rain and dew, but they were now in a miserable condition, torn by wind
and spoiled by rain. For the sixty days since our landing we had lived
in tents. All the circumstances had been against our securing other
quarters. Chinese villages have seldom many houses, only three or four
together, here and there; they are not at all adapted for accommodating
a large army. If sometimes we happened to spend a night under the eaves
of a house, sheltered from inclement weather, but smelling all the
time the unsavory odor of pigs and garlic, it seemed as great a luxury
as sleeping under silk comfortables in an elegant room at home. Tents
were our ordinary dwelling; one sheet of canvas was everything to us,
shutting off wind and rain, and making our condition far better than
if we had been obliged to lie in the damp open fields with the earth
as our bed. But this all-important canvas could no longer do anything
except serve the purpose of covering us from the sun’s rays. It allowed
the merciless rain to tease us, and the angry winds to chastise us
freely, for what offense we did not know. Though it kept off the
scorching sun, it yielded before wind and rain. Our bodies could bear
the rage of the elements; but how could we protect our rations and our
guns against the weather? These things were as important to us as life
itself. We had no other place of shelter, not even a tree to protect
us. Crying and lamenting were of no use. If it could not be helped, we
could at least sleep a good sleep exposed to rain, and lose our fatigue
from the day’s work in pleasant dreams. If any one could have stolen a
glance at our sleeping faces on such a night, what a sight would have
greeted his eyes! There we lay fully clothed, with long disheveled
hair and unshaven faces, looking like beggars or mountain bandits, our
tanned skins covered with dust and grime. We were terribly emaciated,
our only delight was in eating. Whenever we had time, our thoughts
turned to the question: What can we get to eat?
“Have you anything good?”
“No, _you_ must have something nice; do give me some.”
These were the usual forms of greeting when we met. Sometimes when our
mouths were too lonely we roasted peas, beans, or corn and would chew
them, making sounds like rats biting something hard. Such an experience
showed us what a life of luxury we had been living at home.
The capture of Dalny gave our army improved facilities for the
conveyance of supplies, and we could live on without much privation,
except when we were actually engaged in fighting. The soldiers received
their regular rations, which they cooked for themselves. In the shadow
of a rock, or at the corner of a stone wall, they might be seen
cooking their food with millet stalks as fuel, waiting impatiently in
the smouldering smoke for the rice to be ready. They were like happy
children. The relishes were chiefly cucumber, dried radish, edible
fern, dried sweet potato, or canned things. These were prized as great
delicacies, as we were frequently obliged to swallow hard biscuit
without water, or to welcome as a great treat half-cooked rice and one
or two salt pickled plums.
Our present station was pleasanter than Changchia-tun. Here we had some
green grass, and some lovable blossoms also smiled on us. We would
pick these flowers and arrange them in empty shells or put them in our
buttonholes and enjoy their fragrance. The tiny blue forget-me-nots
made us sometimes fly in imagination to our dear ones at home.
We Japanese fighters had another foe besides the Russians, and it was
the formidable fiend called climate. However brave a man may be, he
may fall sick at any moment and have to leave the line of battle; this
is being wounded by the enemy called climate, or sometimes by another
called food. Exposure to the wind and rain sometimes brings about
epidemics. It is hard enough to wait in wet clothes until the welcome
sun comes out and dries us, but it adds greatly to the hardship to
be in constant dread lest a terrible foe come and assault us at any
moment. In this neighborhood there were no trees worth the name, but
there was grass enough for us to thatch improvised roofs for temporary
quarters. These grass roofs were sufficient to keep off the sun, but
were of no use against rain and storm. In wet weather they were even
worse than torn tents. We could well stand the storm of the enemy’s
fire, but the storm of the elements was too much for us. Our soldiers
got drenched to the skin and chilled through and through; added to this
their excessive work both night and day, the insufficiency of their
sleep, and the drinking of the worst possible water, all combined to
bring about an epidemic of dysentery, which proved a heavy drain on
our forces. Attacked by this disease, I, who had been fat and strong,
began to lose flesh and energy very fast and feared that I might be
vanquished eventually. I was sad and grieved. Any sickness is far from
welcome, but it is doubly hard to fall ill where proper medical and
hygienic supplies cannot be secured. Moreover, we were expecting every
day to be ordered forward to fight. Should this order come before we
recovered, we must be left behind, and not partake in the glory of
another battle. This thought made us sick men still more impatient
and sad. I shall never forget the kindness of three men who were my
benefactors at this time. They are the two surgeons, Masaichi Yasui and
Hayime Ando, and my servant, Bunkichi Takao.
