TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Illustration of title page are Japanese characters (kanji) for “Human
Bullet”.
—Illustrations at the beginning of each chapter are Japanese kanji
indicating the chapter number. Translation has been provided as
caption.
HUMAN BULLETS
[Illustration]
HUMAN BULLETS
A SOLDIER’S STORY OF PORT ARTHUR
BY
TADAYOSHI SAKURAI
LIEUTENANT I. J. A.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY COUNT OKUMA
TRANSLATED BY EDITED BY
MASUJIRO HONDA ALICE MABEL BACON
[Illustration: Japanese kanji for “Human Bullet”]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
1907
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1907_
CONTENTS
EDITOR’S PREFACE vii
INTRODUCTION BY COUNT OKUMA ix
AUTHOR’S PREFACE xiii
I. MOBILIZATION 3
II. OUR DEPARTURE 14
III. THE VOYAGE 22
IV. A DANGEROUS LANDING 27
V. THE VALUE OF PORT ARTHUR 37
VI. THE BATTLE OF NANSHAN 42
VII. NANSHAN AFTER THE BATTLE 52
VIII. DIGGING AND SCOUTING 63
IX. THE FIRST CAPTIVES 70
X. OUR FIRST BATTLE AT WAITU-SHAN 77
XI. THE OCCUPATION OF KENZAN 84
XII. COUNTER-ATTACKS ON KENZAN 89
XIII. ON THE DEFENSIVE 100
XIV. LIFE IN CAMP 110
XV. SOME BRAVE MEN AND THEIR MEMORIAL 118
XVI. THE BATTLE OF TAIPO-SHAN 126
XVII. THE OCCUPATION OF TAIPO-SHAN 137
XVIII. THE FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE 147
XIX. THE FIRST AID STATION 158
XX. FOLLOWING UP THE VICTORY 166
XXI. THE STORMING OF TAKU-SHAN 174
XXII. SUN FLAG ON TAKU-SHAN 184
XXIII. PROMOTION AND FAREWELLS 194
XXIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE GENERAL ASSAULT 204
XXV. A RAIN OF HUMAN BULLETS 214
XXVI. THE FORLORN HOPE 227
XXVII. LIFE OUT OF DEATH 239
APPENDICES 257
EDITOR’S PREFACE
MUCH is being said just now about the Japanese as a war-loving nation,
likely to become aggressors in the struggle for the control of the
Pacific. This little book of Lieutenant Sakurai’s will, perhaps, help
to set us right in regard to the spirit in which the Japanese soldier
fights. The story was told originally, not for a foreign audience, but
to give to his own countrymen a true picture of the lives and deaths,
the joys and sorrows, of the men who took Port Arthur. Its enthusiastic
reception in Japan, where forty thousand copies were sold within the
first year, is the justification of translator and editor in offering
it to the American public.
The tale, so simply told, so vivid, so characteristically Japanese in
spirit and in execution, is the work of a man of twenty-five who sees
the world with all the glow and courage and enthusiasm of youth. Its
honesty speaks in every line and word.
If, as seems now possible, the great new lesson set for the Twentieth
Century is to be the meeting and mutual comprehension of Eastern and
Western civilization and ideals, there can be no better textbook for
us Americans than “Human Bullets,” a revelation of the inmost feelings
of a Japanese soldier of remarkable intelligence, spirituality, and
power of expression. No better opportunity can be found for the study
of Japanese psychology and for the gaining of a sympathetic insight
into what the loyal sons of Japan love to call “Yamato-Damashii,” the
Spirit of Old Japan.
A. M. B.
INTRODUCTION
RECENTLY a retired officer of the Russian army and a correspondent of
the “Russ” came to call upon me. When war broke out between Russia and
Japan he was at Harbin; soon afterward he was summoned to Port Arthur
and set out thither. But by that time communication had been cut off by
our army, and in consequence he was obliged to return to Vladivostock.
According to my visitor’s story the railway trains from the Russian
capital were loaded with decorations and prize money, and the officers
and men traveling in the same trains were in the highest of spirits,
as if they had been going through a triumphal arch after a victory
accomplished. They seemed to believe that the civilized Russian army
was to crush into pieces the half-civilized forces of Japan and that
the glittering decorations and jingling gold were soon to be theirs.
They did not entertain in the least the feeling with which a man enters
a tiger’s den or knocks at death’s door. The Japanese fighters, on
the contrary, marched bravely to the front, fully prepared to suffer
agonies and sacrifice their lives for their sire and their country,
with the determination of the true old warrior who went to war ready
to die, and never expected to come back alive. The Russian army lacked
harmony and cooperation between superiors and inferiors. Generals
were haughty, and men weary; while officers were rich, soldiers were
left hungry. Such relations are something like those between dogs and
monkeys.[1] On the other hand, the Japanese army combined the strictest
of discipline with the close friendship of comrades, as if they were
all parents and sons, or brothers. Viewed from this standpoint, the
success or failure of both armies might have been clearly foreseen
even before the first battle. My Russian guest spoke thus, and his
observations seem to the point.
