commander of the left wing: “Our regiment is now starting for an
assault irrespective of damage—I hope that your regiment also will join
in this memorable assault and occupy Taku-shan with us.”
As soon as this order was made public, both wings started at the same
time. All of us braved the anger and fury of the king of hell, braved
the natural steepness and formidable fire, and attacked and pressed
upward with strength and courage as of the gods. The shriek and yell
of men, the boom and roar of guns, the gleam of bayonets and swords,
the flying of dust, the flowing of blood, the smashing of brains and
bowels—a grand confusion and a tremendous hand-to-hand fight! The enemy
rolled down huge stones from the top, and many an unfortunate was
thrown into the deep valley or crushed against the rocks. Shrieks of
pain and yells of anger made the whole scene more like hell than like
this world. The heavy batteries of Kikuan-shan and Erhlung-shan were
well aimed and their shells exploded right over the top of Taku-shan,
while fiery bundles of spherical shells and fougasse presented long
lines of bright light crossing and intersecting from all directions.
Presently a great shout of Banzai shook the whole mountain, rising from
top and foot simultaneously. What? What had happened? Behold, a flag is
waving in the dark clouds of smoke! Is it not our dear Rising Sun? Our
assault has succeeded! Our standard is already unfurled on the top of
the hill! We saw this and we cried for joy.
Taku-shan, enshrouded in its light gray dress of smoke, was now ours.
But as soon as it came into our possession, all the fortresses of the
enemy began concentrating their fire upon our main position on this
mountain. Heavy-gun shells, as big as a common water jar,[52] came
whizzing like locomotives, causing heavy vibrations in the air. When
they exploded with a tremendous noise, a miraculous light glittered
where the white smoke rose, and rocks were shattered where the dark
cloud hung. It seemed as if the very centre of the earth were shaken,
and the bodies of the dead were cut into small fragments. Our position
was far from safe. Our detachments occupying the new place could
hardly keep their post. If the enemy should try a counter-assault, as
they were sure to, how could we keep them in check on such a perilous
mountain-top? If we even stretched our necks to look across the slopes
into the enemy’s defenses, we were sure to be visited by their fire at
once. We could not move a step. One soldier, who was on guard over six
field-guns captured on the top, was hit by a whole shell and literally
shattered to bits. One piece of his flesh, which flew above our heads
and stuck to a rock behind us, was all that was left of him. Another
shell fell into a group of soldiers, and twenty-six men became small
dust in one minute; the rock that was shattered by this shell buried
alive three more.
Lieutenant Kunio Segawa was shot through the abdomen on this day;
toward evening his end seemed near. His servant and others were nursing
him, when his elder brother, Captain Segawa, who knew nothing of his
wound, happened to come along and was asked to give his dying brother
the farewell drink of water. Whereupon the captain quickly came near to
his brother and shouted, “Kunio!” As soon as the dying man heard his
dear brother’s voice, as if he had been thinking of him and longing
to see him, he opened his dim eyes in the midst of his hard breathing,
gazed on his brother’s face, grasped his hand firmly with tears, and
for a while both were silent with emotion. The captain said presently:
“Kunio, you have done well! Have you anything to say?” and he wiped
his dying brother’s face and poured water into his mouth from his
water bottle. The younger brother faintly nodded and said, “Dear elder
brother!”[53]
That was his last word, and soon he started for another world. What
was the grief of the surviving brother then! The bystanders could not
repress tears of sympathy for both. Two weeks later, in the battle of
August 24, the captain followed his beloved brother and joined the
ranks of those who were not.
