Part 7

The Chinese natives were in the habit of driving cows or sheep up to the hills at the back of our line of vigilance and giving signals to the Russians from this great distance. Their code was to indicate the direction or village to be fired at by a black cow, a flock of sheep, etc. Our experience at Changchia-tun had fully warned us of the dangerous quality of the Chinese, who would give up even their lives for money. But this time they did not even attempt to pass through our line, but simply drove their animals slowly up the mountain path. How could we dream that such an innocent-looking act was betraying us to the enemy! They are ignorant and greedy survivors of a fallen dynasty; they know only the value of gold and silver and do not think of national or international interests. It has never occurred to them to try to think why it was that Japan and Russia were fighting on their own farms; they were only anxious to make good the damage done to their farms and crops. Of course we had to punish these offenders very severely, though they deserved our pity, rather than our hatred. Money is the only god they worship.

It was somewhere about the 20th of this same month that some of our scouting officers went deep through the picket line of the enemy and gave a great surprise to some of their non-commissioned officers. The Japanese accomplished their object with success, and on their way back they came across three or four of the enemy’s scouts. They chased the Russians about and tried to capture them, but the Russians fired at the Japanese officers in a desperate effort to make good their escape. Only one of them was left behind and captured, and our officers came back in triumph with their captive. As usual, we cross-examined the Russian, who was an infantry corporal. He bowed frequently and begged that his life might be spared, promising to tell us everything he knew. What a wretch! We wished we could give him one small dose of Japanese patriotism, which considers “duty heavier than a mountain and death lighter than a feather.”[43] We hear that a Japanese soldier, who had the misfortune of being captured by the Russians at Port Arthur, rebuked and reviled, with his face flushed with anger, the Russian general before whom he was driven. On the contrary, this Russian told us every military secret he knew, in order to keep his body and soul together. When he was led on to the line of observation and told to tell us the arrangement of the Russian soldiers, he pointed out and explained it with no scruple whatever, saying to the right there was the Twenty-sixth Regiment of Infantry sharpshooters, the Twenty-eighth Regiment of the same in the middle, and what regiment on the left hand, and so on. The correspondence between his answers and the reports from scouts testified to the correctness of each. He told us all the truth he knew and we were greatly helped by him. But all the same we despise him as a coward unworthy of a true soldier’s society.

Let me take this opportunity of telling you about our examination of a Russian soldier captured the night after our attack on Kenzan, under a huge rock, where he was hiding himself. Our dialogue was something like this:—

“What did you expect from our attack?”

“We were afraid, and thought that the Japanese attack would be very fierce.”

“Do your commanders take good care of you?”

“When we first arrived in Port Arthur they were kind and considerate to us, but recently they have not been so. For the last three months or so we have received only one third of our pay. Our rations also have been reduced one half; all the rest goes into their private pockets.”

“Have those who were defeated at Nanshan gone back to Port Arthur?”

“They were not allowed to enter the great fortress; they were ordered to work on the entrenchments and live off the country, on the ground that there was no spare food to give them.”

“Do you know that many of your countrymen have been sent to Japan as captives?”

“Yes, I know. Just the other day a friend of mine went to Japan as a captive.”

How could the officers and commanders secure respect and obedience and faithful service from subordinates whom they did not love and take care of? Other kinds of service may be secured in other ways, but the faithful discharge of military duties, in the moment of life and death on the battle-field, can only come through the officers’ loving their men as their own children, and the men’s respecting their officers as their own parents. When one party is pocketing the salary and reducing the rations of the other, mercilessly involving them in unnecessary privation and hardship, how can they be respected, and how can men be expected to die for such unkind officers? The fact that the Russian soldiers pillaged the innocent natives everywhere, looting their valuables, stealing their food, and insulting their wives and daughters, finds a partial explanation in the above statement of the Russian captive.

Day after day our works on the line of defense increased in strength. All the while the Russians continued their tiresome shell assaults under cover of night, and each time they were repulsed by our men. Cannon-balls rent the air without intermission; but they were so badly aimed that we were anxious lest they might exhaust their ammunition in fruitless efforts. But aimless bullets occasionally killed or wounded our men. It is no cause of regret to die in a glorious battle, but to be wounded and killed while engaged in duties of defense, and lose the desired opportunity of joining the great fight soon to take place, was something that we did not relish. “I shall never go to the rear.” “I will not be sent to the bandage-place!” These words from the lips of wounded soldiers well expressed their disappointment and regret. We can fully sympathize with their feelings.

