Part 14

When we reached the middle of the side of Panlung, I saw the regimental flag that I used to carry, flying above our heads in the dark. My heart leaped at the sight of the dear flag. I scrambled up to where it was planted and came face to face with Colonel Aoki, with whom I had exchanged farewell salutations at the foot of Taku-shan some days before.

“Colonel, I am Lieutenant Sakurai!”

He looked at me as if thinking fondly of bygone days, and said:—

“Are you Sakurai? I do pray for your success.”

After this word from my commander, how could I be satisfied without doing something? I must exert myself to the uttermost.

Then I heard a voice calling my name from the top of the mountain, so I bade farewell to the colonel and went on to the top to find Lieutenant Yoshida, a friend of mine from the same province, sitting there alone. I had heard of his being in the Ninth Division, fighting before Port Arthur, but I did not expect ever to meet him. To see an old friend just before going into a fierce engagement was touching.

“Sakurai, isn’t it fearful, the fighting of the last few days?”

Wondering why he was there, I asked: “What are you doing here alone?”

“Please look at these corpses!”

There were dark shadows about him which I had thought were the recruits of our regiment. I could not help being astonished when I found that those heaps of khaki-colored men were the dead or wounded soldiers of Lieutenant Yoshida’s command. What a horrible sight! Their bodies were piled up two or three or even four deep; some had died with their hands on the enemy’s battery, some had successfully gone beyond the battery and were killed grasping the gun-carriages. A sad groaning came from the wounded who were buried under the dead. When this gallant assaulting column had pressed upon the enemy’s forts, stepping over their comrades’ bodies, the terrible and skillful fire of the machine-guns had killed them all, close by the forts, piling the dead upon the wounded. The men behind, angry at their comrades’ death, attempted a summary revenge, but they rushed upon the enemy only to swell the number of the dead, and Lieutenant Yoshida felt that he could not leave his unfortunate men, and was watching over their remains with a breaking heart. Later, on the 27th of October, he fought most desperately at Erhlung and died. This interview at the top of Panlung was our last good-by.

As soon as we were gathered together the colonel rose and gave us a final word of exhortation, saying: “This battle is our great chance of serving our country. To-night we must strike at the vitals of Port Arthur. Our brave assaulting column must be not simply a forlorn-hope (‘resolved-to-die’), but a ‘sure-death’ detachment. I as your father am more grateful than I can express for your gallant fighting. Do your best, all of you.”

Yes, we were all ready for death when leaving Japan. Men going to battle of course cannot expect to come back alive. But in this particular battle to be ready for death was not enough; what was required of us was a determination not to fail to die. Indeed, we were “sure-death” men, and this new appellation gave us a great stimulus. Also a telegram that had come from the Minister of War in Tokyo, was read by the aide-de-camp, which said, “I pray for your success.” This increased the exaltation of our spirits.

Let me now recount the sublimity and horror of this general assault. I was a mere lieutenant and everything passed through my mind as in a dream, so my story must be something like picking out things from the dark. I can’t give you any systematic account, but must limit myself to fragmentary recollections. If this story sounds like a vainglorious account of my own achievements, it is not because I am conscious of my merit when I have so little to boast of, but because the things concerning me and near me are what I can tell you with authority. If this partial account prove a clue from which the whole story of this terrible assault may be inferred, my work will not have been in vain.

The men of the “sure-death” detachment rose to their part. Fearlessly they stepped forward to the place of death. They went over Panlung-shan and made their way through the piled-up bodies of the dead, groups of five or six soldiers reaching the barricaded slope one after another.

I said to the colonel, “Good-by, then!”

With this farewell I started, and my first step was on the head of a corpse. Our objective points were the Northern Fortress and Wang-tai Hill.

There was a fight with bombs at the enemy’s skirmish-trenches. The bombs sent from our side exploded finely, and the place became at once a conflagration, boards were flung about, sand bags burst, heads flew around, legs were torn off. The flames mingled with the smoke, lighted up our faces weirdly, with a red glare, and all at once the battle-line became confused. Then the enemy, thinking it hopeless, left the place and began to flee. “Forward! forward! Now is the time to go forward! Forward! Pursue! Capture it with one bound!” and, proud of our victory, we went forward courageously.