Taku-shan, the keystone to their main line of defense, being now
wrested from their hands, the Russians must have been very indignant
and greatly disappointed. As was expected, they tried counter-attacks
over and over again with a view to retaking Taku-shan, but each time we
repulsed them and reduced them to deeper disappointment. A few days
after the occupation of Taku-shan, one of the sentinels stationed at
the top of the mountain was unexpectedly shot and killed at early dawn
by a Russian scout. Ready to encounter the enemy, the Second Company
ran up to the top, where they saw, only ten or fifteen feet below them,
some Russian officers at the head of over seventy men brandishing their
swords and hurrying up the mountain. Without a moment’s hesitation, a
fierce rifle fire was directed at the enemy, who seemed startled by
this unexpected reception and, turning, took to their heels and ran
away, almost rolling and tumbling in their haste. Our company took this
good opportunity and shot them right away. What a splendid result! Not
one of them was left alive! Their bodies made dark spots scattered over
the mountain-side. At that very moment a large detachment of the enemy
was stationed as a reinforcement at the point where the roads branch
toward Hsaioku-shan and toward our position on Taku-shan. Their plan
was probably this: an advance detachment was sent to both mountains,
and this reinforcing body was to hurry to whichever hill should offer
the better opportunity for a counter-attack. Such a half-hearted,
uncertain policy can never succeed.
However, as has been repeatedly remarked, the stubborn pertinacity of
the Russians was something that surprised us. When any position is
attacked, the loss of one part of it may necessitate the retreat of
its defenders in another part, with the alternatives of annihilation
or of being made captives: in such a case, the Russian soldiers will
not vacate the spot, but stick firmly to it until they are killed.
Even when they are reduced to one single man, that one man will still
continue shooting; if we go near him, he will fix his bayonet and fight
on obstinately until finally an idea of surrender suggests itself to
his mind. Such things happened frequently at Kenzan, at Taipo-shan, and
at Taku-shan. I am told that after the battle of Nanshan, mysterious
shot came flying, whence no one knew, and killed or wounded more than
ten of our men. After long search it was found that a Russian soldier
was hiding himself in a kitchen and shooting us from the window eagerly
and fearlessly. Whenever we asked Russian captives why they resisted
us so stubbornly, they were sure to answer: “We could not disobey the
officer’s command.” We had heard of the absolute, obsequious obedience
of the Russian soldiers, and here on the real battle-field we found
that it was true and that they were faithful to their duty unto death.
This perhaps comes from the fact that the old relation between the
nobility and serfs in the Middle Ages is now kept up between Russian
officers and men. This Russian spirit of obedience is totally different
in origin from the unfeigned harmony and friendliness and the sincere,
voluntary obedience obtaining through all the ranks of the Japanese
Army. An English officer, who spent several months in Manchuria with
the Japanese Army, remarked that the strongest characteristic and the
most attractive thing about it was the friendly harmony prevailing
from the top to the bottom, the like of which could not be found in
the army of any other nation, not even in England or in democratic
America. Perhaps the real strength of our army comes from this special
moral and spiritual condition. But the obstinate courage of the Russian
soldiers is a characteristic worthy of our admiration. While holding
fast to Port Arthur, their provisions and ammunition became scarce,
thousands and tens of thousands of lives were taken, and their sad
situation was like a light before a gust of wind; yet, in the midst of
such disheartening conditions, they did not change their attitude at
all, but went on resisting us with dogged determination. This was done
by the Russians through the force of their Russian characteristics and
shows plainly what was the education and discipline they had undergone.
A passage in the Military Reader of Russia runs:—
“The laurel of victory in battle can be won by the bayonet and the
war-cry. When your shot is exhausted, knock down the enemy with the
stock of your rifle. If the rifle stock be broken, bite with your
teeth.”
Yes, they were stubborn in their resistance and attack, but at the
same time they were extremely careful of their lives. These two
characteristics are contradictory to each other. “Rather live as a
tile than be broken as a jewel,” seemed their great principle, the
contrary of the Japanese ideal, “rather die beautifully than live in
ignominy.” One Russian captive is reported to have said: “I have a
dear wife; she must be extremely anxious about me. Our officers told
us that the Japanese Army was brittle as a clay statue. But, contrary
to our expectation, they are as strong as devils. Rather than fight
and be killed, I must save my life for my wife. If I die she will
grieve and go mad. I am no match for the Japanese. It is silly to fight
on, knowing that we shall surely be killed by the Japanese Army.”
There is an impassable gulf between this and the Japanese ideal and
determination to die in honor but never live in shame.
