Part 10

During the battle the enemy’s shot fell constantly in the vicinity of the native dwellings, and in our temporary bandaging station the danger was very great. One time a big shell came through the roof and exploded in the courtyard, and a large number of the wounded men in the house were blown to pieces, the walls and pillars were spotted with blood and flesh; a shocking sight it was. On another occasion, just as the stretcher-bearers had brought in a wounded soldier from the battle-line with great difficulty, and put him down in the yard, an enemy’s shot came flying and killed the poor man on the spot. These unfortunate fellows had fought valiantly on the battle-line, and had been picked up and carried back with wounds of honor, only to be killed in such a miserable way. The enemy’s projectiles followed our brave men everywhere and killed them without mercy.

The dreary heartrending scene at the first aid is utterly beyond description. One cannot help associating it with the horrors of hell. As soon as a wounded man is carried back, be he officer or private, surgeons and hospital orderlies give him the necessary first aid. As the firing on the battle-line increases in intensity, the number of the wounded increases faster and faster, and the surgeons and others have more than they can do. While attending one man, they notice perhaps that another man begins to breathe hard and lose his color. While giving a few drops of brandy to the second man, a third man may be expiring without any medical aid. Hardly have they had time to dress one man’s wound properly, when ten or fifteen new ones are brought in. The surgeons are surrounded right and left by fatally wounded men. They work hard in their shirt sleeves, their whole attire covered with blood. Some men are bandaged, and others with broken limbs are helped by a splint. Of course all is done hurriedly and is only a temporary aid, but they are kept so busy, and the whole scene is so sad and urgent, that they feel as if they were losing their minds every moment, so much have they on their hands and so little can they actually do.

But those lying in this house or that yard are all brave soldiers. They would not grumble even if medical care were slow in coming, or insufficient when it came. They show no discontent, they have no special desires. Because the heat and excitement of the battle-field is still with them, they want to rush to the first line once more, whenever they hear the yell of fighters or the boom of guns. The surgeons try hard to pacify them and keep them still. Those made insane by wounds in the head raise faint cries of “Tenno Heika Banzai”[49] or of “Rusky,” and stagger about. If a surgeon holds them fast, they angrily rebuke him, saying, “You Rusky!” The result of these frantic movements is generally an abundant loss of blood, soon followed by fainting and death.

On the 27th there was a specially large number of wounded. The farmyard in front of the first aid station was filled with the suffering from one end to the other. While a surgeon is taking care of one, some one behind pulls him by his trousers. On looking back, he finds a man leaning against him and like an innocent baby falling into the sleep that knows no awakening. “Mine is a life that cannot be saved, please kill me at once.” So shouts a man in agony, clutching a surgeon with both hands. One sergeant crept on his hands, dragging his legs to the side of a surgeon. “Please, surgeon, the man over there is one of my company; he breathes so hard that it may be of no use, but please see him once more.” This entreaty was accompanied by tears of sympathy. This kind sergeant was seriously injured, but his love of his subordinate made him brave and gallant. There were many also who themselves were on the brink of the grave, and yet who insisted on their comrades being first attended to, saying that they could well afford to wait. What noble self-denial! The brave men, though panting and gasping, with livid faces and blood-covered bodies, kept the true spirit of Bushido, which could not be soiled with the dust of battle, nor did they lose it with their heart’s blood.

On the morning of the 27th a private came to the first aid station with a distracted, hollow countenance. A surgeon who noticed him asked, “What is the matter with you? Wounded?” No answer came from him, his lips moved in vain. The surgeon asked again, “What is it? I cannot know if you do not tell.” Still no answer was forthcoming. The surgeon thought it very strange, and while gazing at the man’s face he noticed a little blood on it. On closer examination it was found that this man had been shot through the temple from right to left, so that he had lost both sight and hearing. No sooner did the surgeon discover this than he began to attend to his case. But when he tenderly took the poor man’s hand, the soldier grated his teeth and muttered “Revenge.” His body stiffened very rapidly and he soon breathed his last. Poor brave fellow, he did not know he was dying, but was only anxious to fight again.

Here is another case. A wounded private came rushing into the station, swinging both arms as if in great haste. “It is a hot fight, extremely interesting! We shall occupy the place very soon.” The surgeon asked him, “Are you wounded?” “A little at the waist,” was the answer. As the surgeon was very anxious about the issue of the day, he asked the man: “Have you killed many of the enemy? Which side has more casualties?” The man lowered his voice and said, “Once again, there are more casualties on Japan’s side.”