In spite of the infectious nature of my trouble, these surgeons were
with me all the time, and attended to my medicine, food, and nursing
very carefully. They also told me interesting and amusing stories
to cheer me up and to comfort me. Thanks to their efforts, I became
better and was allowed to join the glorious fight and fulfill my
allotted duties. Fighting together makes all men like brothers, or
like fathers and sons. But this experience attached me particularly to
these men, and all the time we were stationed in this place I rejoiced
to labor and suffer with them. Dispersion is the ordinary rule in the
battle-field; moreover, we did not know when we might be separated
eternally by death. In the fierce siege of a strong fortress, death
and injury cannot be limited to the men in the front lines; they may
visit surgeons and other non-combatants in the rear. Not only that, but
surgeons have often to risk themselves and go forward to the firing
line to pick up the wounded. We never know who will be the first to die.
“If you are killed and I remain whole, I will gather all your things
and keep them as a dear memento of our camp life together. If I die and
you are spared, please keep a piece of my bloodstained cloak and hand
it down to your posterity. My crimson blood will thus be a memento of
my sincere[44] friendship to you, a symbol of my insignificant service
loyally tendered to our Great Sire.” Thus we talked and promised and
became the best of friends. However, in the confusion of a battle-field
a man does not commonly know where his particular friend fell, nor can
he usually find his body. A chance meeting, whether dead or in life,
was of course an exception which we could not count upon. So when the
first general assault on Port Arthur was announced, I shook the hands
of these two surgeons in a last farewell, never expecting to see them
again in this world. Later, surrounded by the enemy, my limbs were
shattered at Wang-tai. A brave soldier rescued me and carried me away.
I was thus removed in a strange way from the mouth of the tiger. I lost
consciousness. When I recovered my senses, it was my friends Yasui and
Ando who held my shattered hands and said, “We thank you.” It was they
who had been taking care of me.
Bunkichi Takao, my servant, was one of the company whom I had trained
in the garrison. I admired his faithfulness, sincerity, and zeal. When
I was transferred to the headquarters of the regiment, I made a special
request to his captain and secured him as my servant. Even in time of
peace the relation between an officer and his servant is very close,
but when once in the battle-field together their relations become
still closer. It is no more master and servant, but elder and younger
brother. In everything I depended upon Takao, and he in return became
devotedly attached to me. He cooked for me, and brought me my food;
somewhere he obtained a big water jar, carried water from a distance to
fill it, and gave me the luxury of a good hot bath. In his letters to
my family, we find such passages as the following:—
“Since coming to the front, we two have been quite well. Please put
your heart at ease, as I am taking good care of my lieutenant. In the
battle-field we don’t know when we may be separated, but I shall guard
my lieutenant even after death. I shall never forget his kindness.
Forever and ever, please consider me as one of your family.”
What sincerity and faithfulness! While I was ill he would sit up all
night, forgetting his own tired-out self, to stroke my chest and rub
my arms. When I asked for food in great hunger, he would chide me and
soothe me as one would a baby, saying: “You cannot have anything now.
When you get better, I will give you anything you want.”
He paid minute attention to every detail and left nothing to be desired
in nursing me. I appreciated his devotion and was very grateful to him.
Later, when I was wounded, Takao was no longer my servant. He also
was wounded, but heard of my injury as he was being sent to the rear.
He tried hard to search me out in this field hospital or that, but he
could not find me and was greatly grieved, as I have since learned.
Heaven seemed willing to spare the life of such a sincere man as Takao.
He had the good fortune to come home in the final triumph. He was
wounded twice, ordered to the front thrice, and is now well known as
a loyal servant and a veteran warrior. Frequently he discharged with
success the important duties of orderly, his undaunted courage and
quick sagacity always helping him in moments of difficulty.
Although our camp was, as you have seen, exposed to merciless attacks
of storm, heat, and sickness, and the enemy’s projectiles were frequent
visitors to beguile our lonely moments, nevertheless the morale of men
and officers improved day by day. They were hungering and thirsting for
an early chance to assume the offensive.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XV.]