We defended and held on to this Taku-shan, though it was extremely
difficult to hold against the enemy’s assault. Fortunately all their
attempts at retaking it came to naught. Eventually the Russians seemed
to give up the idea of any further counter-attack, and began to busy
themselves with strengthening the already strong constructions on
the main line of defense and with impeding our work of fortification
by firing incessantly the heavy guns of the different forts. At the
same time, our detachment was fortifying Taku-shan on the side
toward the enemy, gathering siege material, constructing strong
positions for heavy batteries, and sending out efficient scouts
to ascertain the positions of the enemy’s mines, the condition of
their wire-entanglements, and to see how their fire would affect the
routes assigned for our march. All these preparations, and all these
investigations about the condition of the zone of our attack being
completed, the 19th of August was fixed for the first general assault,
and East Kikuan was given to our detachment as our chief objective.
Because this battle was expected to seal the fate of Port Arthur,
everything was most carefully and accurately planned and mapped out.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XXIII.]
PROMOTION AND FAREWELLS
OF course we left Japan fully determined to turn into dust under the
hoofs of His Majesty’s steed, saying, “Here I stand ready to die.” Our
hearts were impatient, but the opportunity was slow in coming. More
than one hundred days had passed since we had left for the front. Then
hundreds of blossoms on home fields and mountains made our uniforms
fragrant with their sweet smell, the spring breeze that wafted us to
a strange land far away lightly kissed the sun-colors. Time flies
quickly, and now we sit under the shadow of green leaves. At night,
sleeping on our arms, or in the day, exposed to the hail-storm of
bullets, we had never forgotten our desire to return the Imperial favor
and beneficence with death, and death only. The time, however, was not
yet full. Thousands of our comrades had died without the joy of seeing
the final success; their spirits must be unconsoled and unable to find
eternal rest. We were eager to avenge them, but ah! the opportunity
had not yet come. We survivors lived in the stink of rotting flesh
and crumbling bones; our own flesh wasted and even our bones seemed
thinner. We were like a group of spirits with sharp, eager passions in
miserable bodies, but still we were offshoots of the genuine cherry
tree of Yamato. How was it that we were still alive after fighting one,
two, three, already four battles, without having fallen like beautiful
cherry petals of the battle-field? I had been fully resolved to die on
Taku-shan, but still I was left behind by a great many of my friends.
Surely this time, in this general assault, I must have the honor and
distinction of offering my little self to our beloved country. With
this idea, this desire, this determination, I started for the battle.
I was promoted to first lieutenant in the early part of August, but the
news reached me just on this occasion. Colonel Aoki called me before
him and told me most gravely: “I congratulate you on your promotion.
You have carried the regimental colors from the very beginning. You are
now released from that duty, but strive harder still, for to-morrow is
assigned for our general assault. I have eaten and slept with you for a
long time and am grieved to part with you, but I say good-by to you now
because I am anxious for your success.”
Yes, I had eaten and slept with the dear regimental commander from our
first arrival and had fought at his side. In the bivouac, exposed
to rain and dew, the colonel had shared his mat with me so that I
might sleep the better. Even his scanty food he divided with me,
smiling as cheerily as if he were eating with his family at home. I
had always feared that the colonel, who was used to sleeping on a
comfortable couch at home, might contract an illness from this bed
and pillow of grass. With three thousand lives in his hand, the life
of the regimental commander is very precious, and the morale of the
whole regiment depends largely upon his health. I had tried my best to
serve him attentively and make him as comfortable as the uncomfortable
circumstances of the battle-field would allow. Some time ago, while we
were at Changchia-tun, I prepared hot water in a water jar and offered
him the first hot bath he had had since leaving Japan. He was pleased
with it from the bottom of his heart, and I shall never forget his glad
countenance of that moment. Now I had to part with the colonel who was
as dear to me as my own father, and my grief was without limit. Of
course I still belonged to one of his companies and I was still his
subordinate. It was not a real separation, but I felt as if I were
going far away from him. When I heard these farewell words of his, I
felt my throat choked with tears and could not raise my head for a
while. It was also a great sorrow for me to part with the regimental
colors that I had taken care of through thick and thin. When I looked
at the faded, torn standard now hanging to the left of the colonel, I
could not help feeling that among the three thousand men whose hearts
all stir at the sight of that flag, I had a right to a special emotion
in the presence of the regimental insignia.