Then the surgeon examined his “little wound” about the waist and was astonished at the seriousness of the case. The flesh of the right hip had been entirely swept away by a shell. He was so proud of his bravery in action and faithful discharge of duty, that he did not know that drop by drop his very life was ebbing away. He talked about the battle cheerfully and in high spirits. “All right! Your bandaging is finished. You may go.” At this word from the surgeon the man stood on his legs, but could not walk a step. The fever of war makes it possible for a man to walk and even run in such a condition. But once brought in by the bearers his nerves relax and he begins to feel the pain all at once. There have been many instances of this, and I was one of the number. I did not feel any pain at all during the two days I was lying on the field, but oh! the pain I began to feel when I was taken to the first aid and bandaged; the agony I then felt was so great that I wished I had died on the field. “To come to life from death,” was certainly my own case, but I could not at all appreciate my rare good fortune at that time. I thought that Heaven was cruel not to have killed me at once, instead of leaving me to suffer pain harder than death itself, in a state half dead and half alive.

While the fighting is yet going on the Red-Cross flags here and there beckon to those who are wounded in the field. The brave men who die on the spot receive no benefit from the great charity, but the wounded receive and monopolize its benefits, and sometimes feel as if they were stealing something from the worthy dead. As soon as a battle begins, the stretcher-carriers go about the field with stretchers on their shoulders, pick up the wounded at the front, and carry them to the first aid. These coolies—or carriers—must also be as brave and earnest as real combatants, else they could not do their work in an extremely dangerous place and moment. They are intrusted with the philanthropic and perilous business of braving sword and shot, searching out the wounded and carrying them to a safe place. They must share their scanty food and precious water with their patients, and must take every possible care of them and comfort and cheer them with loving hearts. The stretcher-bearer’s hard toil and noble work deserve our unbounded gratitude.

The sick and wounded who are sent back to the hospitals at home are clad in white and given the kind and faithful nursing and comforting of the surgeons and women nurses. I myself am one of those who received their care with tears of gratitude. In a home hospital everything is kindness and sympathy, but how is it at the front? In the summer, when I took part in actual engagements, large armies of flies attacked the wretched patients, worms would grow in the mouth or nose, and some of them could not drive the vermin away because their arms were useless. Hospital orderlies would fain have helped these poor sufferers, but their number was so small that there was only one of them to a hundred of the wounded. And the patients were exposed to the scorching sun in the day and to the rain or dew of the night, without covering. Sometimes the patients, after lying long on the field, were in an indescribable condition, and it was necessary to soak them in a stream and scrub them with a broom before dressing their wounds. These horrors were solely due to an unexpectedly large number of casualties produced by the unforeseen severity of the fighting. Those in charge of the surgical work were eager to take care of all as quickly as possible, and send them back to be healed and made ready to rejoin the ranks of the combatants as soon as possible; but as they had to crowd more than a thousand patients into a field hospital provided for two hundred, they were powerless to give any better care to the sufferers.

FOLLOWING UP THE VICTORY

WHEN the forts of Taipo-shan, made almost impregnable by nature, were at last taken by the Japanese forces, the proud Russians must have realized that they had no despicable foe in us. But because they had behind them the main line of defense surrounding the formidable fortress, they did not lose their courage with two or three defeats. So now they fell back upon the Kanta-shan Heights to construct new works of defense and try a third stand there. Because they were hurrying with this defensive construction, we too had to hurry with our attack. One day’s delay on our part would give them a day’s advantage over us. So without waiting to rest our tired backs and limbs after the long assault, we began a sustained pursuit with the force of a tidal wave, with a view to driving them to the main fortress while their defenses were as yet inadequate.

The 29th was spent in supplying the deficiency of ammunition, in the rearrangement of companies and ranks, and in a reconnaissance of the enemy’s cavalry. The following day, the 30th, was assigned for the simultaneous march of all our forces.

Our regiment put up a temporary bivouac in the valley near Hanchia-tun on the 29th. About three o’clock in the morning the brigade headquarters ordered our colonel to send for instructions at once. I was detailed for this duty and, accompanied by an orderly, ran one and one half _ri_ along the river bank, and reached headquarters a little before four o’clock. Unless we ran still faster back to our camp, our regiment could not join the fight in time. So I took off all my clothing and handed it over to the orderly, and ran for one and one half _ri_ perfectly naked, with a pistol in one hand and my sword in the other. It was still dark and I had to be very careful not to go in the wrong direction. I ran and ran, almost breathless, along the river bank. On my way back I happened to hear the voice of Paymaster Mishima, who was directing the conveyance of provisions. Still running, I shouted to him: “Paymaster Mishima! Provisions are of no use. We march again at once.” When I had finished the sentence Mishima’s voice was heard far behind me. Fortunately I did not lose myself nor make any mistake and reached our bivouac at ten minutes before five. The assembly was sounded at once and the order to attack was given. The orderly to whom I intrusted my clothing had not yet returned. In the early morning of a summer day it was nice and cool without anything on, but I could not well march in that state. My last duty was done satisfactorily without uniform, but the next one seemed to require it. Another orderly was dispatched in search of the first one, but still the latter was not forthcoming. The time had come for us to start. I was in a very awkward plight, when at the last moment my uniform bearer came, and I was saved the distinction of a naked fight. It is a mere joke now, but I was exceedingly anxious then.

