mentioned, an extensive rolling country was before our eyes. At its
right was Chin-chou, while on the left the steep Fahoshangshan reared
its head. This was the site of the fierce battle of yesterday. The
place was full of reminders of cannon roar and war-cries; we could not
stand the sight. Horrible is the only word that describes the scene.
From a hill in front of us we saw white smoke rising and spreading a
strange odor far and wide; that was the cremation of our brave dead,
the altar on which the sacrifice to the country was being burned.
Hundreds of patriotic souls must have risen to heaven enveloped in that
smoke. We took off our caps and bowed to them. While the mothers at
home were peacefully reeling thread and thinking of their beloved sons
at the front, while the wives, with their babies on their backs, were
sewing and thinking of their dear husbands, these sons and husbands
were being crushed to pieces and turned into volumes of smoke.
It is not pleasant to see even a piece of a bloodstained bandage. It is
shocking to see dead bodies piled up in this valley or near that rock,
dyed with dark purple blood, their faces blue, their eyelids swollen,
their hair clotted with blood and dust, their white teeth biting their
lips, the red of their uniforms alone remaining unchanged. I could not
help shuddering at the sight and thinking that I myself might soon
become like that. No one dared to go near and look carefully at those
corpses. We only pointed to them from a distance in horror and disgust.
Everywhere were scattered blood-covered gaiters, pieces of uniform
and underwear, caps, and so on; everywhere were loathsome smells and
ghastly sights. Innumerable powder-boxes and empty cartridges, piled
up near the skirmish-trenches, told us plainly how desperately the
enemy had fired upon the invading army. Wherever we saw the enemy’s
dead left on the field, we could not help sympathizing with them. They
were enemies, but they also fought for their own country. We buried
them carefully, but the defeated heroes of the battle had no names
that we could hand down to posterity. At home their parents, their
wives, and their children must have been anxiously waiting for their
safe return, not knowing, in most cases, when, where, or how their
beloved ones had been killed. Almost all of them had a cross on the
chest, or an ikon in hand. Let us hope that they passed away with
God’s blessing and guidance. The killed and wounded of a defeated
army deserve the greatest pity. Of course they are entitled to equal
and humane treatment by the enemy, according to the International Red
Cross regulations. But defeat we must avoid by all means. Added to the
ignominy of defeat, the wounded must have the sorrow of separating from
their comrades and living or dying among perfect strangers, with whom
they cannot even converse. The case of the killed is still sadder. Some
had cards of identification, so that their numbers would eventually
tell their names. As far as we could, we informed the enemy of those
numbers; but there were many instances where there was no means of
identification. Their names are buried in eternal obscurity.
Arrangements were made for our temporary lodgment at Yenchia-tun. When
I reached the native house assigned for us that evening, I heard next
door the piteous groanings of human beings. I hastened to the spot to
see the tortures of hell itself. Fifteen or sixteen Japanese, and one
Russian, all seriously wounded, were lying in the yard, heaped one
above another, and writhing in an agony of pain. The first one who
noticed my coming put his hands together in supplication and begged me
for help. What need of his begging? To help is our privilege. I could
not imagine why these poor comrades should have been left alone in
such a condition. If we had known earlier, perhaps better assistance
could have been given. With tears of sympathy I called in surgeons and
helped in relieving their suffering. While the surgeons were attending
to their wounds they would repeat: “I shall never forget your goodness;
I am grateful to you.” These words were squeezed out of the bottom of
their hearts, and their eyes were full of tears. On inquiry we learned
that for two days they had not had a single grain of rice, or a single
drop of water. They were all very severely wounded, with broken legs,
shattered arms, or bullet wounds in head or chest. Some there were who
could not live more than half an hour longer; even these were taking
each other’s hands or stroking each other in sympathy and to comfort.
How sad! How pitiful! How boundless must be our sadness and pity when
we think that there were over four thousand killed and wounded on our
side alone, and that it was impossible to give them the attention they
needed! In a short time two of the men began to lose color, and breathe
faintly. I ran to their side and watched. Their eyes gradually closed
and their lips ceased to quiver. One comrade near by told me that one
of these two had left an old mother at home alone.
