and whiter, breathed with more and more difficulty; his end was fast
approaching. The surgeon said: “Do you suffer? Have you anything to
say?”
At these kind words he raised his head a little and said, with tears:
“I have left my wife and one child in my country; please let them know
how I died.”
He breathed his last soon afterward. This man sacrificed his life
without knowing what for. To be driven to the far-away East, to be
captured by the enemy, and die thinking of his wife and child! He
brought tears of sympathy to our eyes. He was honorably buried under a
cross, and Chaplain Toyama offered Buddhist prayers.
The other captive was different in his attitude and manners, and we
were far from pitying him. Of course we had no personal enmity toward
him, or toward any one of the Russian fighters, and therefore we were
quite ready to pity those worthy of pity, to love those worthy of love.
But what do you think we found in this particular one?
When the interpreter asked the man, “Where is your regiment stationed
now?” his answer was something like this: “Shut up! I don’t know. The
Japanese are cruel; they are merciless to those who surrender. Give me
some soup to drink; give me some tobacco.”
This rude remark and behavior came, not from true courage, that does
not fear the enemy, but from sheer insolence. Other men whom we
captured later were worthy of a similar description.
Although the Russians had been badly defeated at Nanshan, they did not
yet know what was the real ability of the Japanese army; and relying
upon the so-called invincible strength of Port Arthur behind them,
they made light of their small-statured enemy. They were also like the
frogs in the well,[37] and did not know anything of our great victory
of Chinlien-chêng and that the Russians had been entirely expelled from
Korea. Even when they were told of these facts, they would not believe
them. Boasting of the mere size of their country and army, when were
the Russians to awake from their deluding dreams?
Day and night we tried hard to find out the enemy’s whereabouts. One
time a large reconnoitring detachment was sent out, when they came
across a body of Russian cavalry, many of whom were killed and their
horses captured by our men. The enemy also was watching us incessantly,
and away on the top of Waitu-shan a corps of observation equipped
with telescopes was seen constantly giving signals with black flags.
Sometimes they would send out scouts dressed as Chinese natives to spy
our advance lines. At first we were deceived by their appearance and
some of our patrols were killed in an unguarded moment. Then we learned
to be more careful and did not allow even the real Chinese to cross
our line. Upon one occasion the mayor of the village in front of us
asked for permission to come within the Japanese line, on the ground
that they were greatly inconvenienced by not being allowed to cross
it. After that the headquarters of the brigade appointed a special
committee to investigate into individual cases, and only those Chinese
who had families or relatives living inside the line were allowed to
come over. Of course the Chinese would do almost anything for money.
There were many who had been bribed by the Russians to become spies.
They caused us a great deal of damage in spite of every possible
precaution.
Thus we were kept busy with necessary preparations for an actual
engagement, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. For
strategic reasons, we did not take an offensive attitude for some time,
leaving everything to the choice of the enemy, with the mere precaution
against a surprise by the Russians. Meanwhile the enemy’s navy appeared
near Hsiaoping-tao and Hehshih-chiao and tried to find out our place
of encampment by firing at us at random. At last the time came for us
to begin active operations. On the 26th of June, the besieging army
commenced hostilities and our regiment participated in the battle of
Waitu-shan and Kenzan.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. X.]
OUR FIRST BATTLE AT WAITU-SHAN
FOR about thirty days we had waited for a good opportunity, fortifying
ourselves strongly, and engaged in constant skirmishes with the enemy.
There was, however, one thing that we could not permit, and that was
that the enemy was able to look down into our camp from various high
points in their position. They occupied Waitu-shan, 372 metres in
height, Shuangting-shan, a double-peaked mountain, of 352 metres, and
a nameless mountain, which we afterward christened Kenzan, or Sword
Mountain, higher and steeper than the first two. These mountains were
secure from our attack, and from these eminences the enemy could spy us
very well and comfortably. They set up fine telescopes on these places
and took in what we were doing in our camp, in the Bay of Talien, and
in Dalny. This was a great disadvantage to us. The longer they occupied
those heights, the longer our necessary preparations at the rear must
be delayed and the right opportunity to advance and strike might be
lost. So it was an urgent necessity to take these places of vantage,
and also to take Hsiaoping-tao in order to prevent the enemy’s warships
from threatening our defenses of Talien Bay. This was the reason for
our first battle, an attack on Waitu-shan.