The army of our country is strict in discipline and yet harmonious
through its higher and lower ranks. The soldiers vie with each other
in offering themselves on the altar of their country, the spirit
of self-sacrifice prevails to a marked degree. This is the true
characteristic of the race of Yamato. And in the siege of Port Arthur
this sublime national spirit showed itself especially vigorous.
Materially calculated, the loss and damage to our besieging army was
enormous. If, however, the spiritual activity this great struggle
entailed is taken into consideration, our gain was also immense,—it
has added one great glory to the history of our race. Even the lowest
of soldiers fought in battle-fields with unflinching courage, and faced
death as if it were going home,[2] and yet the bravest were also the
tenderest. Many a time they must have shed secret tears, overwhelmed
with emotion, while standing in the rainfall of bullets. They respected
and obeyed the dictates at once of honor and duty in all their service,
and shouted Banzai to His Imperial Majesty at the moment of death.
Their display of the true spirit of the Japanese Samurai is radically
different from the behavior of men who appear on the fighting line with
only the prospect of decorations and money before their eyes.
Lieutenant Sakurai is the younger brother of my friend Mr. Hikoichiro
Sakurai. He had a personal share in the tragedy of Port Arthur and
is a brave soldier with no little literary talent. I had read with
interest the lieutenant’s letters written while at the front, giving
an inside view as well as an outside one of the war and describing
the delicate workings of the human heart at such a time. Later I was
very sorry to hear that he had been seriously wounded in the first
general assault. He has written out the facts of the siege, with the
left hand spared him by the enemy’s shot. He tells us grand stories
and sad stories, portrays the pathetic human nature in which fortitude
and tears are woven together, and depicts to us the great living drama
of Port Arthur, with his sympathetic pen. I must congratulate him on
his success. To make clear the true cause of the unbroken series of
successes vouchsafed to our Imperial Army, to make known to the public
the loyalty and bravery of many a nameless hero, and thus to comfort
the spirits of those countless patriots whose bones lie bleaching in
the wilderness of Liaotung, is a kind of work for which we must largely
depend upon such men as Lieutenant Sakurai, who have fought and who
can write. He has blazed the way with marked success in this most
interesting field of war literature.
SHIGENOBU OKUMA.
_April, 1906._
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
THE Russo-Japanese War! This tremendous struggle is now happily at an
end, and the hundreds of thousands of brave and loyal officers and
men have come back from the fields with laurels on their heads, and
welcomed by a grateful nation. What a triumphant air! How happy they
look! But in their hearts is something behind the joy. At the back of
their smiles lie hid the deep sorrow and the often forced-back tears
for the multitudes of their comrades who, for the cause of their
country and of His Majesty, have turned their bodies into the earth of
lone Manchuria and cannot share in the delight of the triumphal return.
Toward the end of the Sinico-Japanese War, a certain detachment was
ordered home, and before sailing paid a final visit to the graves of
their dead comrades. One private stepped out of the ranks and stroked
the tombstone of his special chum, saying with falling tears:—
“Dear Kato! I am going back to Japan. We have faced wind and rain
together and fought in the hail-storm of bullets together, and you
died instead of me, and I am going home in safety. I feel as if I were
not doing right. I am very sad to leave you here alone—but be happy,
dear Kato, Liaotung Peninsula is now ours! Your bones are buried in the
Japanese soil. Be at ease. Understand, Kato?—I have to go.”
He talked as if to a living friend. Every word was from the bottom
of his heart, trying to comfort the departed spirit of his patriotic
comrade. His loving bosom was full of a sense of the eternal separation
of the living from the dead. He was silent and in tears for a while,
then wiped his eyes and cheeks, offered water to the grave from his
water bottle, and reluctantly resumed his place in the ranks.
That detachment who sailed home from Liaotung Peninsula a decade ago
learned on their way that the peninsula was wrested from them. Poor
Kato, who died with a smile for his country, did he die in vain? And
was his heroism all for nothing? The rage and disappointment of his
comforter may well be imagined, for after all loyal Kato’s ashes were
not buried in the Japanese soil.
For ten years we had been waiting and preparing for a chance of
chastising the unjust. When the invincible Imperial Army first landed
on that battle-ground of ten years before, how eagerly they must have
been welcomed by the spirits of their dead friends who could not find
a permanent rest buried in a place which was once theirs and then was
not. When I landed on the peninsula and printed my footsteps on its
earth, I cried out with a spontaneous joy: “This is also Japanese soil!
Bought by the blood of our brave fellows at arms!”
I paid constant attention while at the front to find traces of those
buried there during the previous war, but could not find even a rotten
piece of wood marking such a spot. But I felt sure that their spirits
were always with us and guiding us in the battles, stirring us up to do
our very best for the country and for the sire.
“Beneath this your elder brothers’ ashes are buried! Above here your
comrades’ spirits must be soaring, unable to find an eternal place of
rest! Men die, but their souls do not perish. Your comrades in the
world beyond are fighting with you in this great struggle!” were the
words with which I used to stimulate men under my command.