Captain Kawakami, raising his sword, cried, “Forward!” and then I, standing close by him, cried, “Sakurai’s company, forward!”

Thus shouting I left the captain’s side, and, in order to see the road we were to follow, went behind the rampart. What is that black object which obstructs our view? It is the ramparts of the Northern Fortress. Looking back, I did not see a soldier. Alack, had the line been cut? In trepidation, keeping my body to the left for safety, I called the Twelfth Company.

“Lieutenant Sakurai!” a voice called out repeatedly in answer. Returning in the direction of the sound, I found Corporal Ito weeping loudly.

“What are you crying for? What has happened?”

The corporal, weeping bitterly, gripped my arm tightly.

“Lieutenant Sakurai, you have become an important person.”

“What is there to weep about? I say, what is the matter?”

He whispered in my ear, “Our captain is dead.”

Hearing this, I too wept. Was it not only a moment ago that he had given the order “Forward”? Was it not even now that I had separated from him? And yet our captain was one of the dead. In one moment our tender, pitying Captain Kawakami and I had become beings of two separate worlds. Was it a dream or a reality, I wondered?

Corporal Ito pointed out the captain’s body, which had fallen inside the rampart only a few rods away. I hastened thither and raised him in my arms.

“Captain!” I could not say a word more.

But as matters could not remain thus, I took the secret map which the captain had, and, rising up boldly, called out, “From henceforward I command the Twelfth Company.” And I ordered that some one of the wounded should carry back the captain’s corpse. A wounded soldier was just about to raise it up when he was struck on a vital spot and died leaning on the captain. One after another of the soldiers who took his place was struck and fell.

I called Sub-Lieutenant Ninomiya and asked him if the sections were together.

He answered in the affirmative. I ordered Corporal Ito not to let the line be cut, and told him that I would be in the centre of the skirmishers. In the darkness of the night we could not distinguish the features of the country, nor in which direction we were to march. Standing up abruptly against the dark sky were the Northern Fortress and Wang-tai Hill. In front of us lay a natural stronghold, and we were in a caldron-shaped hollow. But still we marched on side by side.

“The Twelfth Company forward!”

I turned to the right and went forward as in a dream. I remember nothing clearly of the time.

“Keep the line together!”

This was my one command. Presently I ceased to hear the voice of Corporal Ito, who had been at my right hand. The bayonets gleaming in the darkness became fewer. The black masses of soldiers who had pushed their way on now became a handful. All at once, as if struck by a club, I fell down sprawling on the ground. I was wounded, struck in my right hand. The splendid magnesium light of the enemy flashed out, showing the piled-up bodies of the dead, and I raised my wounded hand and looked at it. It was broken at the wrist; the hand hung down and was bleeding profusely. I took out the already loosened bundle of bandages,[57] tied up my wound with the triangular piece, and then wrapping a handkerchief over it, I slung it from my neck with the sunrise flag, which I had sworn to plant on the enemy’s fortress.

Looking up, I saw that only a valley lay between me and Wang-tai Hill, which almost touched the sky. I wished to drink and sought at my waist, but the canteen was gone; its leather strap alone was entangled in my feet. The voices of the soldiers were lessening one by one. In contrast, the glare of the rockets of the hated enemy and the frightful noise of the cannonading increased. I slowly rubbed my legs, and, seeing that they were unhurt, I again rose. Throwing aside the sheath of my sword, I carried the bare blade in my left hand as a staff, went down the slope as in a dream, and climbed Wang-tai Hill.

The long and enormously heavy guns were towering before me, and how few of my men were left alive now! I shouted and told the survivors to follow me, but few answered my call. When I thought that the other detachments must also have been reduced to a similar condition, my heart began to fail me. No reinforcement was to be hoped for, so I ordered a soldier to climb the rampart and plant the sun flag overhead, but alas! he was shot and killed, without even a sound or cry.