This was not a severe battle; its object was simply to drive away the
enemy occupying these heights. Because of the natural strength of the
place, the Russians had not done much to protect or fortify it, and it
was comparatively easy for us to attack. But this was the first fight
for us, and we fought it with special fervor and determination.
Late in the night of the 25th, the last day of our defensive attitude,
when the watch-fires of the camps were going out, and the occasional
braying of donkeys added to the solitude of the hour, a secret order
was brought to us to begin at once to prepare for fighting. Why was
this message given at midnight? Because of fear of the natives. It had
been arranged that our march and attack should begin on the 24th, but
when we began to make preparations for starting, we soon found reason
to suspect the natives of having informed the enemy of our movements
and intentions. So we stopped for that day, and daybreak of the 26th
was assigned for the attack, so that we could begin our march before
the natives knew anything of it. That night I could hardly sleep for
excitement; I tossed and fretted in bed, pictured to myself the battle
of the morrow, or talked nonsense with the comrade in the nearest bed.
I saw the occasional flickering of small fires in the dark and knew
that not a few were awake, smoking and cogitating.
Very soon the whole atmosphere of the camp was filled with quiet
activity; officers and men jumped out of bed and began to fold tents
and overcoats as noiselessly as possible. Putting on our creaking
knapsacks with the utmost caution, we crept with stealthy tread across
the grass, and gathering at one spot stacked our rifles. The sky was
inky black with summer clouds; the bayonets and the stars on our caps
were the only things that glittered in the dark. Though their eyes were
dull and sleepy, all were eager and determined in spirit.
“Have you left nothing behind? Are all the fires out?”
All at once the whole line became silent and began to move on at the
command “March silently.” We had to keep very still until we were
fairly out of the village, so that when the Chinese got up in the
morning they would be surprised at our absence. This was the time
for us to put in practice the quiet march, in which we had had much
previous training. Even a month’s stay in the place had endeared to us,
to some extent, the rivers and hills; the village had come to seem a
sort of second home. How could we be indifferent to the tree that had
given us shelter and to the stream that had given us drink? Among the
villagers there was an old man by the name of Chodenshin, a descendant
of a refugee of the Ming dynasty. He had helped us very faithfully,
drawing water in the morning, and kindling fires in the evening. This
good man discovered that we were going, and worked all the night
through to help us. When we began the march, he came to the end of the
village to see us off. Of course we could not forget such a man, and
every now and then we used to talk about his faithful services.
The morning mist enshrouded the sky and the sun had not yet risen. The
Sun Flag was at the head of our long line of march. Far away toward the
right flank several shots were heard. Had the battle really begun?
At this moment both the right and left columns of our army began
action, the right one to attack the height to the southwest of the
village of Pantu, and the left to attack the enemy’s entrenchments
on the heights to the east of the village of Lwanni-chiao, that is,
from the 368-metre hill (Kenzan) on the north, along the ridge to
Shuangting-shan in the south.
Our—that is, the middle—division of the left column was assigned to
attack Waitu-shan. We marched quietly, binding the horses’ tongues,
furling our flag, and trailing our arms. When we came close to the
place, the enemy poured a fierce volley on us from the top of the hill
and offered stubborn resistance. Brave, worthy foe! We responded with
a brisk fire and sent showers of bullets and shells. They were on an
eminence and we at the foot of the hill; their shots fell like rain
on our heads and raised dust at our feet. At last the curtain of our
first act was raised. This was our first chance to compare our strength
with theirs. The coming and going of bullets and shells became fiercer
and fiercer as time went on. The exploding gas of the smokeless powder
filled the whole field with a vile smell. The sound of the opening
and shutting of the breech-blocks of the guns, the sound of empty
cartridges jumping out, the moaning of the bullets, the groaning of
the shells, wounding as they fell, how stirring, how sublime! The cry
“Forward! Forward!” rises on every side. Steep hills and sword-like
rocks are braved and climbed at a quick, eager pace; the cartridges
rattle in their cases; the sword jumps; the heart dances. March and
shoot, shoot and march! The enemy’s shot rain hard; our bullets fly
windward. The battle has become fierce.