Through the abundant grace of Heaven and the illustrious virtue of His
Majesty, the Imperial forces defeated the great enemy both on land and
sea. Our arms were crowned with an unparalleled success and our country
with awe-inspiring dignity and world-wide glory. And the peninsula
wrested from us is once more under our care, the neglected graves of
those who perished in the unsuccessful struggle ten years ago are once
more being properly attended to. The story of how over one million men
left their homes and country, ready and willing to die for the great
cause, and of how they passed eighteen months of hardship and privation
among the mountains of Liaotung, on the plains of Manchuria, and on the
waters of the Yellow Sea and the Sea of Japan, will forever be told to
posterity in the history of our country.
The record of the great Russo-Japanese War will be written by the pens
of able historians and writers. I simply as an insignificant fighter
who took part in what may be called some of the hardest and ugliest
battles in the annals of warfare and of strategy, of all times and
of all nations, propose herein to describe with a hand not at all
familiar with the holding of a pen, recollections of what I personally
experienced and observed in the siege of Port Arthur, so that those
who have not been in a similar position may picture to themselves the
actual scene as best they can.
TADAYOSHI SAKURAI.
HUMAN BULLETS
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. I.]
MOBILIZATION
IN the second month of the thirty-seventh year of Meiji,[3] the
diplomatic relations between Japan and Russia were severed, and the two
nations began hostilities. At the outset our navy dealt a stunning blow
to the Russian war vessels at Chemulpo and off Port Arthur. His August
Majesty issued a proclamation of war. Mobilization orders were issued
to different divisions of the army. At this moment we, the soldiers
of Japan, all felt our bones crackle and our blood boil up, ready to
give vent to a long-stored energy. Mobilization! How sweetly the word
gladdened our hearts, how impatiently we waited to be ordered to the
front! What division was mobilized to-day? What one will have its turn
to-morrow? How long shall we have to wait? May the order come at once!
May we find ourselves in the field without delay! Not that we wished
to distinguish ourselves and win honors in the early battles, but
that we hated the idea of arriving at the scene after other divisions
had borne all the burden of the first struggle. But what could we do
without Imperial orders? We were soldiers always ready to “jump into
water and fire at the Great Sire’s word of command.”[4] We had to wait
for the word “Advance!” How eagerly we watched for that single word,
for that order of mobilization, as drought-suffering farmers watch for
a rain-cloud in the sky! We offered “mobilization prayers” as they
offer “rain prayers.” Wherever we went, whomsoever we met, we talked of
nothing but mobilization. At last about the middle of April, the month
of cherry-blossoms,[5] emblematic of the spirit of Japan’s warriors,
our division received this longed-for order. Ordered to the front! Our
garrison was granted the golden opportunity of untrammeled activity.
I was at that time the standard-bearer of the regiment. I said to our
commander on hearing this glad news: “Hearty congratulations, Colonel;
we have just received the order.”
Upon which Colonel Aoki smiled a smile indescribably happy as if he
welcomed the order and exclaimed, “It has come at last!”
That was the happiest day we had ever experienced, and I could not help
going around, half in frenzy, to the officers of all the companies to
carry the news to them. A mysterious kind of spiritual electricity
seemed to permeate the whole garrison, composed of the flower of the
“Land of the Gods.” Every one, both officers and privates, seemed ready
to fight the whole of Russia single-handed. Our souls were already on
the great stage of Liaotung, while our bodies still remained in our own
country.
The men of the first and second Reserve were none the less anxious
and quick to gather round their standard. Some of them were so poor
that their wives and children seemed likely to starve without them,
others came from the sick beds of old, dying parents;—all must have had
cares and anxieties to detain them. But now the emergency had arisen,
and the time had come for them to “offer themselves courageously for
the State.”[6] What a privilege, they all thought, for a man to be
permitted to give his life for the nation’s cause! When we saw them
swarm together day after day, our hearts bounded with redoubled joy and
strength.
Here is a sad story of this time. Nakamura, a private of the first
Reserve, had an invalid wife and a baby of three. They were extremely
poor, and the family would starve without the husband. Of course,
however, the family trouble had no place in their minds before a
national crisis. On the eve of her husband’s departure, the poor
emaciated woman gathered all her scanty strength, went to the town
near by and bought two _go_[7] of rice and one _sen_[8] worth of fuel.
This handful of grain and bundle of firewood, are they really as
insignificant as they seem to be? Nay, the two _go_ of rice and the
_sen_ worth of wood were for the loving wife’s farewell banquet[9]
in honor of her husband’s great opportunity. And yet at the time of
separation, the wife was sick and the child starving, and the husband
going to give his life to his country! In the morning, before daybreak,
Nakamura bade good-by to wife and baby, and without a farewell from
his neighbors hastened bravely to his post. Such was only one out of
hundreds of thousands of similar heartrending instances. The kind
and sympathetic people left at home at once began to relieve these
unfortunate families, so that the men at the front could devote their
whole attention and energy to their duties as soldiers.
When the men of the first and second Reserve arrived in their garrison,
some of them were rejected on account of insufficient health or
physique. How sad and crestfallen they looked when thus rejected!
“Please, can’t you take me in some way? They gave me such a great
send-off when I left the village, they _banzaied_[10] me over and over
again when my train started. I came here determined not to go home
again. How can I stand the disgrace of going back to my neighbors as
a useless failure? Do please take me with you,” they would entreat.
The officers in charge had great difficulty in soothing and comforting
these “failures” and persuading them to go home.
