Part 13

Why one is shot on the battle-field and the other not seems an inscrutable mystery. Some there are who in one severe fight after another do not sustain a single scratch; others seem to be followed by shot or to draw shot to themselves. Some are killed very soon after landing and before knowing how it feels to be shot at. When once you become a target for shot, forty or fifty may come to you, as to that man in the battle of Taipo-shan of whom I have already spoken. Is this what is called fate, or is it mere chance? On the 19th, when the headquarters of the division were removed to the northern slope of Taku-shan, the division-commander was observing the enemy, with a staff-officer on either side, when a projectile came and both the staff-officers were killed on the spot, while the general in the middle was not even slightly hurt. In an assault on a fortress those in front have of course the highest probability of being hit, but even those in the rear sustain more injury than in a field battle. Napoleon said: “A shot may be aimed at you, but cannot pursue you. If it could pursue you at all, it would overtake you even if you fled to the uttermost parts of the earth.” Yes, a shot is an uncanny thing, like an apparition. With our human power we cannot tell whether it will hit us or not. It depends entirely upon one’s luck. There is another incident that I recollect in this connection. After the battle of Taipo-shan, five or six of the retreating Russians were walking off in a leisurely way, without hurrying, and swinging their arms. This behavior we thought very impudent, and each of us aimed at them as carefully as in drill-ground practice and fired at them with our rifles resting on something steady, but all in vain. One officer was sure he could hit them, but he too failed, and the Russians continued to walk off slowly and were eventually lost sight of. Several times after this, we tried our skill in musketry on a Russian standing on a fort and waving his handkerchief to challenge us, or on some audacious fellow who would dare to come out of the breastwork and insult us. In spite of our skill, indignation, and curiosity combined, these impudent fellows often escaped in safety. Such being the case, those who have been through several battles become naturally careless and fearless. At first we involuntarily lower our heads a little at the sound of a small bullet. Even the officer who scolds his men, saying, “Who is it that salutes the enemy’s shot?” cannot help nodding to the enemy at first. Of course this does not imply timidity at all; it seems to be the result of some sort of reflex action of the nerves. But when the shot begin to come like a shower of rain, we can no longer give each shot a bow, but become bold at once. The boom and roar of big shells excite in us no special sensation. When we know that by the time we hear these horrible sounds the projectiles have gone far past us, our courage is confirmed and, instead of bowing to an empty sound, we begin to think of standing on the breastwork and munching rice-balls to show off to the enemy! And the shot seems to shun those audacious ones as a rule, to go round them and call upon others!

A RAIN OF HUMAN BULLETS

THE bodies of the brave dead built hill upon hill, their blood made streams in the valleys. The battle-field was turned into a cemetery and hill and valley into burnt-out soil. As minutes and seconds went on, life after life was sent off into eternity. When the attacking party combines accurate firearms with ammunition powerful enough to demoralize the enemy, what is the power with which to follow up this advantage to its sure result, that is, final victory? That power is the bayonet and the war-cry together! The glittering bayonet, the hideous yelling, when combined, are what really put the enemy to flight. A correspondent of the London “Standard” has said truly: “The war-cry of the Japanese Army pierced the hearts of the Russians.” But, however much our glittering bayonets and shouting voices intimidated the enemy, I cannot help weeping at the recollection of that assault. Why? Because the glittering of the bayonet and the yelling of the war-cry became fainter and fainter in the first general assault! In spite of the great number of projectiles and the large quantity of human bullets that were spent, the storming of the forts which the Russians called invincible ended in utter failure. Nay, several great assaults after this one drained the blood of patriotic warriors and shattered their bones in vain. After all, however, this apparently useless sacrifice of a large number of lives was not without its effect. Strategically we needed to reduce the great fortress as quickly as possible, however great the damage to our army might be; so, therefore, the commanding general resolved with tears to offer the necessary sacrifice, and his subordinates willingly offered their lives and stormed the enemy with bullets of their own flesh. And these first fruitless assaults proved the necessary first step and a valuable preparation for our final success.