After a moment of thoughtful silence, I sorrowing over my separation
from the flag and the colonel, and the colonel apparently regretting
his parting with me, I said earnestly: “Colonel, I will show you what a
splendid fight I can make—” I could not say anything more and, turning
on my heel quietly, walked off a few steps and then ran to my servant
and said: “I am now ordered to go to my company. You, in consequence,
must leave me, but I shall never forget your kindness. Remember me as
your true elder brother to eternity. I cannot say anything more. Fight
like a brave soldier.”
Bunkichi Takao, my servant soldier, wept bitterly and said he could
never leave me. That, however, could not be. I soothed and comforted
him, saying that he must obey his superiors’ commands faithfully and
not be behind anybody else in doing and suffering, and that the box we
had made together before the battle of Taku-shan was certainly to be
used this time. I, too, was very reluctant to lose him, and my heart
was full of emotion.
“Lieutenant, do you really think of me as your younger brother?” Takao
said, in tears; and I too shed hot tears.
“We part now, but may meet again. If we die, let us die together a
glorious death and talk over the past together in another world.” So
saying, I started to go after he had brushed the dust off my uniform
and retied the strings of my leggings.
“Well, then, lieutenant—” he began to say, but, too sad to look at me
any longer, he covered his face and turned away.
“Takao, don’t forget what I have told you from time to time,” I said,
and walked to the position where the Third Battalion was stationed.
Separated from the regimental flag, from the colonel, and from my own
servant, I directed my solitary steps through the wild country. As I
looked at the hills and valleys, now turned into the graves of my dear
comrades, and watched the clouds gather and disperse in the sky, I
could not help thinking of the inconstancy of earthly things. Suddenly
it occurred to me that I must see Surgeon Yasui once more, and say
good-by to Captain Matsuoka, my senior officer from my native province.
At once I turned back and walked some distance to a ravine at the
northern foot of Taku-shan. Captain Matsuoka was sitting alone in his
tent and was glad to see me.
“I have not seen you for some time,” he said. “Are you quite well?”
“Thank you, I am, and I have been promoted to be first lieutenant. I
am now ordered to join the Third Battalion. Please continue your favor
toward me.”
The captain said, abruptly, “Then this is our last chance of meeting in
this world!”
I told him that I, too, expected to die, and expressed my desire that
we might die together on the top of Kikuan. When I rose to go, the
captain tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “What have you there at
your belt?” Whereupon I smiled faintly and said, “It is my coffin.”
“Well, indeed! You are well prepared!” That was our farewell, and I
left the ravine. Soon this separation in life was to be followed by the
separation of death.
I then went over to the headquarters of the First Battalion, which were
hidden behind the rocks near Chuchia-tun, and found Surgeon Yasui.
Soon after my arrival there, a few of the enemy’s shot fell with a
tremendous noise in front of the tent. Four or five more followed, but
we were so accustomed to such things that we paid little attention
to it. This position, I was told, was frequently a target for the
enemy’s fire. I was grieved to hear that the commander of the First
Battalion had been slightly wounded in the battle of Taku-shan. When
I told Surgeon Yasui of my promotion, he took me aside to where the
powder-boxes were piled and said that he had been longing to see me;
that, though we were in the same place, we had had no chance of
a friendly chat, and that every day and night he had been waiting
impatiently to hear from me. I was deeply moved and said to him that
it was strange that both of us had been spared so far, but that this
time I was fully prepared for death, and that I had come on purpose
to see him once more and take a last farewell. I also reminded him
of our promise in that ruined house at Hwangni-chuan, and said that
if both should die that would be all, but if he should survive me he
was to cut off a part of my bloodstained uniform and keep it as a
memento. We grasped each other’s hands firmly, saying that this was
our eternal farewell in this world, and, praying for each other’s
success, we parted in tears. Reluctantly I left his tent, crossed the
river Taiko, climbed the mountain slope facing the enemy’s fortress,
and went to the headquarters of the brigade to pay my respects to the
brigadier-general. Just at the time when I arrived at headquarters
the adjutant was relieved from duty on account of illness, so, as a
temporary arrangement, I was put in his place as aide-de-camp. Later I
was put in charge of the Twelfth Company.