“Good luck to you! Your family will be well taken care of. All right,
eh?”
“All right, all right! I will bring you a dozen or two of the
Russkies’s heads when I come back!”
“My dear Saku, don’t die of an illness; if you die, die on the
battle-field. Don’t worry about your brother!”
“I am ready not to tread on the soil of Japan again with this pair of
legs.[11] Be happy with me, when you hear that I died in battle.”
“Thank you all for seeing me off so kindly. I will return your kindness
by distinguishing myself in the field.”
Words like these sounded at the doorways of the barracks everywhere.
The men anxious to serve; the nation to help their families; was this
not the secret of our splendid victory?
We were busy night and day until the mobilizing was completed. Some
were assigned to field regiments, others were put on the waiting-list,
and soon we were ready to start at a moment’s notice.
Those who were left at home to fill up vacancies later on were sorely
disappointed, and entreated their officers to allow them to join
the fighting regiments at once. Their comrades had to comfort and
encourage, cheer and praise these disappointed men, explaining to them
that the war with Russia was not likely to come to an end in six months
or even in a year; that their turn was sure to come before long; that
it was not at all a disgrace to be on the waiting-list, on the contrary
that they were to have the honor of dealing the finishing stroke to the
enemy.
After our regiment was ready to start, one sad affair took place.
Togo Miyatake was one of those who were lodged in a Buddhist temple
called Kwan-nonji to wait for a later summons. He was in good health
and excellent spirits. When leaving home he had promised his parents,
brothers, and friends that he would be among the first to help win
battles. Now, instead of dying in the field, he had to wait, doing
nothing. He did not know when he would be sent. This was too great a
humiliation for him to bear. He thought it better to kill himself, so
that his spirit, freed from the shackles of the body, might be at the
front to work with his living comrades. Left in such a situation as he
was, poor Togo’s narrow but strong sense of patriotism made him resolve
on suicide as the most honorable way of escape. Late one night when his
friends were fast asleep he scribbled a line of farewell to this effect:
“I am more sorry than I can possibly bear not to be at the front with
the others. No one would take me in spite of my entreaties. I will
prove my loyalty with death.”
Thus prepared, he drew a dagger from a whitewood sheath[12] and cut
across the abdomen, whispering Banzai to the Emperor in a shower of
tears. This took place on the 12th of May in a lonely corner of an old
tottering temple, when the sound of rain dripping from the eaves made
the sad scene still sadder. But good Heaven seemed to take compassion
on such a faithful soldier. His friends awoke and came to the rescue.
He was sent to a hospital. His wound healed in due time, he was
discharged, and later he was allowed to go to the front. Cold reason
may call this man a fool, or a fanatic, but his heart was pure and
true. This incident testifies to the childlike simplicity of devotion
that prevailed throughout the whole army.
Russia prided herself on her vast territory and immense soldiery, but
her people did not believe in the Czar’s virtue. They were oppressed
and trampled upon by his ministers and officials. They were therefore
not at all anxious to support the government in this war. Cossacks had
to drive the unwilling men to Manchuria at the point of the bayonet.
Yes, Russian fighters were brave and strong, but lacking in morale,
the first requisite of a successful war. We, on the contrary, had an
invincible spirit called _Yamato-damashii_,[13] disciplined under the
strict rules of military training.
All the manifold details of business connected with mobilization were
prosecuted with mechanical exactness and promptitude, as had been
previously planned out. Everything was now ready and we were all
eagerly waiting for the day of departure.
What an exciting happy time we had, while thus waiting and watching! We
stroked our arms, itching for action, sharpened our swords, pictured
to ourselves what we would do on the actual battle-field. Many a
soldier must have flourished his glittering sword, as I did, and smiled
significantly in the midnight moonlight of the quiet garrison ground.
When all necessary preparations were finished, our colonel put us
through an armed inspection. The large drill-ground from one end
to the other was filled with thousands of men and officers, each
provided with his outfit,—arms, food, clothing and so on. Soon they
were to brave, shoulder to shoulder, flying shot and thundering noise,
pestilential rain and poisonous fog, eating together and sleeping
together as comrades and brothers in danger and privation.
To the stirring sound of trumpets, our famous regimental flag was
brought to the centre and an imposing ceremony of welcome to the flag
was conducted by Colonel Aoki. The lives of the brave three thousand
gathered round him were all in his hands. He has since told me that he
was overwhelmed with a sense of great responsibility and with a feeling
of proud exhilaration when he saw on that occasion how eager and ready
they all were. At the conclusion of this ceremony our commander gave us
a speech of instruction, in such thrilling words as made us bite our
lips and tremble with emotion.
At the conclusion of such an armed inspection a few days later,
Brigadier-General Yamanaka, then in command of our brigade, gave us a
written piece of advice, in which the following words were contained:—
“The flag of your regiment has already won a glorious name in the
Japan-China War. Its fame is impressed upon the minds of all. You have
the responsibility of keeping this honor unsullied. You are in duty
bound to add to its splendor. And whether you will do so or not, solely
depends upon your determination. Remember, that if you once bring a
spot of disgrace upon the flag an opportunity of washing it away will
not easily come. Do not destroy by a single failure the honor which
your flag has retained since its first battle. I deem it my highest
glory to share in ups and downs, to live and die with you officers and
men beneath this historic flag.