All of a sudden a stupendous sound as from another world rose around about me.

“Counter-assault!”

A detachment of the enemy appeared on the rampart, looking like a dark wooden barricade. They surrounded us in the twinkling of an eye and raised a cry of triumph. Our disadvantageous position would not allow us to offer any resistance, and our party was too small to fight them. We had to fall back down the steep hill. Looking back, I saw the Russians shooting at us as they pursued. When we reached the earthworks before mentioned, we made a stand and faced the enemy. Great confusion and infernal butchery followed. Bayonets clashed against bayonets; the enemy brought out machine-guns and poured shot upon us pell-mell; the men on both sides fell like grass. But I cannot give you a detailed account of the scene, because I was then in a dazed condition. I only remember that I was brandishing my sword in fury. I also felt myself occasionally cutting down the enemy. I remember a confused fight of white blade against white blade, the rain and hail of shell, a desperate fight here and a confused scuffle there. At last I grew so hoarse that I could not shout any more. Suddenly my sword broke with a clash, my left arm was pierced. I fell, and before I could rise a shell came and shattered my right leg. I gathered all my strength and tried to stand up, but I felt as if I were crumbling and fell to the ground perfectly powerless. A soldier who saw me fall cried, “Lieutenant Sakurai, let us die together.”

I embraced him with my left arm and, gnashing my teeth with regret and sorrow, I could only watch the hand-to-hand fight going on about me. My mind worked like that of a madman, but my body would not move an inch.

LIFE OUT OF DEATH

THE day of the 24th of August dawned upon a battle-ground covered with the dead and wounded of both sides. I discovered that the man in my arms was Kensuke Ono, a soldier whom I had trained. He was wounded in the right eye and pierced through the side. Thinking that he could not live, he had called my name and offered to die with me. Poor, dear fellow! My left arm that embraced him was covered with dark red clots of blood, which was running over Ono’s neck. Ono removed my arm, quietly pulled out his bandages, and bound up my left arm. Thus I lay surrounded by the enemy and seriously wounded; there seemed no slightest hope of my escape. If I did not expire then, it was certain that I should soon be in the enemy’s hands, which meant a misfortune far more intolerable than death. My heart yearned to commit suicide before such a disgrace should befall me, but I had no weapon with me, no hand that could help me in the act. Tears of regret choked me.

“Ono, please kill me and go back and report the conditions,” I urged him. I begged him to kill me, but he would not consent. He was almost blind, for both his eyes were covered with blood, but he grasped his rifle and said, “I resist your orders.”

I expostulated with him and explained our position, saying that the enemy had changed their attitude to a counter-attack and we were already surrounded by them; beside that, we had gone far into the enemy’s ground since the previous night, so that if we remained in that helpless state we were sure of being made prisoners. Then I asked him how he felt about becoming a captive of the Russians, and told him that it was a far greater mercy to me who could not move a limb for him to kill me at once and make good his escape. But Ono was already losing his reason and simply continued saying, “I resist your orders.” There was no other help, and I resigned myself to dying where I was. At the same time I was extremely anxious to send Ono and let him report the condition of affairs at the present moment. So as a means to make him go I said, “Bring me a stretcher and I will go,” and urged him to hurry up. Of course I knew full well that, since that incarnation of love in the shape of a stretcher company could not reach the ravine, much less could it come to this spot encircled by the enemy, my only hope was that he might thus have a chance of returning alive to our main body and also of reporting my death. Ono, in a state of frenzy, jumped up at my words, and saying, “Please wait here,” ran over to the earthworks and disappeared. Would he successfully go through the enemy’s investment, back to our main position? Later, when I found him in a hospital, I was astonished at his good fortune.