LIFE IN CAMP

WE had relied upon our tents as a sufficient protection at least from rain and dew, but they were now in a miserable condition, torn by wind and spoiled by rain. For the sixty days since our landing we had lived in tents. All the circumstances had been against our securing other quarters. Chinese villages have seldom many houses, only three or four together, here and there; they are not at all adapted for accommodating a large army. If sometimes we happened to spend a night under the eaves of a house, sheltered from inclement weather, but smelling all the time the unsavory odor of pigs and garlic, it seemed as great a luxury as sleeping under silk comfortables in an elegant room at home. Tents were our ordinary dwelling; one sheet of canvas was everything to us, shutting off wind and rain, and making our condition far better than if we had been obliged to lie in the damp open fields with the earth as our bed. But this all-important canvas could no longer do anything except serve the purpose of covering us from the sun’s rays. It allowed the merciless rain to tease us, and the angry winds to chastise us freely, for what offense we did not know. Though it kept off the scorching sun, it yielded before wind and rain. Our bodies could bear the rage of the elements; but how could we protect our rations and our guns against the weather? These things were as important to us as life itself. We had no other place of shelter, not even a tree to protect us. Crying and lamenting were of no use. If it could not be helped, we could at least sleep a good sleep exposed to rain, and lose our fatigue from the day’s work in pleasant dreams. If any one could have stolen a glance at our sleeping faces on such a night, what a sight would have greeted his eyes! There we lay fully clothed, with long disheveled hair and unshaven faces, looking like beggars or mountain bandits, our tanned skins covered with dust and grime. We were terribly emaciated, our only delight was in eating. Whenever we had time, our thoughts turned to the question: What can we get to eat?

“Have you anything good?”

“No, _you_ must have something nice; do give me some.”

These were the usual forms of greeting when we met. Sometimes when our mouths were too lonely we roasted peas, beans, or corn and would chew them, making sounds like rats biting something hard. Such an experience showed us what a life of luxury we had been living at home.

The capture of Dalny gave our army improved facilities for the conveyance of supplies, and we could live on without much privation, except when we were actually engaged in fighting. The soldiers received their regular rations, which they cooked for themselves. In the shadow of a rock, or at the corner of a stone wall, they might be seen cooking their food with millet stalks as fuel, waiting impatiently in the smouldering smoke for the rice to be ready. They were like happy children. The relishes were chiefly cucumber, dried radish, edible fern, dried sweet potato, or canned things. These were prized as great delicacies, as we were frequently obliged to swallow hard biscuit without water, or to welcome as a great treat half-cooked rice and one or two salt pickled plums.

Our present station was pleasanter than Changchia-tun. Here we had some green grass, and some lovable blossoms also smiled on us. We would pick these flowers and arrange them in empty shells or put them in our buttonholes and enjoy their fragrance. The tiny blue forget-me-nots made us sometimes fly in imagination to our dear ones at home.

We Japanese fighters had another foe besides the Russians, and it was the formidable fiend called climate. However brave a man may be, he may fall sick at any moment and have to leave the line of battle; this is being wounded by the enemy called climate, or sometimes by another called food. Exposure to the wind and rain sometimes brings about epidemics. It is hard enough to wait in wet clothes until the welcome sun comes out and dries us, but it adds greatly to the hardship to be in constant dread lest a terrible foe come and assault us at any moment. In this neighborhood there were no trees worth the name, but there was grass enough for us to thatch improvised roofs for temporary quarters. These grass roofs were sufficient to keep off the sun, but were of no use against rain and storm. In wet weather they were even worse than torn tents. We could well stand the storm of the enemy’s fire, but the storm of the elements was too much for us. Our soldiers got drenched to the skin and chilled through and through; added to this their excessive work both night and day, the insufficiency of their sleep, and the drinking of the worst possible water, all combined to bring about an epidemic of dysentery, which proved a heavy drain on our forces. Attacked by this disease, I, who had been fat and strong, began to lose flesh and energy very fast and feared that I might be vanquished eventually. I was sad and grieved. Any sickness is far from welcome, but it is doubly hard to fall ill where proper medical and hygienic supplies cannot be secured. Moreover, we were expecting every day to be ordered forward to fight. Should this order come before we recovered, we must be left behind, and not partake in the glory of another battle. This thought made us sick men still more impatient and sad. I shall never forget the kindness of three men who were my benefactors at this time. They are the two surgeons, Masaichi Yasui and Hayime Ando, and my servant, Bunkichi Takao.

In spite of the infectious nature of my trouble, these surgeons were with me all the time, and attended to my medicine, food, and nursing very carefully. They also told me interesting and amusing stories to cheer me up and to comfort me. Thanks to their efforts, I became better and was allowed to join the glorious fight and fulfill my allotted duties. Fighting together makes all men like brothers, or like fathers and sons. But this experience attached me particularly to these men, and all the time we were stationed in this place I rejoiced to labor and suffer with them. Dispersion is the ordinary rule in the battle-field; moreover, we did not know when we might be separated eternally by death. In the fierce siege of a strong fortress, death and injury cannot be limited to the men in the front lines; they may visit surgeons and other non-combatants in the rear. Not only that, but surgeons have often to risk themselves and go forward to the firing line to pick up the wounded. We never know who will be the first to die.