One of the most pitiful of sights is, perhaps, the dead or wounded
war-horses. They had crossed the seas to run and gallop in a strange
land among flying bullets and the roar of cannon. They seemed to think
that this was the time to return their masters’ kindness in keeping
them comfortable so long. With their masters on their backs they
would run about so cheerfully and gallantly on the battle-field! The
pack-horses also seemed proud and anxious to show their long-practiced
ability in bearing heavy burdens or drawing heavy carts, without
complaining of their untold sufferings. Their usefulness in war is
beyond description. The successful issue of a battle is due first to
the efforts of the brave men and officers, but we must not forget
what we owe to the help of our faithful animals. And yet they are so
modest of their merits; are contented with coarse fodder and muddy
water; do not grumble at continual exposure to rain and snow, and think
their master’s caress the best comfort they can have. Their manner of
performing their important duties is almost equal to that of soldiers.
But they are speechless; they cannot tell of wound or pain. Sometimes
they cannot get medicine, or even a comforting pat. They writhe in
agony and die unnoticed, with a sad neigh of farewell. Their bodies
are not buried, but are left in the field for wolves and crows to feed
upon, their big strong bones to be bleached in the wild storms of the
wilderness. These loyal horses also are heroes who die a horrible
death in the performance of duty; their memory ought to be held in
respect and gratitude. My teacher, the Rev. Kwatsurin Nakabayashi,[34]
accompanied our army during the war as a volunteer nurse. While taking
care of the wounded at the front, he collected fragments of shells to
use in erecting an image of Bato-Kwanon[35] to comfort the spirits
of the horses that died in the war. This plan of his has already been
carried out. Another Buddhist by the name of Doami has been urging an
International Red Cross Treaty for horses such as there is now for
men. Without such a provision he says we cannot claim to be true to
the principles of humanity. Our talk of love and kindness to animals
will be an empty sound. He is said to be agitating the introduction of
such a proposition at the next Hague Conference. Of course there are
veterinary surgeons in the army, but no one can expect them to be able
to bestow all necessary care on the unfortunate animals. To supply this
deficiency and protect animals as best we can, a Red Cross for horses
is a proposal worthy of serious attention.
I climbed Nanshan to inspect the arrangements of the enemy’s position
there. Everything was almost ideal in their plan of defense, everything
quite worthy of a great military power. Besides the wire-entanglements,
pitfalls, ground-mines, strong lines of trenches went round and round
the mountain, embrasure holes for machine guns were seen everywhere,
a large number of heavy guns thrust out their muzzles from many a
fort. As the place was fortified in a semi-permanent style, there were
barracks and storehouses, and the latter were filled with all kinds of
winter clothing. There was a railway and also a battery. When I entered
a building used as the headquarters of the commander, I was astonished
to find how luxuriously and comfortably he had lived there. His rooms
were beautifully furnished, hardly reminding one of camp life. What was
most curious, night garments and toilet articles of a feminine nature
as well as children’s clothes were scattered here and there.
From this spot I looked through field-glasses far to the eastern
seacoast, where were countless men and horses lying on the beach washed
by the gray waves. They were the remains of the Cavalry Brigade of the
enemy, who had been stationed about Laohu-shan to defend the right
flank of their lines. Our Fourth Division surprised them from behind,
from the west coast; they had no way of retreat, were driven into the
sea, and thus were almost all drowned. This defeat was self-inflicted,
in so far as they had relied too much upon the strength of their
position and thus lost the opportunity for a timely retreat.
Half-way up the mountain we saw a damaged search-light and a pile
of rockets. These were the things that often impeded our attempts
at coming near the enemy under cover of night. The search-light had
been damaged by our men in revenge after the occupation of the place,
because they had been so severely harassed by the machine.
The scene before my eyes filled my heart with grief and sorrow.