SOME BRAVE MEN AND THEIR MEMORIAL
THE poor Russians who were hopelessly invested in Port Arthur were
being driven back into a smaller and smaller space every day, so that
of necessity they tried desperately to break through our line and
enlarge their sphere of activity. Their repeated repulse at Kenzan
had apparently discouraged further attempts at retaking the hill, but
almost every day they attacked some spot on our line with more or less
spirit. However, they were never once successful, and their efforts
resulted only in the loss of ammunition and men.
About the 10th of July, we sent some advance patrols to a steep hill
in front of our line, which we named Iwayama, Rocky Hill. On this spot
the enemy’s scouts had made their appearance frequently and tried to
spy out the condition of our defenses. So we drove them away, and put
up our own line of outposts there. It was on the 16th of July, while it
was yet pitch dark, that Lieutenant Sugimura and a handful of men were
ordered to this spot. Even in summer the night breeze on the continent
is cool, and the chilly wind swept their faces through the darkness
and rustled the grass. The men, reduced to skin and bone, and with
morbidly sensitive nerves from their continued insufficiency of sleep,
lay watching through the darkness with straining eyes, occasionally
putting an ear to the ground to listen for footsteps, thinking that the
enemy must be sure to come on such a night. Suddenly the sentinel’s
cry “The enemy!” was followed by the lieutenant’s order “Deploy
skirmishers!” Cool and courageous, Sugimura faced the attack with an
eager determination to defend this important spot to the very last.
The enemy encircled them from three sides, and they were many more
than the Japanese, though the exact number could not be ascertained in
the dark. Moreover, the enemy brought machine-guns and attacked the
Japanese fiercely on the flank. These dreadful engines of destruction
the Russians relied upon as their best means of defense. Our army had
faced them at Nanshan and been mowed down by hundreds and thousands.
Imagine Lieutenant Sugimura, with only a handful of soldiers,
fearlessly brandishing his long sword and directing his men to fight
this formidable enemy. The fate of the small group of defenders,
surrounded by the enemy on three sides, was entirely in Sugimura’s
hand. He was so brave and his men so valiant that they fought on for
two hours and did not yield even an inch of ground. In spite of their
overwhelming numbers, the Russians seemed to find the Japanese too much
for them, and all at once discontinued the attack and disappeared in
the darkness. But our brave Sugimura was severely wounded. A shot from
a machine-gun went through his head. He did not succumb to the wound
for some minutes, but continued to shout and encourage his men, until
he saw, though his blood was fast running into his eyes, the enemy
retreat!
The Russians left more than ten dead behind them. Early next morning,
July 17, they came with a Red-Cross flag and stretchers, coolly
approached our patrol line, coming as near as fifty metres, and trying
to peep into our camp under the pretense of picking up their dead!
This, as also their unwarranted use of the white flag and of our sun
flag, was a despicable attempt at deceiving us. Not only once, but
frequently, did they repeat these shabby tricks. One time they showed
their meanness in another way. At one spot our sentinel noticed a dark
shadow coming forward, so cried, as usual:—
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Officer of our army—”
The Japanese patrol thought that a scouting officer had come back and
said: “Pass on!” Suddenly the dark shadow attacked the sentinel with
his bayonet. The latter, who was at once undeceived, exclaimed: “You
enemy! Impudent fellow! Come on!” and knocked him down with the stock
of his rifle. The enemy learned a few Japanese words and tried to use
them to deceive us. Because the Russians did not scruple to resort
to such small, unmanly tricks, we had always to be very careful and
vigilant.
Lieutenant Sugimura was picked up and carried to a barn, where his
attendant, Fukumatsu Ito, nursed him as a mother would her sick child.
The faithful Ito grew pale with anxiety and fatigue. With his eyes full
of tears, he would comfort and nurse his master. It was a touching
sight to see him so thoroughly devoted to Lieutenant Sugimura. When
the latter was sent to a field hospital, Ito used to go to visit him
whenever he had leisure, walking a great distance over a rough road.
One day on my way back from the headquarters of the brigade, I noticed
a soldier coming up the hill, panting under a heavy load on his
shoulder. Coming nearer, I found it was Ito. I asked him:—
“How is Lieutenant Sugimura’s wound?”
“Extremely bad, I am sorry to say. He does not understand anything
to-day.”