“If you are killed and I remain whole, I will gather all your things and keep them as a dear memento of our camp life together. If I die and you are spared, please keep a piece of my bloodstained cloak and hand it down to your posterity. My crimson blood will thus be a memento of my sincere[44] friendship to you, a symbol of my insignificant service loyally tendered to our Great Sire.” Thus we talked and promised and became the best of friends. However, in the confusion of a battle-field a man does not commonly know where his particular friend fell, nor can he usually find his body. A chance meeting, whether dead or in life, was of course an exception which we could not count upon. So when the first general assault on Port Arthur was announced, I shook the hands of these two surgeons in a last farewell, never expecting to see them again in this world. Later, surrounded by the enemy, my limbs were shattered at Wang-tai. A brave soldier rescued me and carried me away. I was thus removed in a strange way from the mouth of the tiger. I lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses, it was my friends Yasui and Ando who held my shattered hands and said, “We thank you.” It was they who had been taking care of me.

Bunkichi Takao, my servant, was one of the company whom I had trained in the garrison. I admired his faithfulness, sincerity, and zeal. When I was transferred to the headquarters of the regiment, I made a special request to his captain and secured him as my servant. Even in time of peace the relation between an officer and his servant is very close, but when once in the battle-field together their relations become still closer. It is no more master and servant, but elder and younger brother. In everything I depended upon Takao, and he in return became devotedly attached to me. He cooked for me, and brought me my food; somewhere he obtained a big water jar, carried water from a distance to fill it, and gave me the luxury of a good hot bath. In his letters to my family, we find such passages as the following:—

“Since coming to the front, we two have been quite well. Please put your heart at ease, as I am taking good care of my lieutenant. In the battle-field we don’t know when we may be separated, but I shall guard my lieutenant even after death. I shall never forget his kindness. Forever and ever, please consider me as one of your family.”

What sincerity and faithfulness! While I was ill he would sit up all night, forgetting his own tired-out self, to stroke my chest and rub my arms. When I asked for food in great hunger, he would chide me and soothe me as one would a baby, saying: “You cannot have anything now. When you get better, I will give you anything you want.”

He paid minute attention to every detail and left nothing to be desired in nursing me. I appreciated his devotion and was very grateful to him. Later, when I was wounded, Takao was no longer my servant. He also was wounded, but heard of my injury as he was being sent to the rear. He tried hard to search me out in this field hospital or that, but he could not find me and was greatly grieved, as I have since learned. Heaven seemed willing to spare the life of such a sincere man as Takao. He had the good fortune to come home in the final triumph. He was wounded twice, ordered to the front thrice, and is now well known as a loyal servant and a veteran warrior. Frequently he discharged with success the important duties of orderly, his undaunted courage and quick sagacity always helping him in moments of difficulty.

Although our camp was, as you have seen, exposed to merciless attacks of storm, heat, and sickness, and the enemy’s projectiles were frequent visitors to beguile our lonely moments, nevertheless the morale of men and officers improved day by day. They were hungering and thirsting for an early chance to assume the offensive.

SOME BRAVE MEN AND THEIR MEMORIAL

THE poor Russians who were hopelessly invested in Port Arthur were being driven back into a smaller and smaller space every day, so that of necessity they tried desperately to break through our line and enlarge their sphere of activity. Their repeated repulse at Kenzan had apparently discouraged further attempts at retaking the hill, but almost every day they attacked some spot on our line with more or less spirit. However, they were never once successful, and their efforts resulted only in the loss of ammunition and men.

About the 10th of July, we sent some advance patrols to a steep hill in front of our line, which we named Iwayama, Rocky Hill. On this spot the enemy’s scouts had made their appearance frequently and tried to spy out the condition of our defenses. So we drove them away, and put up our own line of outposts there. It was on the 16th of July, while it was yet pitch dark, that Lieutenant Sugimura and a handful of men were ordered to this spot. Even in summer the night breeze on the continent is cool, and the chilly wind swept their faces through the darkness and rustled the grass. The men, reduced to skin and bone, and with morbidly sensitive nerves from their continued insufficiency of sleep, lay watching through the darkness with straining eyes, occasionally putting an ear to the ground to listen for footsteps, thinking that the enemy must be sure to come on such a night. Suddenly the sentinel’s cry “The enemy!” was followed by the lieutenant’s order “Deploy skirmishers!” Cool and courageous, Sugimura faced the attack with an eager determination to defend this important spot to the very last. The enemy encircled them from three sides, and they were many more than the Japanese, though the exact number could not be ascertained in the dark. Moreover, the enemy brought machine-guns and attacked the Japanese fiercely on the flank. These dreadful engines of destruction the Russians relied upon as their best means of defense. Our army had faced them at Nanshan and been mowed down by hundreds and thousands. Imagine Lieutenant Sugimura, with only a handful of soldiers, fearlessly brandishing his long sword and directing his men to fight this formidable enemy. The fate of the small group of defenders, surrounded by the enemy on three sides, was entirely in Sugimura’s hand. He was so brave and his men so valiant that they fought on for two hours and did not yield even an inch of ground. In spite of their overwhelming numbers, the Russians seemed to find the Japanese too much for them, and all at once discontinued the attack and disappeared in the darkness. But our brave Sugimura was severely wounded. A shot from a machine-gun went through his head. He did not succumb to the wound for some minutes, but continued to shout and encourage his men, until he saw, though his blood was fast running into his eyes, the enemy retreat!