“We are the main support[14] of His Majesty, guardians of the safety
of our country. The only way we can fulfill our grave responsibility
is always to remember the five items of his August Rescript;[15]
to do our duty with sincere devotion; and to put into practice the
sworn resolutions of our hearts. Our Emperor has now given us another
instruction, saying,[16] ‘We rely upon your loyalty and bravery in
achieving this end (victory) and keeping unsullied the glory of our
Empire.’ How shall we respond to these gracious words of His Majesty?
I with you shall put forth every energy to bring this great struggle
to a speedy and successful termination, so that we may make good the
nation’s trust in us, and relieve His Gracious Heart of anxiety. If we
can thus secure for our country a permanent peace, our humble efforts
will be amply rewarded.”
Our already grave position was made tenfold graver by this implicit
trust put on us by His Majesty and the nation. How did we bear this
tremendous weight of duty and responsibility?
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. II.]
OUR DEPARTURE
ABOUT a month after the mobilization was ordered, another happy day
came to us; the 21st of May, a day we shall never forget to the end of
our lives.
While we had been waiting for this day, we had heard news of repeated
victories of our forces in and around Chiu-lien-cheng.
We were frantically joyous over the news, but at the same time could
not help feeling a foolish anxiety. “If they were making such steady
progress out there, might not the war be at an end by the time we were
starting for the front? A certain division was to go in a few days.
When should we have our turn? While we were kept idle, other divisions
might monopolize all the victories there could be. No room would be
left for us unless we hurried up!” So, therefore, when we received the
welcome order, there was none who was not quite ready to start at once.
On that long-looked-for day, we were ordered to assemble on the parade
ground at six o’clock in the morning.
Our joy was boundless, the time had come at last for the greatest
action of our lives. “The brave man is not without tears, but those
tears are not shed in the moment of separation,” so the expression
goes. Of course, we were as ready and willing to welcome the worst as
the best, but because of this very resolve and expectation we could not
help thinking of eternal separation,—parent from child, man from wife,
and brother from sister. “Tears even in the eyes of an _oni_.”[17] How
could we be without unseen tears, though valiantly forced back under a
cheerful smile!
On the night previous to departure, I took out my old friends’
photographs to look at, made tidy the drawers of my desk, and so
arranged everything that my affairs would be quite clear to my
surviving friends. And then I went to sleep my last sleep on the mats
peacefully and contentedly.
At three o’clock in the morning, the cannon roared three times from
the tower of the castle. I jumped out of bed, cleansed my person with
pure water, donned the best of my uniforms, bowed to the east where the
great Sire resides, solemnly read his Proclamation of War, and told His
Majesty that his humble subject was just starting to the front. When I
offered my last prayers—the last, I then believed they were—before the
family shrine of my ancestors, I felt a thrill going all through me,
as if they were giving me a solemn injunction, saying, “Thou art not
thy own. For His Majesty’s saké, thou shalt go to save the nation from
calamity, ready to bear even the crushing of thy bones, and the tearing
of thy flesh. Disgrace not thy ancestors by an act of cowardice.” My
family and relatives gathered around me to give me a farewell cup of
_saké_, and to congratulate me on my joyous start.
“Don’t worry at all about your home affairs—put into practice all
your long-cherished good resolutions. For your death your father is
quite ready. Add a flower of honor to our family name by distinguished
service to the country.” This from my father.
“Please, sir, don’t be anxious about me. This is the greatest
opportunity a soldier can possibly have. Only, do take good care of
your delicate self.” This from myself.
Such an exchange of sentiments between father and son must have taken
place almost simultaneously in a great many families.
When the time had come for me to start, I took up and put on the sword
that had been placed in the family shrine, drank the farewell cup of
water[18] my dear mother had filled, and left my home with light heart
and light feet, expecting to cross its threshold no more.
One officer was just going to the front in high spirits when, on the
night previous to his departure, his beloved wife died, leaving a
little baby behind. He had, however, no time to see her laid in her
last place of rest. Bravely, though with tears hardly suppressed, he
started early in the morning. Private sorrow must give way before
national calamity, but human nature remains the same forever. This
unfortunate officer’s sad dreams in camp must have frequently wandered
around the pole[19] marking her burial-place, and about the pillow of
the baby crying after its mother.
At 6 A.M. our regiment was drawn up in array, the regimental flag was
welcomed to the solemn and majestic tune of “Ashibiki,” and we all
looked expectantly toward our colonel, who was to guide us through
“savage sands and barbarian winds.”[20] The brave soldiers felt
themselves to be the hands and feet of the commander. We had all said
good-by to parents and homes: henceforward, our commander was to be
our father, the boundless plain of Manchuria our home. Words utterly
fail to describe that sense of mutual dependence which we felt at this
moment toward each other, the one to command and the other to obey.
The colonel gazed down the ranks from one end to the other and read
aloud his last instructions before leaving the home-land. Then at his
initiative we _banzaied_ His Majesty the Highest Commander three times
over at the tops of our voices.