Until we have pierced the body of the foe with our shot, we must
continue to harass them with our fire. The bayonet is the finishing
touch; the guns must play a large part in a battle. So, therefore, we
must be very careful in shooting. When the fighting once begins, we
begin to dance from the top of the head to the tip of the toe, we lose
ourselves in excitement, but that does not do. It is very difficult to
act coolly, but the aiming and the pulling of the trigger must be done
deliberately, however noisy the place may be, however bloody the scene.
This is the secret determining who shall be the victor.
“Pull the trigger as carefully and gently
As the frost falls in the cold night,”
is the poem teaching the secret. Such a cool, deliberate shot is sure
to hit the mark. The enemy fall one after another. Then follows the
final assault (tokkwan), then the triumphal tune is sung, the Kimi ga
yo[38] is played, and Banzai to the Emperor is shouted. This is the
natural order of events.
The spirit of the men on the firing line improved steadily; the
battle-field became more and more active. The number of the wounded
increased moment after moment. Cries of “A-a!” sounded from every side,
as the bullets found their mark and men fell to earth unconscious.
The final opportunity was fast coming toward us; the enemy began
to waver. One foot forward, another foot backward, they were in a
half-hearted condition. ‘T is time for “Tokkan! Tokkan!”[39] the
time for a shout like the beating on a broken bell and for a dash
at the foe. Lo! a fierce rain of rifle-shot falls, followed by the
shouting of a hundred thunders; mountains and valleys shake; heaven
and earth quake. Captain Murakami, commander of the company, shouting
tremendously and brandishing his long sword, rushes forward. All the
soldiers follow his example and pierce the enemy’s line, shouting,
screaming, dancing, and jumping. This done, the Russians turn their
backs on us and run for their lives, leaving behind arms, powder, caps,
etc. How cleverly and quickly they scamper away! That at least deserves
our praise.
Waitu-shan became ours once for all. We did not fight a very
hard fight, but this our first success was like a stirrup cup.
“Medetashi![40] medetashi!” We raised our hearty Banzai to the morning
sky at eight o’clock on the 26th of June.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XI.]
THE OCCUPATION OF KENZAN
WAITU-SHAN being taken with ease, the emboldened thousands of our
soldiers now began to chase the fleeing enemy along the long, narrow
path leading from Ling-shui-ho-tzu to the 368-metre hill, that is,
Kenzan. The object of this march was to attack the Russians occupying
Kenzan, and our men were more eager and enthusiastic than ever, and
fully expected to take this hill with one single stroke.
Kenzan is a very steep, rocky, rugged peak, and the path on our side
was particularly steep and rugged, so much so that one man on the path
could prevent thousands of men from either climbing or descending.
This hill had had no name originally, but the Russians themselves
christened it Quin Hill. After the place was taken, General Nogi gave
it the name of Kenzan, “Sword Hill,” after the famous steep hill
Tsurugi[41]-ga-miné of Shikoku, near our home barracks, in order to
perpetuate the fame of the regiment that took this steep place. We did
not know at first how large a Russian force was stationed there. We
had only ascertained that there were some infantry and more than ten
guns for its defense.
Our regiment, as the reserve force, went round the foot of Waitozan
and stopped in the cultivated fields near the seashore. At this time
it was burning hot in Liaotung; moreover, there was no stream of water
to moisten our mouths, no trees or bushes beyond the village to give
us shade. Our position was even without grass, and we were exposed to
the red-hot-poker-like rays of the sun, which seemed to pierce through
our caps and melt our heads. We, however, consoled ourselves with the
idea that this horrible fire-torture would not last long, and that soon
we should have a chance of real fighting. But we remained in the same
position from 9 A.M. till 3 P.M., all the hottest hours of the day.