I was thus left lying alone surrounded by dead and dying. This moment was the most hallowed, the most painfully sad, and the most exasperating in my life. I repeated to myself Nelson’s words, “Thank heaven, I have done my duty!” and comforted myself with the idea that, though doomed to failure, I had done my whole life’s work. I thought of nothing else. I was only conscious that the life-blood of a man twenty-five years of age was fast flowing to its speedy exhaustion, but did not feel the pain of the wounds at all. A number of the Russians were going to and fro in the trenches only a few _ken_ from me and firing at our surviving men, each Russian using five or six rifles in turn. While I was watching their action with wide-open eyes, one of them turned back and noticed my being still alive. He signaled to the others, and three or four shots visited me at once. They fixed their bayonets and came jumping toward me. I shut my eyes. I was about to be butchered. My body was not of iron and stone to begin with, and its limbs were shattered and had no power to resist or chase the enemy. I could not escape from the poisonous teeth of the wolves. But Providence had not forsaken me yet. At this critical moment I only heard the din of a close fight near me, but was spared the point of an unknown savage’s bayonet. As they rushed toward me, five or six of our survivors encountered them, fought them, and all fell. And I who had had nothing but sure death to wait for was saved at the cost of my poor comrades’ lives. By this sacrifice was my faint breathing continued.

At this juncture a man jumped up the earthworks with a loud yell, and his sword raised high in the air. Who was this brave fellow who stormed the enemy’s trenches single-handed? I was astonished at his audacity. But alas! a shot came flying from somewhere, hit him, and he fell at my right side, as if crumbling down. He faced death as if returning home. He had jumped up there bravely all alone to seek death, and attracted the enemy’s attention by his triumphant cry.

After a while the shells from the Japanese army began to burst briskly above our heads. Percussion balls fell around us and hurled up smoke and blood together. Legs, hands, and necks were cut into black fragments, and scattered about. I shut my eyes in perfect resignation and prayed that my agony might be put to a speedy end by my being shattered to pieces all at once. Still no shell came to break my flesh and bones, but only small fragments came and injured my already wounded limbs. One wounded soldier who was near me received one of those horrible fragments on the face. He writhed for a few minutes, then fell on his face and expired. Every moment I expected to meet a similar fate; or to be eaten by the hungry dogs and wolves of the field, half dead, half alive, yet unable to resist my fate. I was being picked off inch by inch by the fierce eagle of the north. I heard some one crying “Nippon Banzai” at my head. I opened my eyes and dimly discovered that is was a poor, wounded man. His reason was all gone, yet he did not forget to shout Banzai for his Fatherland. He repeated Banzai over and over again, and also shouted “Come, come, Japanese soldiers!” He danced, jumped, and shouted in frenzy until he was exhausted, then he closed his lips and his color began to fade. I shut my eyes and prayed that he might go in peace.

The blood from my wounds had dyed my body red all over. My arms were bandaged, but all the other wounds were left uncovered. Sometimes I shut my eyes in quiet thought and again opened them to stare about me. To my left I saw two Japanese soldiers lying dead under the flying Rising Sun. Probably the flag had been planted there by these two heroes, but if our men pushed forward to it, the enemy were sure to shoot them down; while, if the Russians attempted to retake the spot, they were equally sure of being killed by our artillery. This dauntless pair had kept the spot unto death, and they must have died smiling and contented at their success. Is this not a fine piece of poetry in itself? What poet will sing these heroes to posterity!

As I was faintly smiling over this poetic sight of the battle-field, I saw the most brutal act committed that I could have imagined. Ah, men and women of a civilization of justice and mercy, please remember this fact! I have already told you of a savage Russian who butchered Captain Yanagawa wantonly. Here again, before my very eyes, I saw a Russian commit a most deliberate act of cruelty and barbarism. I had noticed a Russian officer repeatedly pointing to his wounded leg and making signs with his hands for help. Later I saw a Japanese hospital orderly, himself wounded, go up to the Russian. Without attending to his own wound, he took out bandages from a bag at his waist and bandaged the Russian. He did his duty of love and mercy faithfully, thinking that the wounded foe was not a foe any more, only a hero who had toiled for his own country. His kindness in dressing the wound of the Russian was so beautiful and holy that tearful gratitude was due to him even from a hard-hearted savage. But how did this Russian return the kindness of this hospital orderly? Tears of gratitude? No! A hand-shake of thanks? No! Indeed, no! Lo, this beastly Russian officer bestowed a pistol shot upon his Japanese benefactor! Do not forget this, you people of justice and humanity! As soon as the orderly had finished bandaging, the Russian pulled out his revolver from his hip and took the life of the good Samaritan with one shot! My heart was bursting with indignation at the sight of this atrocious outrage!