“Ah! a group of strong warriors has arisen! they rival each other in
achievements of arms at the word of our great Sire. Where they go, the
heavens will open and the earth crumble!”[21]
“First battalion, forward march!”
This was the first word of command Colonel Aoki gave his subordinates
at their departure to the front. His voice confirmed our resolution
to go forward, and brave, at his order, the strongest parapet or the
fiercest fire of the enemy.
Our long-drawn, serpent-like regiment, sent off with the hearty and
sincere Banzai of the people, began to move on step by step. The noise
of our marching feet becoming fainter and fainter in the distance, the
sound of our rifles and swords softly rubbing against our clothes, how
gallant and stirring these must have sounded to the enthusiastic ears
of the nation! The trumpet that resounded from near and far was our
“good-by” to our dear countrymen. Old and young, waving the national
flag and shouting Banzai in thunder-like chorus, made us the more
determined to deserve their gratitude. Whenever in the field we made a
furious assault, we felt as if this chorus of Banzai were surging from
behind to stimulate and encourage us. Our own war-cry may well be said
to have been an echo of this national enthusiasm. In the morning on the
battle-field amid ear-rending cannon roar, in the chilly evening of a
field encampment, this cry of Banzai from the heart of the whole nation
was always present with us.
My humble self was honored with the important duty of bearing the
regimental standard. The low bows and enthusiastic cheers at the sight
of the flag, from crowds of people standing by the roadsides, stirred
my spirits more and more, and also made me fear lest I might fail in
my duty. During our march, Mr. Kojima, who had instructed me for five
years in the high school, noticed me, came forward two or three steps,
from among the watching crowd, with overwhelming joy in his face, and
whispered in my ear: “Strive hard, Sakurai.”
This brief but forcible exhortation from my kind teacher rang in my
ears throughout the campaign and urged me to be worthy of his teaching.
War-songs sung by groups of innocent kindergarten-children—how they
shook our hearts from the foundation! Old women bowed with age would
rub rosaries between their palms, muttering prayers, and saying: “Our
great Buddha will take care of you! Do your best for us, Mr. Soldiers.”
How pathetically their zeal impressed us!
Our transports, the Kagoshima Maru, the Yawata Maru, etc., were seen
at anchor in the offing. The men began to go on board. Sampans, going
and coming, covered the sea. Along the shore, the hills were black with
men, women, and children from village and town, waving the national
flag and crying Banzai at the tops of their voices. The farewell
hand-shake of our colonel and the Governor of Ehime-Ken added to the
impressive scene.
When all were on board and a farewell flag had been run up, our
transports began to move on—whither? To the west—to the west—leaving
dark volumes of smoke behind! Suddenly clouds gathered in the sky—the
rain began to fall, first slowly and then with violence!
Eager brethren! enthusiastic countrymen! Did you expect us soon to
return in triumphal procession, when you saw us off; thousands of us
starting in good cheer and high spirits?
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. III.]
THE VOYAGE
WITH the nation’s Banzai still ringing in our ears, our imaginations
flying to stupendous fights over mountains and across rivers, we were
being carried far toward the west. Where were we going? Where to land?
What was to be the scene of our fighting? All this nobody knew except
the colonel as commander of our transportation, and the captains of the
transports, to whom secret orders had been given. Even they did not
know much at the time of our starting—they were to receive instructions
from time to time. Were we going to Chênnam-pu, or to the mouth of the
Yalu, or toward Haicheng, or to the siege of Port Arthur? We talked
only of our guesses and imaginings. But the place of landing or of
fighting did not matter much to us—we were happy at the thought of
coming nearer and nearer to the time when we could display all the
courage we had, at the word of command from His Majesty and at the
beckoning of our regimental flag.
Toward the dusk of the evening on the 21st, we passed through the
Strait of Shimonoseki. We took a last view of our beloved Nippon and
felt the pang of separation.
“Fare thee well, my land of Yamato! Farewell, my sweet home!”
That night the Sea of Japan was calm and the shower of the day had
dispersed the clouds. All was quiet; the thousands of soldiers slept
soundly. Which way did their dreams fly, this first evening of their
expedition—to the east? or to the west? The gentle waves, the smooth
motion of the engines, an occasional long-drawn breath only added to
the calm of the scene. The next morning we found the sky well wiped
without leaving half a cloud—it was truly Japan’s weather. All the
ships at this moment were hurrying on at full speed off the Isle of
Mutsure, sighting the hills of Tsushima far away in the distance, when,
lo! a hawk[22] descended to the deck of our transport. The men chased
him hither and thither and rejoiced at this good omen. For some time
the bird remained with us, now perching on the mast, now flying about
over the ship. After blessing the future of the brave officers and men
in this way, he flew to the next transport to do the same errand of
cheering up their hearts.
Very soon time began to hang heavy on our hands. To break the monotony
of the long voyage, an appeal to our “hidden accomplishments” was
the last but most effective resource. Some would recount their past
experiences, others tell ghost stories or jokes, still others recite or
sing popular love-episodes, each joining a little group according to
his taste or inclination. Every now and then there appeared one bold
enough to try the rustic dance of wrestlers, or one clever enough to
imitate a professional story-teller, using his knapsack as a book-rest
and playing with a fan in his hand, just as a professional reciter
would.
