood, and “_Banzai_,” ran all along the line.
The Irishman was well liked by all who knew him, and his courageous
spirit made those around him press forward more eagerly than ever.
Like Stummer, Ben had slipped in the water, and this placed him a
little behind Gilbert. The latter and Casey were almost side by
side,—each in water up to his waist.
Suddenly Gilbert saw the Irishman throw up both hands and clutch at the
air. His heart almost stopped beating, for he knew that such a movement
could mean but one thing—that Casey had been wounded. Then he saw the
Irishman pitch headlong into the stream and disappear.
“Dan,” he called, and at that moment he realized how much he thought of
this comrade of so many fights. He plunged forward and felt around in
the stream. Bullets were whistling all around him, but to these he just
then paid no attention. If Casey was still alive, he felt he must do
all in his power to save him from drowning.
At last he got hold of the Irish sharpshooter, and with a strong effort
he raised his wounded comrade from the water. The poor fellow was
breathing heavily and spluttering.
“Where are you hit, Dan?” he asked quickly.
“In th—the side. Oh!” And then Casey closed his eyes and went off into
a faint.
For the moment Gilbert did not know what to do; the next he had his
comrade of many fights over his shoulder, and was rushing forward
as fast as before. Luckily the shore was not far away, and in a few
minutes he gained the shelter of some brushwood, just as Carl Stummer
came after him.
“Vat’s der madder mit Tan?”
“He is wounded, Carl. Come, let us see if we can’t do something for
him.”
An examination revealed the fact that Casey had received a bullet
through his right side. Gilbert was no surgeon, but experience told him
that while the hurt was bad enough it would probably not be fatal. He
tore off the sleeve of his shirt for a bandage, and bound up the wound
as well as his limited means permitted, Stummer assisting.
“Can you look after him now, Carl? I must rejoin my company, I suppose.”
“Yah, I look after him,” answered the German sharpshooter “Poor Tan!
and he vos vonts to fight so pad, too.”
“Fortunes of war,” returned Gilbert laconically; and then he ran off at
top speed, in the direction Major Okopa’s command had taken.
He found the battalion fighting desperately. They were moving up a
long hill, at the top of which was planted a Russian battery. To the
left was a long line of intrenchments, filled with Russian soldiers,
and bullets and shells were whistling and screaming through the air as
thickly as ever.
Had the infantry been compelled to face what was before them unaided,
the Japanese victory might not have been so complete. But the Japanese
batteries had now located the Russian intrenchments, and shells and
shrapnel were poured into them, turning them into veritable slaughter
pens. But from these same intrenchments the enemy fired steadily on the
advancing sons of Nippon, and many a red banner went down in the dust
and smoke.
At last Gilbert and Ben found themselves close together once more. The
companies were climbing from rock to rock up the long slope, utilizing
every shelter as best they could. All around them the battle continued,
up and down and across the river.
“Hurrah, the Russians are retreating!” was the cry of the Japanese,
about ten o’clock. The news proved true, some of the batteries
and infantry were moving back to Hon-mu-tang, on the road to
Feng-wang-cheng.
The fact that the enemy was falling back was hailed with savage delight
by the Japanese, and forward they went with vigor, charging over the
wide plain behind the hill. Here occurred some bloody hand-to-hand
conflicts, and one Russian regiment, the Eleventh Siberian, was almost
surrounded and captured. But a priest who chanced to be along ordered
a bayonet charge, and led the way to safety by running ahead holding
aloft a crucifix.
Antung had been abandoned, the Russians setting fire to the town before
leaving, and now Kiu-lien-cheng was likewise evacuated. Re-enforcements
were expected by the soldiers of the Czar, but they did not come up in
time to be of use in stemming the sweeping advance of the Japanese.
It was now that Gilbert and Ben fully realized what the Japanese
soldiers could do when put to it. They fought like very demons and
never seemed to grow weary of charging and of using either gun or
bayonet. Many were without ammunition, but to this they gave scant
attention. Those who were wounded but slightly still kept at the
struggle, with blood pouring from their faces and bodies. They were
fighting for their beloved Mikado and fair Nippon, and to die would
be glory. Never once, even under the heaviest fire, did they think of
retreating.
“We haven’t learned the meaning of that word,” said Major Okopa grimly,
to Gilbert, as he wiped the sweat of battle from his brow. “Were some
to retreat without orders, I imagine they would be court-martialed and
beheaded.”
But all battles must come to an end sooner or later, and by sundown the
great struggle for the Yalu was over, and the victory was entirely in
the hands of the Japanese, while the Russians were well on the way to
Feng-wang-cheng. The battle had thoroughly exhausted both sides, and
the Japanese were content to rest on their laurels, while the Russians
did what they could to reorganize their shattered forces and construct
a new line of defense.
The great battle of the Yalu was remarkable in more ways than one. For
the first time in history a well-organized European army was defeated
by an army of the Asiatic race. The Japanese had proved themselves not
only masters of the art of war on the sea but also on land, and the
victory was so complete that it left no room for doubt. In the future
Japan would have to be reckoned with as one of the world powers.