In this way the most delightful attack and advance was begun just as had been previously planned. We saw that it was to be a regular open field battle. That is to say, the skirmishers forming the first line advanced steadily, followed by the reserve body; all was arranged like a field manœuvre in time of peace. Such a movement is almost impossible in an attack on a fortress, which requires a gradual increase of reserves according to the circumstances of every hour and the condition of the ground at each point. Hitherto we had been attacking only rocky, hilly places, so that the only thing we could do was to be as near the enemy as possible, in order to seize the right opportunity to fall upon his forces with one accord. In this mode of attack we could not of course keep to the regular formation of a drill book. However, when once our army went past Taipo-shan, from there as far as the towering Taku-shan the ground was an extensive rolling country; hence the possibility of our first open field battle. Our delight was immense. Moreover, we took full advantage of the lack of preparation of our opponent and made a sudden attack. Although the Russians offered some obstinate resistance, they were obliged to retire step by step. Our regiment held only two companies in reserve; all the rest were on the line of fire, and gradually surrounded the enemy, engaging them on both wings, with the result that when their centre was defeated they were cut in two and forced to retreat.

Before reaching our final position, I was running over a millet field carrying the regimental colors, when I came across Major Achino. His sharp eyes were sparkling like a hawk’s, and he was standing on a rock leaning on his sword. He and I had been together at the headquarters of our regiment at home, and I was one of those who was most influenced by his character. His clear views on tactics, his spirit of indomitable courage, his frank but dignified demeanor, compelled my admiration. This was the man who wrote that letter of farewell to our colonel in the midst of our attack on Taipo-shan, who rushed up the northeast corner of the hill with two companies of his choicest men under him, and thus opened the way for the other divisions to attack the enemy. I had not seen this gallant warrior since that time, and when I met him in the millet field, I felt as if I actually saw him fighting in that brave manner and could not repress my feeling of admiration and respect. I called out, “Major Achino!” and he gave me a glance and a word of encouragement, saying, “Add to the glory of your colors.” I involuntarily bowed my head in recognition and gratitude, but we had no time for further conversation. We soon lost sight of each other, I marching forward and thinking fondly of him.

At this moment the enemy were gradually falling back before us; eventually they forsook their last line of resistance near Lung-tu and retreated toward Taku-shan. Now was the time for a prolonged pursuit. It is a delightful business to pursue a flying enemy, when they are shot from behind and fall like leaves in the autumnal wind. Such an opportunity generally comes after a fierce hard struggle, but on this particular occasion we had only about thirty casualties during the day. Such a pleasant chase after such an easy battle was something we might never expect to have again.

At noon of this day our army was in complete possession of the position we had had in view, and our line extended from the heights of T’uchêng-tsu in the north to the eastern heights of Taku-shan in the south. Standing on this newly acquired line with field-glass in hand, what a prospect greeted our eyes!

Here for the first time we could see the main defense line of the impregnable fortress of Port Arthur. Beginning with Kikuan-shan in the south, as far north as the eye could reach forts and trenches were visible all over the country. From among them some horrible-looking things were thrusting up their heads like tigers and leopards ready to spring; these were the heavy guns. Here, there, and everywhere, eight- to tenfold wires were clustered together, dimly visible through the mist; these were wire-entanglements. The enemy’s sentinels, or “far-looking scouts,” could also be seen at different points. Men in groups of twenty or thirty were setting up wire-entanglements. This was the stage where we were to decide the points at issue, the stage on which the eyes of the world were fixed and which we actors could not forget even in sleep. Those who died prematurely, crying, “Port Arthur” or “Revenge,” how boundless their joy would have been if they had survived to see this heart-stirring prospect! From this day on we were stationed in the vicinity of Lung-tu and began to construct strong works along the heights of Kanta-shan, with a view to first storming and taking Taku-shan and Hsiaoku-shan in front of the enemy’s right wing, and then with these two hills as our base of attack to beginning an assault on their main line of defense.