Cheers and applause resounded through the small heaven and earth of
the steamer, and the performers’ faces were full of pride and elation.
Others now began to emulate, and from among men piled up like potatoes,
story-tellers, conjurers, and performers of various tricks would come
forward to amuse the audience.
Proceeding to the front to fight, and to fight never to return, all on
this voyage, both men and officers, felt and behaved like one large
family, and vied with each other to entertain and beguile the tedious
moments, squeezing out all their wit in their tricks and performances
and bursting the air and their sides with merry laughter.
Tsushima was then left behind us in mist and haze, and we steered our
course northward across the sea, with Korean mountains and peaks still
in sight. Our amusements continued day after day, with occasional
playing of the piano by clumsy-handed men and shouting and screaming of
war-songs on deck. When tired of the game of _go_[23] or of wrestling,
we would discuss the plan of campaign and wish that the curtain might
be raised at once, so that we could show off our skill on the real
stage of the battle-field, not only to astonish the enemy, but to
elicit the applause of the world-wide audience.
I remember very well that it was on the 23d of May that our captain
asked for our autographs as a memento and family heirloom. I took out a
sheet of paper; at its top I sketched the S. S. Kagoshima Maru steering
its way, and underneath Colonel Aoki and all the other officers wrote
their names. Thirty-seven names this piece of paper contained—only
a few of men now surviving! What a valuable and sad memorial it has
become! Crippled and useless, I live now as a part and parcel of that
memorial, to envy those on the list whose bodies were left in Manchuria
and whose honored spirits rest in the Temple of Kudan.[24]
On the forenoon of the 24th we were passing near the Elliot Isles, when
we saw many lines of smoke floating parallel to the water and sky. It
was our combined fleet greeting the approach of our transports. What an
inspiring sight, to see our fleet out on the ocean! Presently a cruiser
came up to us and continued its course with us. It must have brought
some orders for us.
Our landing was near at hand; soon we were to appear on the real stage.
And yet we did not know where we were to land; or in what direction we
were to march.
All with one accord hoped—Port Arthur!
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. IV.]
A DANGEROUS LANDING
WHERE were we to land? This was the question that exercised our minds
from the beginning to the end of our voyage. To land at Taku-shan and
attack Haicheng and Liao Yang in the north, was one of the suggestions
made. To go straight to the Gulf of Pechili and land at Iakao was
another. A third suggestion was that we were to land at a certain point
on the coast of Liaotung, and then go south to attack the stronghold
of Port Arthur. Of course, all the views and opinions advanced were
changed according to the direction in which our bows pointed. But at
last, when we saw on the chart that we were sailing south of the Elliot
Isles, all agreed at once that our destination was some spot leading
to Port Arthur. What excitement and joy when we saw the transports and
the guard-ships proceeding together toward that spot! After a while we
began to notice a dark gray, long, slender piece of land dimly visible
through thick mist. That was indeed the Peninsula of Liaotung! the
place where, ten years before, so many brave and loyal sons of Yamato
had laid their bones, and the field of action on which our own bodies
were to be left! Since the previous evening the sky had been dark,
the gray mist and clouds opening and shutting from time to time, the
wind howling at our mast-heads, and the waves beating against our bows
flying like snowflakes and scattering themselves like fallen flowers.
Behind us there was only boundless cloud and water. Beyond those
clouds was the sky of Nippon! The enthusiastic Banzais of the cheering
nation, the sound of rosaries rubbed together in old women’s hands, the
war-songs coming from the innocent lips of children—all these seemed
still to reach our ears, conveyed by the swift winds.
We were to land at a gulf called Yenta-ao, on the eastern coast of the
peninsula, to the southwest of Pitsu-we. This was only a small inlet
on the sea of China. There was no good harbor in the vicinity except
Talienwan, on the east side of Liaotung Peninsula; but that good harbor
was then in possession of the enemy; so we had to risk everything
and land on this less desirable spot, from the strategic necessity
of the case. The sea and the currents of that neighborhood are both
very treacherous; a storm of the least degree would make it extremely
difficult, not only to land, but even to stay there at anchor.
Moreover, the water is very shallow and a ship of any size must anchor
one _ri_[25] away from the shore. When the wind is strong, a ship is
sure to drift several miles further to the offing. Such being the case,
we can well imagine the difficulty and anxiety those in charge of our
debarkation experienced. Just as mother birds watch over their young,
our convoys were watching us far and near, to protect our landing from
surprise by the enemy. But the wind that had begun to blow in the
morning became fiercer and fiercer, angry seas and frantic waves rose
in mountains, transports and sampans were shaken like flying leaves,
Chinese junks chartered by our government, raising their masts like
forest trees, were being tossed and teazed by the winds as in the time
of the great Mongol invasion in the Bay of Hakata.[26]
Could we land safely in such a storm? Were we to face the enemy at
once on going ashore? We were like horses harnessed to a carriage—we
did not know anything about our surroundings. All was known only to
our colonel, in whose hands lay our lives. We did know, however, that
two things were ahead of us, and they were—landing and marching.