“Indeed! Sugimura must surely be grateful for your kind care.”
At this word of praise, Ito dropped a few tears, and said: “I do regret
that I was not wounded together with my lieutenant. I have not had
time enough to return his kindness to me, and now we must part, it
seems to me. It would have been far better if we had died together. It
was but last night that my lieutenant grasped my hand in his and said
to me, ‘I am very grateful to you.’ I felt so sad then, and longed to
die with my lieutenant.”
I could not watch this faithful man’s face any longer. He added, “I
must hurry on and see him,” and went on in a dejected state of mind.
His heavy parcel was full of Sugimura’s things.
Sugimura’s sad wound incited all the officers and men to a greater
determination to chastise the enemy on Taipo-shan in front of us;
they were all anxious to avenge the death and wounding of so many of
their comrades. Those who died on outpost duty were of course sorry
not to give their lives on a more glorious battle-field. Some of their
dying words were so full of indignation and regret that they reached
the marrow of the hearer’s bones. As one of the most characteristic
instances of this kind I venture to introduce a soldier by the name of
Heigo Yamashita. This man was always earnest and obedient in doing his
duty and would never grudge any amount of toil. His comrades loved and
respected him and regarded him as a model soldier. One day he turned to
his best friend and said, most solemnly:—
“I never expect to go back alive. I have no other desire than that I be
allowed to go and meet my comrades who died ten years ago, and tell
them that the vengeance is complete—but I have one elder brother who is
living in poverty. When I die, please let him know how brilliantly my
death-flower blossomed.”
Not long after this, he was ordered to convey an important message; on
his way back to report the successful discharge of his duty, he was
shot through the abdomen, and cried out: “What of this? A mere trifle!”
But he could stand no longer. He was carried to the first aid station;
the surgeon who examined him shook his head sadly and said that the man
could not be saved.
The colonel of his regiment paid a visit to this valiant soldier and
comforted him, saying: “Don’t lose hope! You suffer badly, but you
must keep up your courage.” But seeing that the man’s end was fast
approaching, the colonel’s eyes were dim with tears, when he said:
“It is a wound of honor! You have done well.” At this kind word Heigo
opened his eyes a little and squeezed this forcible entreaty out of his
agony: “Colonel, please pardon me.—Pray avenge me.”
His hand trembled, and his lips quivered as if he wished to say more;
soon he started on the journey from which none return. Poor Heigo! he
could not join the great fight soon to take place, but died in this sad
way. An apology for not doing anything better and an entreaty to be
avenged were the last words of this loyal subject. On the following
day his comrades interred his remains in the field, and Chaplain Toyama
read prayers and gave him a posthumous name according to the Buddhist
custom. The tomb-post bearing this new name was set up facing Port
Arthur.[45]
Here I must tell you about a memorial service for the dead that was
held in the camp. Since our attack on Kenzan, we had lost no small
number of men, so his Excellency the Commander of our Division
appointed the 1st of July for a service in memory of those brave
souls. An altar was raised on a farm near Lingshwuihotszu toward the
cloudy evening of that day. It was called an altar, but in reality
it was only a desk that we found in a farmer’s yard. It was covered
with white cloth, and a picture of Amida Buddha that Chaplain Toyama
happened to have was hung above it. In front of the altar, boxes were
piled up containing the ashes,—these boxes were about five inches
square. Also provision was made for burning incense, and the altar
was set facing Port Arthur. The dim light of candles added to the
gloom and sadness of the occasion; the insects singing far and near
seemed to chant about the inconstancy of all things. A shower falling
through the willow-branches, which were being combed by the winds,
seemed like tears of heaven. The officers of the division formed a
semicircle before the altar, the soldiers stood behind them, and when
the reading of the Scriptures by the chaplain was ended, the commander
stepped forward solemnly and offered incense, then bowed his head and
did not raise it for some minutes. His heart was full of untold grief
and gratitude. His lips were repeating the phrase, “You have done
well!” The spirits of the brave dead must also have been grieved to
have left such a worthy general. Other officers, one by one, followed
the general, bowing and offering incense, each sorrowing over his
unfortunate subordinates. “You have fought bravely and proved the
success of my training. You have faithfully done your duty and been
useful instruments in the hands of His Majesty,” was the silent tribute
each officer gave his own men. The surviving men, who had entered
the garrison at the same time with those unfortunate comrades and
striven with them in the performance of their daily duties, must have
envied their manly, heroic death and wished they had so distinguished
themselves as to die with them. The drops moistening the sleeves of the
officers and men, now bowing before the altar, were not merely from the
shower of heaven.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XVI.]