Hour after hour the wooden posts to mark the burial-places of the
dead increased in number. On my trip of observation from Nanshan
to Chin-chou I noticed a mound of loose earth, with a bamboo stick
planted on it. I stepped on the mound to see what it was. I was shocked
to discover a dead Russian underneath. It was my first experience
of stepping on a corpse, and I cannot forget the horror I felt. At
that time I had not yet tasted a fight and therefore could not help
shuddering at its tragic and sinful effects. It is almost curious to
think of it now, for the oftener flying bullets are encountered the
less sensitive we become to the horrors of war. What is shocking and
sickening becomes a matter of indifference. Familiarity takes off
the edge of sensibility. If we should continue to be so shocked and
disgusted we could not survive the strain.
For sixteen hours our army persevered, braved the cross-firing of the
enemy, and finally captured Nanshan after several assaults with a large
sacrifice of precious lives. We thus acquired the key to the whole
peninsula of Chin-chou, cut off the communication of the enemy, were
enabled to begin the clearing of Talien Bay unmolested, and also to
make all necessary preparations for the general attack on Port Arthur.
Our victory at Nanshan was a record-breaking event in the annals of
warfare. And this signal success was won, not through the power of
powder and gun, but primarily through the courage and perseverance of
our men. During the battle, when the third assault failed of success,
the commander, General Oku, cried in a voice of thunder, “What sort
of a thing is Yamato-damashi?” Whereupon the whole army gained fresh
strength, drew one long breath, and took the place by storm. Sir Claude
MacDonald said that the secret of Japan’s unbroken record of success in
this war was in the “men behind the guns.” This battle of Nanshan was a
demonstration of their quality.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. VIII.]
DIGGING AND SCOUTING
IT was on the 28th of May that we went to Changchia-tun from
Yenchia-tun to take the place of the defense corps of the Third
Division. After Nanshan our division was separated from the Second
Army under Oku, and attached to the newly organized Third Army for
the siege of Port Arthur. It was not a long march from Yenchia-tun
to Changchia-tun, but whenever I think about marching I cannot help
remembering this particular occasion. Round about Port Arthur the
ground is covered with rocks and pebbles; all the other places on the
peninsula are covered with earth like rice bran or ashes, which fills
the mouth, eyes, and nose. Swift winds stirred up clouds of dust,
filling the throat and threatening to swallow the long snake-like line
of marching men. Often we could not see an inch ahead and our line of
men was in danger of disconnection. Even the cooked rice in our lunch
boxes was filled with the dust. On other occasions we had marched ten
or twenty _ri_’s without resting day or night, had covered sometimes
a distance of more than ten _ri_’s on the double-quick, had made a
forced march without a drop of drinking water, or had marched in pitch
darkness; but all our previous experiences of this kind were nothing
compared with the hardships of this dust-covered march. If this is the
price for the honor of taking part in a real war, we have certainly
paid it. Toil and hardship of course we were ready for, but while our
minds were prepared for bayonets and bullets, at first we felt it a
torture to fight with Nature herself, to cross the wilderness, climb
the mountains, fight with rain and wind, with heat and cold, and
sleep on the beds of grass. But very soon we began to philosophize,
and to think that this was also an important part of our warfare, and
this idea made us take kindly to the fight with the elements and with
Nature. Eventually we learned to enjoy sleeping in the spacious mansion
of millet fields, or in rock-built castles, viewing the moon and
listening in our beds to the singing of insects.
Marching without a halt, we reached Changchia-tun and took the place of
the Third Division men. When we saw these men for the first time, we
felt ashamed of our own inexperience and wished to sneak out of their
sight. They seemed to us crowned with glory for their great achievement
at Nanshan, and we felt like country people who had missed the train,
looking at the trail of smoke with mouths wide open in disappointment.
We envied them, picturing to ourselves their clothes torn and
bloodstained and their skins covered with fresh wounds of honor. We
looked up to them with love and reverence, admiring their dust-covered
caps and bloodstained gaiters. Their very countenances, their very
demeanor, seemed to recount eloquently their glorious exploits.