We noticed that our continuous bombardment of the Russian forts since the 19th, more especially of those on East Kikuan, which was our objective, had dealt a severe blow on the enemy; so the Yoshinaga battalion was ordered to march on the night of the 21st as the first assaulting column. A forlorn hope of engineers were dispatched ahead to break the wire-entanglements. Their desperate effort was fortunately successful, and a little opening was made for the infantry. Thereupon Captain Yoshinaga ordered his men not to fire a shot, not to utter a whisper, but to press on under cover of the night; and a body of dark shadows suddenly stood right against the enemy’s ramparts. The surprised Russians were obliged to retreat without offering a fight; but as soon as they had fallen back a little distance, a large detachment of reinforcements appeared, accompanied by the horrible sound of machine-guns in the rear. They forced the retreating Russians forward, and together they offered a strong counter-attack, with their shout of “Woola” shaking heaven and earth. Major Yoshinaga ordered his men not to retreat a step, and a terrible hand-to-hand fight ensued. Both parties fought fiercely with fists, bayonets, and rifles, but alas! Major Yoshinaga, who was commanding his men from the breastwork, was shot through the chest and fell. Captain Okubo took up the command in his place; soon he too was killed. Substitute after substitute was killed, and eventually not only the officers but also the men were, nearly all of them, killed. No reinforcement came to their aid, the enemy’s concentrated fire became more and more violent, and the few surviving men were obliged to retreat for a while into the ravine below the wire-entanglements and wait there for the arrival of reserves. None came to help them, and they waited vainly until the dusk of the following day, with the remains of their dead comrades before their eyes. They were right below the enemy, only a dozen feet or so away from them, and for thirteen hours they had to grasp their rifles hard and stare at the Russians, unable to do anything.

On the night of the 22d the Taketomi battalion went through the broken wire-entanglements and tried by a fierce attack to make good our failure of the previous night. Captain Matsuoka was first wounded; his thigh was cut away and he could stand no longer. First Lieutenant Miyake was shot through the lungs. The scene went from bad to worse. The Russians behaved as if trying to show that they had been waiting for our coming, proud of their success of the night before. Their search-lights went round so fast as to dazzle our assaulting detachment; their star-lights burned over our heads and made us an easy target for their shooting. “Charge! Forward! Woo-waa!” Thus crying, Captain Yanagawa rushed in most gallantly, in the light of the star-rockets. Half of his face was seen dyed with blood and he was flourishing a glittering sword in his right hand. Again he cried, “Charge!” but that was the last we heard of his brave voice. White blades flashed in the dark, like reeds in the wind, but that flash gradually ceased, the loud yell of a few moments before stopped. We heard only the shouting of the enemy behind their ramparts. They came up and danced for joy on the breastwork, while we had been killed to create a hill of corpses and a stream of blood! What grief! What sorrow!

Captain Matsuoka, who was seriously wounded as I have said, soon lost so much blood from his wounded thigh, that his breathing became fainter and fainter, and he knew that his end was fast approaching. He pulled out of his pocket the secret maps and destroyed them, and died entangled in the enemy’s wire. All who went to fetch him were also killed and went to their eternal sleep side by side with the brave captain. This captain’s glorious death was later reported to the Emperor through His Majesty’s military chamberlain. That Captain Yanagawa who rushed toward the enemy shouting and yelling, in spite of several wounds, was shot down just at the moment of leaping over the Russian rampart. He leaned against the breastwork of the rampart to die peacefully there after he had done his very best, but the cruel enemy would not allow that. They cut him into pieces and subjected him to wanton cruelties.

Nevertheless, we were determined to deal a heavy blow on some vital part of the enemy, however often and however badly we might be repulsed or routed. We were ready to sacrifice not only a brigade but even a whole division for this important object. Accordingly another great assault was planned for 3 A. M. of the 24th. For several days our company had been bivouacking in the ravine of Yangchia-kou, but now on the night of the 23d we were to leave this place and proceed to the rendezvous of Wuchia-fang. So our captain gathered together his lieutenants and said:—

“Farewell! I have no other words to say to you! I have decided to leave my body on to-morrow’s battle-field. Please take this water cup of long separation.”

Before these words from our captain we, too, had made up our minds to die this time. We exchanged the farewell cup of water from our water bottle, saying:—

“_This_ evening our water tastes like golden nectar!”

Our company quietly left its place of bivouac and fell in under dark willows on the river bank. Thinking that it was the last time we should be together, we could not force back the tears. Soon we began our march and passed on under the dark avenue of trees, where we met a long string of stretchers carrying the wounded who had fallen during the last few days—such a long, almost endless train of stretchers!

“Where are you injured?” I asked one of them as I passed. The wounded man answered, “My legs broken.” “Well done! Go quietly.”

Our detachment reached the river at the other side of a mountain that looks like the back of an elephant. It was so dark that we could not see anything at all. We groped our way toward Wuchia-fang, when in front of us we heard a sound of human voices. I threw myself on the ground and, looking up, saw through the dark that a long line of our wounded were laid down on the river beach. We marched on, sick at heart, over such a tremendous number of the wounded, it took us some time to reach the end of this long line. Their groaning, hard breathing, suffering, pain, their exposure to the night dew without anything to cover them up, was pitiful. We could not help being deeply affected by this scene of misery.

