Part 11

Before proceeding to describe this fierce struggle, let me tell you what I had thought and done just before it. This experience was not mine only, but rather common to all fighters before a decisive battle. You will understand by this story one of the weaknesses of soldiers. During the three months since I had first stepped on the soil of Liaotung, I, humble and insignificant as I was, had borne the grave responsibility of carrying the regimental colors representing the person of His Majesty himself, and had already gone through three battles—on Kenzan, Taipo-shan, and Kanta-shan. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had not had a scratch as yet, while a large number of brave men had fallen under the standard, and the standard itself had been torn by the enemy’s shell. When the regimental flag was damaged, a soldier quite close by me was killed and yet I remained unhurt. However, the rumors of my death had repeatedly reached home by this time, and a false story of my being wounded had appeared in the newspapers. I had heard of all this while at the front. One of these rumors said that at the time of our landing the storm was so violent that my sampan was upset and I was swallowed by big waves, and that, though I swam for several _cho_[51] with the regimental flag in my mouth, I was at last buried in the sea by the angry billows. Another rumor reported that I had encountered the enemy soon after landing and was killed, together with the captain of our First Company. All these mistaken reports had already made me a hero, and later I was frequently reported to have been wounded, with wonderful details accompanying each story. But when I examined myself I felt that I had no merit, neither the slightest wound upon my body. I could not help being ashamed of myself, and thought I was unworthy the great expectations of my friends. This idea made me miserable. So therefore I made up my mind to fight desperately and sacrifice my life at this battle of Taku-shan. A few days before the attack began, I told my servant that I was fully determined to die this time; that I did not know how to thank him for all his great goodness to me, and asked him to consider the assurance of my death as my only memento of my gratitude to him—I also asked him to fight valiantly. My servant, his eyes dim with tears, said that if his lieutenant died he would die with him. I told him that I would prepare a box for my ashes, but that, if I should be so beautifully killed as to leave no bones, he was to send home some of my hair. Then I went on to make a box of fragments of planks that had been used for packing big shells; they were fastened together with bamboo nails made by my servant. A clumsy box of about three inches square was thus prepared, in which I placed a lock of my hair, as well as sheets of paper for wrapping up my ashes; on the lid of the box I wrote my name and my posthumous Buddhistic name as well. My coffin being thus ready, the only thing remaining for me to do was to exert myself to the very last, to repay the favor of the Emperor and of the country with my own life. But, after all, this box has not borne the distinction of carrying my remains. Alas! it is now a mere laughing-stock for myself and my friends.

That evening I wrote a letter to my elder brother in Tokyo and reported to him the recent events in the struggle, and told him that our attack was to begin on the morrow; that I was ready and determined to die; that though my body be lost at Port Arthur, my spirit would not forget loyalty to the Emperor for seven lives. Of course this was meant as my eternal farewell. On the same day I received a letter from that brother, in which I found the following passages of admonition:—

“Think not of honor or of merit—only be faithful to thy duty.”

“When Nelson died a glorious death in the sea-fight of Trafalgar, he said, ‘Thank God, I have done my duty.’”

On the eve of this great battle I received these words of encouragement and instruction, which made my heart still braver and my determination still firmer.

At 5 P. M. on the 7th of August, a great downpour of rain mingled with the thunder of cannon, and the afternoon sky became utterly dark, dismal, and dreary. We were halted on an eminence over the river Taiko, waiting anxiously for the command “Forward!” The rain became heavier and the sky darker. The Russian search-light, falling on one side of the hills and valleys, occasionally threw a whitish-blue light over the scene and impeded the march of our infantry. The plunging fire of the enemy became more and more violent as time went on. It made a strange noise, mingled with the tremendous downpour of rain. Lieutenant Hayashi and myself under one overcoat would exchange words now and then.

“We may separate at any moment,” was Hayashi’s abrupt remark, as if he were thinking of his death.

“I also am determined to die to-night,” was my response. Whereupon Hayashi said:—

“What a long time we have been together!”

We had no more chance to continue this conversation, but had to separate. We had been comrades through the campaign, and while at home had been messmates for a long time. It was this Lieutenant Hayashi who, at the last rush upon Taipo-shan, achieved the first entry within the enemy’s ramparts brandishing his sword. This hurried farewell was indeed our last—our hand-shaking an eternal good-by.