The right centre of our line of defense was an eminence facing the
enemy’s front. But our whole line covered a distance of twenty-five
kilometres from Antsu-shan at one end to Taitzu-shan at the other, with
the pass of Mantutsu in the middle. Just north of this pass is the
village of Lichia-tun, and our own battalion occupied a line extending
from this village at its right to the village of Yuchia-tun the other
side of the river, beyond which lay a range of hills. There we raised
strong works, diligently sought our enemy, and busily engaged ourselves
in preparations for defense and attack. In the meantime General Nogi
and his staff landed at Yenta-ao and reached Peh-Paotsu-yai, a village
about three _ri_’s to the northwest of Dalny. With his arrival the
organization of the Third Army was completed. How eagerly, then, did we
wait for the first chance of fighting!
The enemy, though defeated at Nanshan, had of course been reluctant
to give up Dalny; but they had been obliged to run for their lives,
and they and their wives and children escaped toward the bottom of the
bag, that is, Port Arthur, burning down the village of Sanshihli-pu
on their way thither. They had fortified a strong line, connecting
the hills, Pantu, Lwanni-chiao, Waitu, Shwangting, etc. The distance
between the Russian and Japanese lines was between three and five
thousand metres. This much of the enemy’s condition and position we
ascertained through the hard work of scouts and scouting parties.
As soon as we were stationed on the line of defense, we began on the
very first day to work with pickaxes and shovels. A special spot was
assigned to each cavalry battalion and infantry company, and each group
of men, in its own place, hurried day and night, digging trenches for
skirmishers. The officers acted as “bosses,” the non-commissioned
officers as foremen, and the men themselves as coolies,—all were
engaged in digging earth. All the while scouts, both officers and
non-commissioned officers, were being dispatched to find out the
enemy’s movements. No alarm had come yet; the engineering work made
daily progress. The trenches for skirmishers and bomb-proofs for the
cavalry, forming the first line of defense, grew steadily, their
breastworks strengthened by sand-bags the sacking for which had been
brought from Dalny. A simple kind of wire-entanglement was also put
up, a good road was made, short cuts connecting different bodies of
men were laid out like cobwebs; thus our defenses assumed almost
a half-permanent character. The soldiers either utilized village
dwellings, or pitched tents in the yards or under the trees. When
all these necessary preparations were fairly complete, more scouts
and scouting parties began to go off to find out the movements and
whereabouts of the enemy.
At a military review or manœuvres in time of peace, the men look gay
and comfortable, but on the real battle-field they have to try a true
life-and-death match with the enemy. In the readiness and morale of the
men while on the outposts lies the outcome of the actual encounter.
Therefore men on the line of defense cannot sleep at ease at night, or
kindle fires to warm themselves. The night is the time when they must
be most vigilant and wide-awake. The patrols on the picket line and
the scouts far in front must try to take in everything. However tired
they may be from their day’s work, at night they must not allow even a
singing insect or a flying bird to pass unnoticed. Holding their breath
and keeping their heads cool, they must use their sight and hearing
for the whole army behind them, with the utmost vigilance. When people
talk of war, they usually forget the toil and responsibility of the
men on the picket line, they talk only of their behavior on the field
of battle. Because this duty was neglected, three regiments of the
English army in the War of Independence, 1777, were annihilated by the
Americans through the fault of one single sentinel.
“Halt! Halt! Who goes there?”
The sentinel’s cry adds to the loneliness of an anxious night. One or
two shots suddenly sound through the silent darkness; it is probable
that the enemy’s pickets have been discovered. Quiet prevails once
more; the night is far advanced. A bank of dark clouds starts from the
north, spreads quickly and covers the whole sky with an inky color, and
the rain begins to fall drop by drop. This experience on the picket
line, keeping a sharp eye on the enemy all the time, continued for
about thirty days.
By the time our line of defense was in proper order, the enemy began to
show their heads. Every night there was the report of rifles near our
line of patrols.
“Captain, five or six of the enemy’s infantry scouts appeared, and then
suddenly disappeared, in a valley five or six hundred metres ahead.”