But my indignation, my exasperation, could not be translated into action. I simply shut my eyes and gnashed my teeth; soon my breathing became difficult. I felt that my life was fast ebbing, when some one caught hold of my coat and raised me; after a minute I was let alone. I slightly opened my eyes and dimly saw two or three Russians going up the hill. I had been on the point of being made a prisoner! That very moment when I was raised and laid down was the boundary-line between my life and death, between my honor and disgrace! The enemy caught hold of me once, but soon let me go; probably they thought I was dead. No wonder they thought so, for I was covered with blood.

Then some one came running stealthily to my side and fell down without a word. Was he dead? No, he was simply feigning death. After a while he whispered in my ear: “Let us go back. I will help you.”

In the midst of my panting, irregular breathing, I looked at the man. He was a stranger to me, a private with his head bandaged. I replied to his very kind offer and said that I could never get back alive under the circumstances, and wished him to kill me and go himself if he could. He said that he could not expect to get me back alive, but that he would at least carry my body; he would not allow it to be left among the enemy. As soon as he had said this, he caught my left arm and put it on his shoulder. At this juncture, the brave fellow who was lying at my right, and who had been groaning for some time, said in a faltering, tearful voice:—

“Lieutenant, please give me the last cup of water.” My heart was bursting with emotion, and I fell down by his side in spite of my helper. This poor fellow was probably one of my men; he asked me to send him out on his last journey. Poor, poor soul! Of course I could not force myself to go and leave my poor comrade alone.

“Have you any water?” I asked my helper. Whereupon he took out his water bottle, stepped over my chest, and poured water into the mouth of the dying man, who put his shattered hands together as in supplication and murmuring “Namu-Amida-Butsu![58] Namu-Amida-Butsu!” like a faint echo, slowly drew his last breath.

I had no heart to leave behind other comrades, dead or wounded, and seek my own safety. But my kind helper grasped my left arm once again, raised me on his back, and in one bound leaped over the earthwork, when both of us went down with a thud. Quickly he picked up an overcoat and covered me with it, and again in silence lay down by my side. In this way I was taken out of the trenches on the back of an unknown soldier. It was while being thus carried that my legs touched a corner of the earthwork, and I felt excruciating pain for the first time. After a while he whispered to me again, “As the shot are coming fast now, we must wait a little.” He unsheathed his bayonet and bound it as a splint to my broken leg with a Japanese towel. I was very thirsty and wanted to drink; he gave me all that was left in his bottle, saying, “Don’t drink much.” And also he soothed me often, saying, “Please be patient awhile.” I saw many comrades groaning and writhing about me, and my kind helper would pick up water bottles scattered over the place and give them drink. Often he would feign death to escape the enemy’s eyes, and lie down quickly, covering me with his body. I did not yet know even the name of this chivalrous man.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“My name is Takesaburo Kondo,” he answered, in a whisper.

“Which regiment?”

“I am in the Kochi regiment.”

I was being saved by a gallant soldier, who was neither my subordinate, nor of the same regiment as myself, and whom I had never seen before. What mysterious thread of fortune bound him and me together? I could not explain the mystery, but I do know that it was the friendly, brotherly spirit pervading all ranks of our army that produced such a man as Kondo, whose name should be handed down to posterity as a model soldier and a heroic character. A few hours after I had been rescued, I fell into a state of complete unconsciousness. When at last I recovered my senses, the first thing that came to my mind was the beloved name of Kondo.