The Russians left more than ten dead behind them. Early next morning, July 17, they came with a Red-Cross flag and stretchers, coolly approached our patrol line, coming as near as fifty metres, and trying to peep into our camp under the pretense of picking up their dead! This, as also their unwarranted use of the white flag and of our sun flag, was a despicable attempt at deceiving us. Not only once, but frequently, did they repeat these shabby tricks. One time they showed their meanness in another way. At one spot our sentinel noticed a dark shadow coming forward, so cried, as usual:—

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“Officer of our army—”

The Japanese patrol thought that a scouting officer had come back and said: “Pass on!” Suddenly the dark shadow attacked the sentinel with his bayonet. The latter, who was at once undeceived, exclaimed: “You enemy! Impudent fellow! Come on!” and knocked him down with the stock of his rifle. The enemy learned a few Japanese words and tried to use them to deceive us. Because the Russians did not scruple to resort to such small, unmanly tricks, we had always to be very careful and vigilant.

Lieutenant Sugimura was picked up and carried to a barn, where his attendant, Fukumatsu Ito, nursed him as a mother would her sick child. The faithful Ito grew pale with anxiety and fatigue. With his eyes full of tears, he would comfort and nurse his master. It was a touching sight to see him so thoroughly devoted to Lieutenant Sugimura. When the latter was sent to a field hospital, Ito used to go to visit him whenever he had leisure, walking a great distance over a rough road. One day on my way back from the headquarters of the brigade, I noticed a soldier coming up the hill, panting under a heavy load on his shoulder. Coming nearer, I found it was Ito. I asked him:—

“How is Lieutenant Sugimura’s wound?”

“Extremely bad, I am sorry to say. He does not understand anything to-day.”

“Indeed! Sugimura must surely be grateful for your kind care.”

At this word of praise, Ito dropped a few tears, and said: “I do regret that I was not wounded together with my lieutenant. I have not had time enough to return his kindness to me, and now we must part, it seems to me. It would have been far better if we had died together. It was but last night that my lieutenant grasped my hand in his and said to me, ‘I am very grateful to you.’ I felt so sad then, and longed to die with my lieutenant.”

I could not watch this faithful man’s face any longer. He added, “I must hurry on and see him,” and went on in a dejected state of mind. His heavy parcel was full of Sugimura’s things.

Sugimura’s sad wound incited all the officers and men to a greater determination to chastise the enemy on Taipo-shan in front of us; they were all anxious to avenge the death and wounding of so many of their comrades. Those who died on outpost duty were of course sorry not to give their lives on a more glorious battle-field. Some of their dying words were so full of indignation and regret that they reached the marrow of the hearer’s bones. As one of the most characteristic instances of this kind I venture to introduce a soldier by the name of Heigo Yamashita. This man was always earnest and obedient in doing his duty and would never grudge any amount of toil. His comrades loved and respected him and regarded him as a model soldier. One day he turned to his best friend and said, most solemnly:—

“I never expect to go back alive. I have no other desire than that I be allowed to go and meet my comrades who died ten years ago, and tell them that the vengeance is complete—but I have one elder brother who is living in poverty. When I die, please let him know how brilliantly my death-flower blossomed.”

Not long after this, he was ordered to convey an important message; on his way back to report the successful discharge of his duty, he was shot through the abdomen, and cried out: “What of this? A mere trifle!” But he could stand no longer. He was carried to the first aid station; the surgeon who examined him shook his head sadly and said that the man could not be saved.

The colonel of his regiment paid a visit to this valiant soldier and comforted him, saying: “Don’t lose hope! You suffer badly, but you must keep up your courage.” But seeing that the man’s end was fast approaching, the colonel’s eyes were dim with tears, when he said: “It is a wound of honor! You have done well.” At this kind word Heigo opened his eyes a little and squeezed this forcible entreaty out of his agony: “Colonel, please pardon me.—Pray avenge me.”