Such a report was repeated over and over again in the course of one
day and night. Soon we began to try various contrivances to capture
the enemy’s scouts on our line of patrol. One of them was this: about
twenty _ken_[36] away from our line a piece of rope was stretched, to
that rope another piece was fastened, one end of it leading to the spot
where our patrol was standing. The idea was that if the enemy walked
against the first rope the second would communicate the vibration
to the patrol man. Once when the signal came, and the men hurried to
capture the enemy, no human being was in sight, but a large black dog
stood barking and snarling at them.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. IX.]
THE FIRST CAPTIVES
OUR scouts were gradually increased in number; not only from the troops
on the first line, but also from the reserves at the rear, scouts were
dispatched one after another. Almost always they were successful. They
either came across a small body of the enemy and dispersed them, or
else they came back with the report of a place where a larger force
was stationed. Such a success was always welcome to the commander of
the brigade or of the regiment. Because we had not yet encountered the
enemy, we were all very anxious to be sent out as scouts, in order to
have a chance of trying our hand on the foe.
It was on the 20th of June, if I remember correctly, that one of our
officers, Lieutenant Toki, started out, with half a company of men
under him, to reconnoitre the enemy about Lwanni-chiao, but did not
come across any Russians. He left a small detachment as a rear-guard
and started back. Unexpectedly two Russian scouts appeared between his
men and this rear-guard. They were surrounded, but offered stubborn
resistance with bayonets and would not surrender. They were fired at,
and fell, though still alive. They were our first captives and we were
anxious to question them. They were placed on straw mat stretchers
made on the spot to suit the occasion, and carried in triumph to the
side of a brook at a little distance from the headquarters of our
regiment. This was our first bag of captives. The men swarmed around
the poor Russians, eager to enjoy the first sight of prisoners-of-war.
Presently came the aide-de-camp of the brigade and an interpreter. The
two captives were put in different places and examined separately. This
was according to the recognized rule of separate cross-questioning, so
that the real truth may be inferred through comparison and synthesis
of the different assertions of different prisoners. In examining them,
the first questions put are, what army, division, etc., do they belong
to, who are their high commanders, where did they stay the previous
night, how is the morale of their army, etc. Even when we have no time
to go through all these questions, we must find out what they belong
to, in order to ascertain the disposition of the enemy’s forces. If,
for instance, they say they belong to the First Regiment of Infantry
sharpshooters, we can infer from that statement who the commander is
and what is his probable plan of campaign.
Our surgeons gave the captives proper medical care and comforted them,
saying: “Depend upon it, we shall take good care of you. Be at your
ease and answer truthfully whatever is asked of you.”
The surgeons told us that both Russians had been shot through the
chest and would not live an hour longer, and therefore that it was
advisable to put only a few important questions while they retained
consciousness. One of the examiners said: “Of what regiment and of what
place are you?”
The poor captive answered, gaspingly: “The Twenty-sixth Regiment of
Infantry sharpshooters.” “Who is the commander of your division?”
“Don’t know.” The interpreter expostulated. “You can’t say you don’t
know. You ought to know the name of your own commander.”
The captive showed his sincerity in his countenance; probably he meant
what he said. He was breathing with difficulty, and blood was running
out of his mouth.
“Please give me a drink of water.”
I was standing nearest to him and obtained a glass of spring water.
When I gave him to drink he would not even look at it.
“There is boiled water in my bottle; give me that.”
I did as was requested. I do not know whether this Russian, even in his
last moments, disdained to receive a drink from the enemy, but I was
struck with his carefulness in observing the rules of hygiene and not
drinking unboiled water. Because of this strength of character, he had
bravely fought with our scouting party until he was struck down. But
he was not the only Russian soldier who did not know the name of his
commanding general. Afterwards when I had chances of cross-questioning
a large number of captives, I found out that the majority of them were
equally ignorant. Moreover, they did not know for what or for whom they
were fighting. Nine men out of ten would say that they had been driven
to the field without knowing why or wherefore.