Far away to the left was visible the rippling water of the eastern
sea—how we longed for a cold bath before going forward to die on the
battle-field! We could not help our mouths watering at the distant
sight of the sea!
After a while, a Russian gunboat appeared near Hsiaoping-tao, an island
to our left, and began to fire at our reserve force. Many circles of
smoke were scattered high in the air, the air itself made a whirling
sound, and the shot fell on our position with a tremendous noise. Shot
after shot, sound after sound! Some would hit rocks, emit sparks,
spread smoke around, and the rock itself would fly in pieces. Seen
from a safe distance, it is a heart-stirring sight, but we would not
have welcomed a real hit. Nearly all this shot came very near us, but
fortunately none of us was wounded. Soon we began to hear the booming
of guns and cannon in the direction of Kenzan; and we knew the attack
had begun. We were anxiously longing to march and join the battle.
How eagerly we welcomed the order, “Forward, march!” As soon as it was
heard, all the men jumped up with a spring and turned their eyes to the
colonel’s face. The commander’s brave bearing is always looked up to
by his men as their pattern. Especially in a critical moment, when the
issue of the day is to be settled, his undaunted attitude and steady
gaze will alone inspire his men with the courage and energy which lead
them to victory.
Now we were to march. Our heavy knapsacks would have hindered our
activity. The men hurried to put about a day’s ration into a long
sack to be fastened to the back, and fixed their overcoats to their
shoulders. I pulled out two or three cigarettes from a package and
started at once. Without any special order from anybody, our pace
became faster and faster—we marched along a long road toward the place
where the roar of cannon and rifles was rising. We came nearer and
nearer to the noise of the battle-line. When we reached the actual
spot, how our hearts leaped!
The steep hill occupied by the enemy rose in front of us almost
perpendicularly. Our first line was incessantly exchanging fire with
the Russians. As the fighting became harder and harder, the number of
the wounded increased in proportion; they were carried to the rear in
quick succession. Bloodstained men on stretchers, wounded soldiers
walking with difficulty, supporting themselves on rifles—the sight of
these unfortunate ones made us fresh men the more eager to avenge them.
The struggle became still fiercer. Our artillery tried hard to silence
the enemy’s guns; our infantry were clambering up the steep height one
after the other—they would stop and shoot, then climb a little and stop
again. The whole sky was covered with gray clouds—white and black smoke
rose in volumes; shells fell on the ground like a hail-storm. After a
short time, our superior artillery effectively silenced three or four
of the enemy’s guns. Our infantry came quite close to the enemy, when
two mines exploded before them. Our men were enveloped in black smoke
and clouds of dust—we feared great damage was done. Strange to tell,
however, not one of our men had fallen when the smoke-cloud cleared
away. The enemy had wasted a large quantity of precious powder with the
mere result of raising a dust!
The Russians tried to hinder our pressing on, not only by these
exploding mines, but also by repeated volleys from the mountain-top.
This latter scheme was carried out so incessantly that we could hardly
turn our faces toward the enemy or raise our heads comfortably. On and
on, however, we marched without fear or hesitancy. A small company of
men at the head of the line would clamber up the rocks and precipices,
ready for annihilation; encouraged by their example, larger forces
would break in upon the enemy like a flood. Stepping on mine-openings
and braving rifle and cannon fire coming from front and side, the
extreme danger and difficulty of their attack was beyond description.
The enemy resisted desperately; this Heaven-protected steep Kenzan was
too important for them to give up.
Suddenly a tremendous shout arose throughout our whole line; all the
officers, with drawn swords and bloodshot eyes, rushed into the enemy’s
forts, shouting and yelling and encouraging their men to follow. A
hell-like struggle ensued, in which bayonet clashed against bayonet,
fierce shooting was answered by fierce shooting, shouts and yells were
mingled with the groans of the wounded and dying. The battle soon
became ours, for, in spite of their desperate resistance, the enemy
took to their heels, leaving behind them many mementos of their defeat.