THE BATTLE OF TAIPO-SHAN
AFTER we repulsed the enemy at Kenzan in their desperate attempts at
retaking the hill, our position increased daily in strength. On the
one hand, every preparation was being made for an aggressive movement.
Twelve guns captured at Nanshan were arranged on the heights near
Lwanni-chiao, and six heavy naval guns were placed on the height to the
west of Chuchin-antsu. On the other hand, powerful scouting parties
were being frequently dispatched to ascertain the arrangement of the
advance posts of the enemy. At this time, the enemy’s main position was
on the steep hills between Eijoshi in the north with Shwangtai-kou and
Antsu-ling in the middle, and Taipo-shan and Laotso-shan in the south.
They had fortified these naturally strong places with everything that
money and time could afford, fully determined not to allow us Japanese
to advance even one step south of this line. So it was extremely
difficult to take this position by storm. But we had been drawing our
bow for a month, and were now quite ready and anxious to let the arrow
go. The opportunity ripened, the men’s morale was at its best. On July
26, all the columns and corps started from our position with one accord
to descend upon the Russian position in the south.
The sole objective of the regiment to which I belonged was the strongly
fortified Taipo-shan, on which the enemy relied as the most important
point in their advance position. On the night previous to the opening
of hostilities the plan of campaign was minutely explained to us;
the brigadier-general specially urged officers and men to do their
uttermost and never to stop until the place was captured, saying that
this battle was the first important step toward the real investment of
Port Arthur, and that we were to attack the strongest of the enemy’s
advance posts. Our colonel also addressed us, and said that this was
the first time that our regiment was to fight as a whole; that the
final victory of a battle is, in fact, won early in the struggle; that
all our lives belonged to him as our commander and that he would not
hesitate to sacrifice them, but would resort to whatever means he might
think advisable, during the act of fighting. He also told us that this
was the time for us to put to test the spirit of Bushidō,[46] in which
we had been long and carefully trained; that we must remember his
every-day instructions in general and the one given on the day of our
departure from the garrison in particular, so that we might concentrate
our thoughts and aspirations upon justifying His Majesty’s gracious
trust in us, and be ready to fall, all of us, under the honored banner
of our regiment. This was truly a solemn injunction! The commanders
of the battalions and companies followed suit, and each of us was
carefully put in mind of his duty and urged to do his very best to
keep the honor of the regiment unsullied. Thus our already willing
determination was made still firmer and stronger. We were in such an
uplifted state of mind that we had taken the whole of Taipo-shan before
beginning hostilities.
The scene in the camp presented an extraordinary sight during the night
previous to our march. Comrade was whispering with comrade here and
there. Some there were who grasped their rifles lightly and smiled a
lonely smile by themselves. Others changed to their best and cleanest
underwear, so that they might not disgrace themselves before the enemy,
dead in dirty clothing. Still others were looking vacantly into the
heavens and singing in an undertone. And what was I thinking at this
moment? All, I hope, were equally anxious to be able to die happy and
contented, saying, “I have done my duty, by the blessing of Heaven.”
Before daybreak of the 26th of July, when the fog was so thick that
we could not see a foot ahead, and a cool breeze was sweeping through
space after the shower of the previous evening, thousands of warriors
began to move like a long serpent through the dark. At 3 A. M. we
reached the foot of Iwayama, which was assigned to the reserve of our
regiment. On the top of this hill was the position for the skirmishers;
another hill to the right was assigned to the artillery. Until the
signal for opening hostilities was given, even one man’s head was
not allowed to be thrust out of the line. All loaded their guns and
were breathlessly waiting for the colonel’s order, “Fire!” He was
standing on the top of Iwayama with his field-glasses in his hand;
his aide-de-camp stood before him with an open map, and occasionally
fumbled about in his knapsack. Pack-horses loaded with ammunition were
gathered together at the foot of the hill, and the soldiers detailed
to distribute it were eagerly waiting to begin work. The signal was to
be a cannon-shot; we studied the hands of our watches and our hearts
jumped as the time went on minute after minute.