As was said before, our artillery fire began to take effect toward evening. Whereupon our detachment began to advance as had been previously planned. The rain fell more and more heavily, and the narrow paths became mud-holes. We marched with great difficulty knee-deep in water and mud. The enemy’s battery on Taku-shan was not silenced or weakened as we had supposed. As soon as they discovered us marching through the rain and smoke, they resumed their firing with fresh vigor. When we reached the river, the muddy water was overrunning its banks, and we did not know how deep it was. The enemy, taking advantage of the heavy rain, had dammed the stream below, and was trying to impede our march by this inundation. However brave we might be, we could not help hesitating before this unexpected ally of the Russians. Should we brave the water, we might merely drown, instead of dying by the enemy’s projectiles. But behold! a forlorn hope of our engineers jumped into the dark flood and broke the dam; very soon the water subsided and the infantry could cross the river. Our whole force jumped into the water and waded. Instead of being drowned, many were killed in the stream by the enemy’s fire; their dead bodies were strewn so thick that they formed almost a bridge across the river.

At last we reached the foot of Taku-shan, but we had then to break the wire-entanglements and run the risk of stepping on mines. One danger over, others were awaiting us! This was not, however, the time or place to hesitate; we began to clamber over rocks and scale precipices. Pitch darkness and violent rain increased our difficulties. The pouring rain and the crossing of the river had wet us through and through, yet we could not exercise our muscles freely to promote the circulation of blood. Moreover, as we came nearer and nearer the Russian trenches, they poured shrapnel bullets upon our heads, or hurled stones and beams upon us, so that the difficulty of pushing forward was very great. A neighboring detachment had already approached the skirmish-trenches which formed a horseshoe half-way up on the side of the mountain. Meanwhile our detachment was busy making firm footholds in the rocks on the mountain-side, preparing for an early opportunity of trying a night assault. But the enemy with search-light and star-shells worked so hard to impede progress, that the night surprise was given up as an impossibility. Accordingly we planned an attack at early dawn instead; we had now to wait, facing each other and the enemy, exposed to the rain, which continued to fall without intermission.

When the eastern sky began to lighten, the rain was still falling. The bodies of our comrades scattered along the river Taiko could not be picked up, nor could an orderly reach the other side of the stream, because we were right under the enemy’s eyes. In spite of this, orderlies were dispatched, but were shot down without a single exception. Such a horrible scene! Such a disappointing result! No one had any plan to propose, and we did not know when and how the object of storming the enemy could be accomplished. Sergeant-Major Iino, who was shot through the abdomen and lying flat in agony at the foot of Taku-shan, was at this moment begging every orderly that passed by to kill him and relieve his suffering. How could we defeat the enemy and care for the dead and wounded? Our minds ran right and left, but still no desirable opportunity offered itself. On the top of all this, eleven ships of the Russian fleet, including the Novic, made their appearance near Yenchang and began bombarding our infantry marching toward the Taku and Hsiaoku-shan from the rear. There was nothing to shield us; we became a certain target for the enemy’s fire, and were killed and wounded at their will. We were thus reduced to a state of uttermost desperation, as if a wolf had attacked us at the back gate while we were defending the front gate against a tiger. But, after all, how did we capture this Taiku-shan?

SUN FLAG ON TAKU-SHAN

THE powder-smoke covering the whole scene was like surging waves, and the dark shower of rain may be likened to angry lions. Above us the steep mountain stood high, kissing the heavens—even monkeys could hardly climb it. Each step upward presented a still steeper place—one precipice climbed brought us to another still harder. And the fierce Russian eagle threatened us from the top of this formidable height. All our fire from every direction was being concentrated upon the enemy’s position on Taku-shan. To respond to this attack, the Russian big guns were putting out red tongues at us in front, and from behind their warships were coming to shatter our backs. The enemy, with this natural advantage and with this strong defensive array, was not easy to defeat. But if we failed to take this place, not only would our whole army be checked here and be unable to assault the great fortress, but also we should be without any base for investing Port Arthur. Hence the urgent necessity of storming the enemy irrespective of any amount of sacrifice and difficulty.

Our regiment spent that night and morning on the hillside, exposed to heavy rain and strong fire. But at about 3 P. M. the right opportunity for us to attack the enemy offered itself. Our siege-gunners had so successfully bombarded the enemy’s ships that they were obliged to retreat for a while, and gave us more freedom of action. When this opportunity came, the brigadier-general gave us the following order: “The left wing is now to storm Taku-shan, and your regiment, in connection with the left wing, is to attack the northern slope.”

At the same time we received the following intimation from the 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.

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.