Banzai was shouted two or three times; joy and congratulation resounded
on the heights of Kenzan, which was now virtually ours. The Flag of the
Rising Sun was hoisted high at the top of the hill. This stronghold
once in our hands, shall we ever give it back to the enemy?
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XII.]
COUNTER-ATTACKS ON KENZAN
KENZAN once in our hands, Shuangting-shan and its vicinity soon became
ours. Through the smoke our colors were seen flying over the forces
now occupying these places, whose thunder-like triumphal shouts
echoed above the winds. This Shuangting-shan was as important as
Kenzan—neither position must remain in the hands of the enemy. But
Shuangting-shan was not strongly fortified and the Russians could not
hold it long against us. It was an easy prey for us. “When one wild
goose is frightened, the whole line of wild geese goes into disorder;
when one company wavers, the whole army is defeated,” so says the old
expression. When the Russians lost Kenzan, which they had relied upon
so much, Shuangting-shan fell like a dead leaf, and Hsiaoping-tao also
became ours. This island is to the left of the foot of Shuangting-shan
and, as I have already told you, Russian ships had appeared in that
neighborhood and attacked us on the flank; this attempt at piercing
our side with a sharp spear was very effective. These ships were
driven back into Port Arthur more than once by our fleet; but as soon
as they found a chance, they would come back and bombard our flank.
During the battle of the 26th, three or four gunboats of the enemy
were in that vicinity; they greatly hindered our attacks on Kenzan and
Shuangting-shan. So the left wing of our left column was ordered to
take the island, and it soon fell into our hands. Thus the whole of the
first line of the enemy’s defense about Port Arthur came entirely under
our flag.
Every detachment of our army was successful in its attack of the 26th,
and this gave us an enormous advantage for the future development of
our plan of campaign. We were now in a position to look down upon the
enemy’s movements, from those same heights whence they once had espied
our doings. It is, therefore, no wonder that the Russians tried to
recover this vantage ground. It is said that General Stoessel ordered
his whole army to recover, at whatever cost, this Kenzan, which, he
said, was indispensable for the defense of Port Arthur. This was
quite natural for them. But we Japanese had determined not to give up
the place to the enemy, whatever counter-attack, whatever stratagem,
might be brought to bear. If they were ready for a great sacrifice,
we were equally willing to accept the sacrifice. Brave Russians, come
and attack us twice or thrice, if you are anxious to have regrets
afterward! What they did was “to keep the tiger off the front gate and
not to know that the wolf was already at the back door.”
The long, summer-day’s sun was going down, a dismal gray light
enveloped heaven and earth; after the battle warm, unpleasant winds
were sweeping over bloodstained grass, and the din of war of a
short time before was followed by an awful silence, except for the
scattered reports of rifles, with thin, dull, spiritless sound. This
was the repulsed enemy’s random shooting to give vent to their anger
and regret—it was quite an amusement for us. All of a sudden, dark
clouds were vomited by mountain peaks, the whole sky became black in
a moment, lightning and thunder were followed by bullet-like drops of
rain; nature seemed to repeat the same desperate, bloody scene that
we had presented a short while before. This battle of the elements
was an additional hardship for our men,—they had not even trees for
shelter,—all looked like rats drenched in water! We spent the night on
this mountain in the rain, listening to the neighing of our horses at
its foot.
A severe battle is usually followed by a heavy storm or shower. When
the battle is at its height, the sky is darkened with powder-smoke
and the whole scene is dismal and dreary. Presently a heavy shower
and deafening thunders come to wash away all impurities of the
battle-field. This rain is called “the tears of joy for the victor,
and the tears of sorrow for the defeated;” it is also the tears of
mourning for the dead comrades. Such a stormy night was almost sure to
be utilized by the enemy to recover the lost position. But we were not
off our guard after our victory, as the enemy may have imagined—the
roar of thunder or the fall of rain did not make us less vigilant.
Each time they visited us, we were sure to dismiss them at the gate,
thanking them for their fruitless visit. Once we occupy a place, a line
of strict vigilance is spread all around, ready to meet the enemy’s
counter-surprise at any moment. This is what we call “tightening the
string of the helmet in victory.”[42]