In the meantime we were losing our way, we could not find Wuchia-fang, but suddenly came into the headquarters of the Ninth Division. General Oshima, the commander, was seen clad in his dark winter uniform in spite of the season, a silk crepe _obi_ tied tightly about his waist, from which a long Japanese sword was hanging. At the sight of the gallant general we felt as if we were in a region of romance. When his division occupied Panlung, General Oshima is reported to have stood at the head of his army in this dark uniform, making himself the only dark target for the enemy’s shot, thus trying to inspire his men with courage and confidence. I asked the way of a staff-officer, and our company turned back in the proper direction. We could not, however, find the right place; we asked again, and were told to go to the right; when we went to the right, we were told to go back to where we started; we were utterly at a loss where to go. The time for our rendezvous was fixed at one o’clock—it was now only a little before that time. If we should fail to appear on the spot in time, it would disgrace us, and we had to think not only of our personal disgrace, but that the prospective attack needed as many fighters as possible. The delay in our arrival might become a cause of defeat. The captain and all of us were extremely anxious and worried. Fortunately, however, at this juncture we came across a man belonging to the engineer-corps, who minutely explained to us how to find Wuchia-fang, telling us to go through the opening a little further on, where our engineers were then engaged in sapping. We went on as instructed and soon found our siege-trenches; we went along these until we came to an opening, beyond which we had to go through the fields exposed to the enemy’s view. We ran on, but presently a flash of search-light came! “Lie down!” was ordered, and we waited, holding our breath for that terrible light to disappear. But the search-light would not disappear. Meanwhile communication with our rear was cut off. At last we came to the place which we imagined to be the rendezvous. We found none of our army there, but dark corpses were strewn on the ground. Probably our army had already gathered themselves at the foot of the East Panlung Fort, which was supposed to be the centre of our attack. Looking at our watches, we found that it was a few minutes past one o’clock. We tried hard to find our main body, but in vain. Were we too late? The anxiety of our captain was intense. Our disappointment was agonizing. Were we to miss our opportunity to join in the general assault? The captain said, “I cannot expiate my fault even with suicide!” Not only he, but all of us, felt that if we failed to join this battle, the company itself would be disgraced forever; and that compared with that disgrace our unanimous suicide was a mere trifle.

Scouts were sent in all directions, but none brought back any news. We had no time to lose, so we came to the conclusion that the best thing we could do now was to go to the old fort of East Panlung and fight even single-handed, and that, if the main body had begun by that time, we should be in a good spot to join its action. Thinking that the occasional sound of a machine-gun that we had heard must be coming from Panlung, and that a ravine we had found must lead to that mountain, we started from Wuchia-fang along the ravine.

Ah, that ravine! a narrow path of less than two _ken_ in width. It was the place where the Ninth Division and the Seventh and Ninth Regiments of the Second Reserve had had such a hard fight the day before. What a scene of horrors! No stretcher nor medicine chest could be brought there. The dead and wounded were piled one upon another in nooks and corners, some groaning with pain, some crying for help, and some perfectly quiet, breathing no longer. We hardly found space to walk without stepping on them. It was an infernal tunnel of the dead and dying. We groped to the right not to step on a dead comrade, only to kick a wounded one on the left. Where we stepped, thinking that it was on mother earth, we found ourselves walking over the khaki-colored dead. “Don’t step on the corpses!” I shouted to my men; but at that very moment I was treading on the chest of one. “Pardon,” was the only apology I could offer the dead thus unintentionally insulted. Along this long, narrow path full of corpses, it was impossible not to step on our poor, silent comrades.

We were almost at the end of the ravine—a few steps more would have brought us face to face with wire-entanglements—when we stopped short for a while. All at once the enemy’s machine-guns began at our left, shooting out flames of fire through the dark. Presently we heard the noise of a gun detachment; six of our guns were trying to climb Panlung through the same ravine. In this narrow pass the infantry and artillery men were jumbled together to escape the fire of the Russian machine-guns.

We were now at the foot of the objective mountain, but no trace of the main body could be found. What a disappointment and pain for us! Where was it? Was the expected assault postponed? After a great deal of cogitation the captain decided to go back to Wuchia-fang and wait for further orders. This was his deliberately formed conclusion, and of course we had to obey him, though very reluctantly. Once again we must go through that infernal tunnel. Those corpses of the dead comrades on which we had stepped and to which we had apologized in horror had to be trodden on once more. We looked for the dead and wounded in the dark and found their condition still worse and more miserable than before, because the artillerymen had been through the same place after us, and many dead and dying had been run over by the gun carriages. Those who had been breathing faintly had breathed their last under the iron wheels; those who had already died were cut to pieces. Shattered bones, torn flesh, flowing blood, were mingled with broken swords and split rifles. What could be more shocking than this scene!