On the night previous to the beginning of the general attack of the
19th, I received two letters brought to me by the cook. Of course
no mail was expected to reach us in such a place and under such
circumstances, but these two letters had been miscarried and mislaid
for some time before finally reaching me. They were both from my elder
brother, one inclosing a fountain pen and the other a photograph of
my two little nieces, one four and the other three years of age. They
seemed to say “Dear Uncle” to me from the picture. Such sweet little
faces! If, however, the little babies in the photograph had had eyes
that could see, they would perhaps have cried at my changed, emaciated
features. Night and day I had been seeing nothing but unkempt soldiers
or shattered flesh and broken bones. Even the flowers that had smiled
from the grassy fields were now trodden down and crushed. In such a
battle-field, and on the night before a great fight, I was honored with
the visit of these dear nieces. How it softened my wild heart! What joy
they brought to me! I could not help kissing their dear eyes and mouths
and murmuring to myself: “You brave little ones, that have left your
dear mother’s lap to cross the broad sea and wild waves to visit me in
this place of powder-smoke and shot-rain! Your uncle will take you with
him to-morrow and let you see how he chastises the enemy of dear Japan.”
The cloud of smoke had passed away for this night and bright stars were
twinkling in the sky. I slept in the camp with my two little nieces
by my side. Nelson’s last words came forcibly to my mind, and I also
repeated over and over again the couplet that I had written and given
my father when leaving Japan, in which I had spoken of “the glory of
death in battle, loyalty for seven lives.” To leave my skull bleaching
in the wilderness and become a patriotic spirit returning to life seven
times—was this to take place on the morrow or on the day after? My time
was almost full!
There was a lance-corporal by the name of Yamamoto, who about this
time sent clippings of his nails and hair to his mother and brother,
together with a farewell letter and poem; and this letter proved to be
his last. It ran thus:—
“Twice already I have joined a forlorn hope, and still I am keeping my
head on my shoulders. I am filled with grief when I think of my dead
comrades. Out of over two hundred men who advanced before the others of
our company, there are only twenty left who are able-bodied. Fortunately
or unfortunately I am among this small number. But the life of man is
only fifty years. Unless I give up that life betimes, I may have no
proper opportunity again. Sooner or later I must die, as all must die.
So I prefer being broken to pieces as a jewel to remaining whole as
a tile. Shot or bayonet or whatever may come, I can die but once. My
comrade is shot at my right hand, my officer’s thigh and arm are blown
up into the air at my left—and I in the middle am not hurt at all, and
I pinch myself, doubting whether it is not a dream. I feel the pinching,
so I must be alive still. My time for dying has not come yet. I must
brace myself up to avenge my comrades. You proud, impudent Ruskies!
I will chastise you severely.—Thus my heart is ever impatient though
I am lacking in brilliant parts. Born a farmer’s son, I shall yet be
sung as a flower of the cherry tree, if I fight bravely and die in the
battle-field, instead of dying naturally but ignobly in a thatched hut
on a straw mat.
“Banzai, banzai, banzai to H. M. the Commander-in-chief!
“TAKETOSHI YAMAMOTO,
“Late Lance-Corporal of the Infantry of the Army.”
You notice that he used the word “late” before his title, showing
beyond any doubt his resolve to enter the death-ground with a smile.
Such a resolve was held by all at that time, and Yamamoto only gave a
clear though unsophisticated expression to the general sentiment.
[Illustration: Japanese kanji Ch. XXIV.]
THE BEGINNING OF THE GENERAL ASSAULT