After a short wait, our landing was begun in spite of the risk;
evidently the condition of the campaign did not admit delay. Hundreds
of sampans, boats, and steam-launches—whence they had come, we did
not know—surrounded the transports to carry men and officers away.
Tremendous waves, now rising like high mountains and now sinking like
deep valleys, seemed to swallow men and boats together. Carrying
the flag with due solemnity, I got into the boat with the colonel.
Innumerable small boats were to be fastened to steam-launches like
beads on a rosary. Rolling and tumbling, these rosaries of boats would
whistle their way to the shore. Our regimental flag braved the wind and
waves and safely reached its destination. Ah, the first step and the
second on this land occupied by the enemy! It seemed as if we had left
our Fatherland but yesterday, and now, not in a dream, but in reality,
we were treading on the soil of promise!
What an exquisite joy, to plant once more the Imperial Flag of His
Illustrious Virtues on the Peninsula of Liaotung, also the soil of
Japan, consecrated by the blood of our brothers!
The storm went from bad to worse; it seemed impossible to complete the
landing, neither could the men go back to the transports. The only
thing possible was to trust to the mercy of winds and waves, jump into
the water and struggle for the shore as soon as the boats came near.
The experience of my friend Captain Tsukudo is an illustration of the
extreme difficulty of landing.
Captain Tsukudo, with over sixty men under his care, was in a boat,
which was towed away from the transport by a small launch. His boat
rolled in the waves like a ball and was in constant danger of being
swallowed in the vortex. The tug cast off her tow and fled for safety.
The gigantic _ho_[27] which sweeps through ten thousand miles without
rest, even his wings are said to be broken by the waves of the sea.
Much less could a small boat stand the force of such waves. It seemed
as if the bravest of men had no other choice than being “buried in the
stomachs of fishes.” Rescue seemed impossible. Heaven’s decree they
must obey. Death they were ready for, but to die and become refuse of
the sea, without having struck one blow at the enemy now close at hand,
was something too hard for them to bear. With bloodshot eyes and hair
on end, the captain tried in every way to save his men, but alas! they
were like a man that falls into an old well in the midst of a lonely
meadow, not sinking, yet not able to climb up—the root of the vine that
he clings to as a life rope being gnawed by a wild rat!
Captain Tsukudo jumped into the sea and swam toward the shore with all
his might; but the waves were too relentless to yield to his impatient
and impetuous desire to rescue his men. They swallowed him, vomited
him, tossed and hurled him without mercy; the brave captain was at
last exhausted and fainted away before reaching the shore. Heaven,
however, did not give up his case; he was picked up on the beach, and
when he recovered consciousness he found himself perfectly naked.
Without waiting to dress, he ran to the headquarters of the landing
forces, and with frantic gestures asked for help for the men in his
boat; he could not weep, for tears were dried up; he could not speak,
for his mouth was parched, but he succeeded in getting his men saved.
Another boat loaded with baggage and horses capsized; one of the poor
animals swam away toward the offing. The soldier in charge of the
horse also swam to catch the animal. Before he reached it, the steed
went down and soon afterward the faithful man also disappeared in the
billows. Poor, brave soul! his love of his four-legged charge was
stronger even than that of the stork who cries after its young in the
lonesome night. Though he did not face the enemy’s bullets, he died a
pioneer’s death on the battle-field of duty.
Was the Canaan of our hopes the country that we had pictured to
ourselves? Contrary to our expectations, it did not look at all like
a place our brethren had bought with their blood ten years before. It
was simply a desolate wilderness, a deserted sand-plain, a boundless
expanse of rolling country, a monotonous insipid canvas, with dark
red and light gray all over. Compared with the detailed, variegated
picture of Japan that we had been accustomed to, what a sense of
untouched and unfinished carelessness! What a change of scene to see
hundreds of natives swarm to the spot of our landing, with horses and
wagons, to get their job! Were they men or animals? With ill-favored
faces, they would whisper to each other and pass on. As knavish fellows
they deserve anything but love, but as subjects of an ill-governed
empire they certainly deserve pity. At first they dreaded the Japanese;
they stared at us from a distance, but did not come near us; probably
because they had been robbed of their possessions by the Russians,
and their wives and daughters had been insulted by them. The Japanese
army, from the very first, was extremely careful to be just and kind to
the natives and encouraged them to pursue their daily work in peace.
Consequently they soon began to be friendly with us and to welcome us
eagerly. However, they are a race of men who would risk even their
lives to make money, and would live in a pig-pen with ten thousand
pieces of gold in their pockets. How our army suffered from the
treachery of these money-grubbers will be told later on.
“Ata, ata! Wo, wo!”
This strange cry we constantly heard at the front—it is the natives’
way of driving horses and cows. Their skill in managing cattle and
horses is far beyond ours. We could not help being struck with the
manner in which the animals obeyed their orders; they would go to
right or left at the sound of these signals, and would move as one’s
own limbs without the slightest use of whips. The relation between
these natives and their cattle and horses is like that between
well-disciplined soldiers and their commanders; not the fear of whip
and scolding, but a voluntary respect and submission, is the secret of
military discipline and success. The fact that the Russian soldiers
were lacking in this important factor became clear later by the
testimony of the captives.