We went back to the entrance of the ravine and waited there for a while; at last group after group of shadows began to come through the dark. It was our main body! Our joy was unbounded. We learned that they had not been able to reach the place of rendezvous at the appointed hour, on account of the constant hindrance to their march offered by the enemy’s search-lights. We breathed a sigh of relief in thus joining the main body at last, and rejoiced over the prospect of forming with them the advance guard of the first general assault. This place of gathering did not shield us from the enemy’s fire, nor was it large enough to accommodate a great number of men; it was only protected by a precipice that would prevent the enemy from looking down upon us. Among the officers who were with us here was Major Matsumura, who distinguished himself at Taku-shan after its capture by our army by resisting and repulsing the enemy’s counter-attack. He had sprained his right foot at that time, but would not consent to receive medical treatment for such a trifling injury as he called it, and was still doing the duty of a battalion commander. This night he was still suffering from his foot; but supporting himself with a willow stick, he walked on at the head of his battalion. Sitting down beside me, he said, “The time it has come at last!”

Captain Segawa, who bade that sad farewell to his younger brother at Taku-shan, was also there. Lieutenant Sone came along with a cartridge belt round his waist and a rifle in his hand. I asked him why he was so strangely armed. Upon which he said that he had lost his sword during the scouting of the previous night and had therefore armed himself like a private soldier. All the officers gathered together wished each other success and chatted cheerfully for a while. Only a few hours later, all of them had been killed except Major Matsumura and myself! Whenever I think of it, I still feel as if I saw their faces and heard their voices. Brave fellows! Poor men! My heart is full of strange emotions when I think of them.

THE FORLORN HOPE

WE all fell in under the precipice and were waiting for the order of march, when a piece of paper reached me handed from man to man. I opened it and read:—

“Yasukichi Honda was shot on the 19th, and when I offered him a drink of water he shed tears and asked me to give his compliments to Lieutenant Sakurai.

(Signed) “BUNKICHI TAKEO.”

This Honda had been my servant about a year before, and he was a faithful fellow. His last words were a farewell to me who had done so little for him. I was deeply affected by his loyal devotion. Even now I regret I had no chance of giving him a farewell hand-shake, and cannot help thinking how greatly he would have rejoiced if I could have given him one word of good-by while he was yet alive.

I gathered my men around me and said: “I now bid you all farewell. Fight with all your might. This battle will decide whether Port Arthur is to fall or not. This water you drink, please drink as if at your death moment.”

I filled a cup with water that was fetched by one or two soldiers at the risk of their lives, and we all drank farewell from the same cup. Soon we received orders to advance to a point half-way up the side of Panlung. We began to move on quietly; we who had already drunk together the death-cup went again through that same terrible ravine full of our dead comrades. This was the third time that we had traveled by this path, and none expected to walk over it a fourth time alive. To die under the flying Flag of the Rising Sun, and to die while doing splendid service to one’s country, was the wish and resolve of every heart. Before beginning this final march to the battle-field, we all made ourselves as light as possible; we carried with us just enough hard biscuit, “iron rations,” to support life for two or three days; the rest we left behind. My khaki uniform was decorated by a national flag hanging from my belt, a Japanese towel was tied around my neck. I wore no shoes, only tabi[56] on my feet, and my whole appearance was like that of a dancer at a summer festival in Tokyo. I carried with me my sword, my water bottle, and three hard biscuit. Thus armed and attired I was to appear on the glorious stage of death.

The mere thought of this ravine makes one shudder even now. We jumped over or stepped on the heaped-up corpses and went on holding our noses. What a grief it was to have to tread on the bodies of our heroic dead! I found one wounded man squatting in a corner groaning with pain. I asked him where he was wounded. He told me that his legs were broken, and for three days he had had no single grain of rice, nor a single drop of water; no stretcher had appeared, and he had been waiting for the arrival of death ever since he fought and fell. I gave him the three biscuit I had, and told him to eat those and wait patiently for the coming of our bearer company. He clasped his hands together and shed tears for joy and gratitude and begged me to tell him my name. I was deeply touched by this experience. “Farewell” was the only thing I could say to the poor fellow as I passed on. We now came to the wire-entanglement of Panlung-shan.

This fortress of Panlung had been captured with the flesh and blood of the Ninth Division and the Seventh and Eighth Regiments of the Second Reserve, and was now an important base from which a general assault on the northern forts of East Kikuan and Wantai was to be made. This critical spot was finally taken after a terrible struggle and a valiant action by the men of General Oshima’s command. The sad story was eloquently told by the horrible sights of the ravine. While running through the opening in the wire-entanglement beyond, I noticed many engineers and infantry-men dead, piled one upon another, caught in the wire, or taking hold with both arms of a post, or grasping the iron shears.