I must say here with great respect that the Field-Marshal Commander-in-chief sent us the following Imperial message with regard to the battle of the 26th-30th of July, which even his humblest servant, like myself, had the honor of perusing: “The investing army having repeatedly braved the natural advantages of the advance positions of the fortress of Port Arthur, and having fought an arduous fight for several days, and having at last driven the enemy within their main line of defense, we are deeply gratified with your valor.”

The commander sent His Majesty the following reply: “Your Majesty has graciously given us a special message in regard to our victory in the battle preparatory to the attack on the fortress of Port Arthur, and we are deeply affected. We Your Majesty’s servants expect to exert ourselves still more zealously and accomplish the object of our army without failure. Respectfully submitted.”

H. I. M. the Empress also sent us the following message: “Her Majesty the Empress has heard that the investing army has braved the dangers of Port Arthur Fortress and that an arduous attack has been successful after some days’ continuance, and Her Majesty is deeply struck with the loyalty and valor of the officers and men of the army.”

Our commander made reply also to this gracious message.

Since we, then, humble subjects without any special merit were thus recognized and encouraged by Their Majesties, how could we set at ease Their Majesties’ revered hearts? It is hard to return even one thousandth part of their favor; a hot fight of a few days is nothing for us. These Imperial messages simply put us to shame and caused us to fear lest we might fail to deserve Their Majesties’ boundless love and indulgence. The spirits of those loyal and brave ones who died in battle must have shed tears of gratitude on hearing these gracious messages.

After the Imperial messages came all were stirred, and the morale of the whole army became still more satisfactory. Steep hills and strong forts before us, and the gallant enemy defending them, must all yield to faithful subjects who are so anxious to set at ease Their Majesties’ troubled hearts!

THE STORMING OF TAKU-SHAN

UPON the seacoast east of the great fortress there is a rugged mountain towering high with almost perpendicular sides, its beetling rocks and crags spotted here and there with dwarf trees. The whole looks, from a distance, like an old tiger squatting on a hill. This is Taku-shan, or the Great Orphan. Hsiaoku-shan, or the Little Orphan, lies to the south, and on the opposite side, at the foot of Laolütszu. Taku-shan is a solitary peak 188 metres in height; its southwestern side looks down into the fortress of Port Arthur, and its northwestern side overlooked the inside of the line of investment formed by our left and central columns. Our works of investment, the movements of every division, and the position of our artillery were plainly visible from there. The side facing our army was particularly steep and precipitous, almost impossible to climb. It was as bad as Kenzan and Taipo-shan. While these two hills allowed the enemy to look into our position, they could not help becoming the mark and target for our fire. The commanding general of our division made the following remark about them:—

“The Great and Little Orphans may be likened to the meat between the ribs of a chicken, which is hard to get and yet we are reluctant to throw it away.[50] As long as these hills are left in the enemy’s hands, we are sure to be overlooked and shot from them, even though after we have taken them ourselves we cannot help becoming a target for the enemy.”

Such a naturally protected position is extremely hard to take, and harder to keep, even when we have succeeded in taking it after untold struggles, because it will be fired at by all the neighboring forts as a convenient object. Therefore, in spite of the unanimous conclusion of the staff that the place must be taken from geographic and strategic necessity, we waited for the proper opportunity without firing a shot, though the enemy fired at us incessantly; and we hurried on our preparations for the close investment.

The 7th of August was finally fixed for our march and attack. Our field-artillery and siege-artillery, with shrapnels and mortars, had already taken their position in great secrecy. At 4 P. M. all the guns simultaneously opened fire, and directed it to the sky-line of both Orphans.

The boom and roar rent the air and white smoke shut out the sky, and not only the forts on both Orphans, but also those on Panlung, Kikuan-shan, and Laolütszu in the rear responded to our fire at once. As far as the eye could reach the whole country was covered with smoke, and the tremendous noise of a hundred thunders at the same time went ceaselessly through the gloomy sky, which threatened rain at any moment. Whenever one of our shells struck a rock on Taku-shan, light yellowish-white sparks and fragments of rock flew far and wide—truly it was one of the sublimest sights of war. The enemy’s artillery was superior in strength and they had the great advantage of overlooking us, hence our artillery labored under great difficulty and disadvantage and suffered damage of great magnitude. But the enemy’s artillery seemed ignorant of the fact that our shrapnel guns and mortars were posted in the valley; they merely concentrated their fire on the artillery belonging to the columns, and on our infantry. Thus our big guns remained entirely free from damage, and toward sunset their effect on the enemy became more apparent, so that the Russian guns on Taku-shan seemed more or less silenced. At 4 P. M. our regiment left its place of bivouac and began to march, with a view to crossing the river Taiko and attacking the enemy as soon as our guns should open a proper opportunity for such an assault.