Chapter III: Part 3

This was not a severe battle; its object was simply to drive away the enemy occupying these heights. Because of the natural strength of the place, the Russians had not done much to protect or fortify it, and it was comparatively easy for us to attack. But this was the first fight for us, and we fought it with special fervor and determination.

Late in the night of the 25th, the last day of our defensive attitude, when the watch-fires of the camps were going out, and the occasional braying of donkeys added to the solitude of the hour, a secret order was brought to us to begin at once to prepare for fighting. Why was this message given at midnight? Because of fear of the natives. It had been arranged that our march and attack should begin on the 24th, but when we began to make preparations for starting, we soon found reason to suspect the natives of having informed the enemy of our movements and intentions. So we stopped for that day, and daybreak of the 26th was assigned for the attack, so that we could begin our march before the natives knew anything of it. That night I could hardly sleep for excitement; I tossed and fretted in bed, pictured to myself the battle of the morrow, or talked nonsense with the comrade in the nearest bed. I saw the occasional flickering of small fires in the dark and knew that not a few were awake, smoking and cogitating.

Very soon the whole atmosphere of the camp was filled with quiet activity; officers and men jumped out of bed and began to fold tents and overcoats as noiselessly as possible. Putting on our creaking knapsacks with the utmost caution, we crept with stealthy tread across the grass, and gathering at one spot stacked our rifles. The sky was inky black with summer clouds; the bayonets and the stars on our caps were the only things that glittered in the dark. Though their eyes were dull and sleepy, all were eager and determined in spirit.

“Have you left nothing behind? Are all the fires out?”

All at once the whole line became silent and began to move on at the command “March silently.” We had to keep very still until we were fairly out of the village, so that when the Chinese got up in the morning they would be surprised at our absence. This was the time for us to put in practice the quiet march, in which we had had much previous training. Even a month’s stay in the place had endeared to us, to some extent, the rivers and hills; the village had come to seem a sort of second home. How could we be indifferent to the tree that had given us shelter and to the stream that had given us drink? Among the villagers there was an old man by the name of Chodenshin, a descendant of a refugee of the Ming dynasty. He had helped us very faithfully, drawing water in the morning, and kindling fires in the evening. This good man discovered that we were going, and worked all the night through to help us. When we began the march, he came to the end of the village to see us off. Of course we could not forget such a man, and every now and then we used to talk about his faithful services.

The morning mist enshrouded the sky and the sun had not yet risen. The Sun Flag was at the head of our long line of march. Far away toward the right flank several shots were heard. Had the battle really begun?

At this moment both the right and left columns of our army began action, the right one to attack the height to the southwest of the village of Pantu, and the left to attack the enemy’s entrenchments on the heights to the east of the village of Lwanni-chiao, that is, from the 368-metre hill (Kenzan) on the north, along the ridge to Shuangting-shan in the south.

Our—that is, the middle—division of the left column was assigned to attack Waitu-shan. We marched quietly, binding the horses’ tongues, furling our flag, and trailing our arms. When we came close to the place, the enemy poured a fierce volley on us from the top of the hill and offered stubborn resistance. Brave, worthy foe! We responded with a brisk fire and sent showers of bullets and shells. They were on an eminence and we at the foot of the hill; their shots fell like rain on our heads and raised dust at our feet. At last the curtain of our first act was raised. This was our first chance to compare our strength with theirs. The coming and going of bullets and shells became fiercer and fiercer as time went on. The exploding gas of the smokeless powder filled the whole field with a vile smell. The sound of the opening and shutting of the breech-blocks of the guns, the sound of empty cartridges jumping out, the moaning of the bullets, the groaning of the shells, wounding as they fell, how stirring, how sublime! The cry “Forward! Forward!” rises on every side. Steep hills and sword-like rocks are braved and climbed at a quick, eager pace; the cartridges rattle in their cases; the sword jumps; the heart dances. March and shoot, shoot and march! The enemy’s shot rain hard; our bullets fly windward. The battle has become fierce.

Until we have pierced the body of the foe with our shot, we must continue to harass them with our fire. The bayonet is the finishing touch; the guns must play a large part in a battle. So, therefore, we must be very careful in shooting. When the fighting once begins, we begin to dance from the top of the head to the tip of the toe, we lose ourselves in excitement, but that does not do. It is very difficult to act coolly, but the aiming and the pulling of the trigger must be done deliberately, however noisy the place may be, however bloody the scene. This is the secret determining who shall be the victor.

“Pull the trigger as carefully and gently
As the frost falls in the cold night,”

is the poem teaching the secret. Such a cool, deliberate shot is sure to hit the mark. The enemy fall one after another. Then follows the final assault (tokkwan), then the triumphal tune is sung, the Kimi ga yo[38] is played, and Banzai to the Emperor is shouted. This is the natural order of events.

The spirit of the men on the firing line improved steadily; the battle-field became more and more active. The number of the wounded increased moment after moment. Cries of “A-a!” sounded from every side, as the bullets found their mark and men fell to earth unconscious.

The final opportunity was fast coming toward us; the enemy began to waver. One foot forward, another foot backward, they were in a half-hearted condition. ‘T is time for “Tokkan! Tokkan!”[39] the time for a shout like the beating on a broken bell and for a dash at the foe. Lo! a fierce rain of rifle-shot falls, followed by the shouting of a hundred thunders; mountains and valleys shake; heaven and earth quake. Captain Murakami, commander of the company, shouting tremendously and brandishing his long sword, rushes forward. All the soldiers follow his example and pierce the enemy’s line, shouting, screaming, dancing, and jumping. This done, the Russians turn their backs on us and run for their lives, leaving behind arms, powder, caps, etc. How cleverly and quickly they scamper away! That at least deserves our praise.

Waitu-shan became ours once for all. We did not fight a very hard fight, but this our first success was like a stirrup cup. “Medetashi![40] medetashi!” We raised our hearty Banzai to the morning sky at eight o’clock on the 26th of June.

THE OCCUPATION OF KENZAN

WAITU-SHAN being taken with ease, the emboldened thousands of our soldiers now began to chase the fleeing enemy along the long, narrow path leading from Ling-shui-ho-tzu to the 368-metre hill, that is, Kenzan. The object of this march was to attack the Russians occupying Kenzan, and our men were more eager and enthusiastic than ever, and fully expected to take this hill with one single stroke.

Kenzan is a very steep, rocky, rugged peak, and the path on our side was particularly steep and rugged, so much so that one man on the path could prevent thousands of men from either climbing or descending. This hill had had no name originally, but the Russians themselves christened it Quin Hill. After the place was taken, General Nogi gave it the name of Kenzan, “Sword Hill,” after the famous steep hill Tsurugi[41]-ga-miné of Shikoku, near our home barracks, in order to perpetuate the fame of the regiment that took this steep place. We did not know at first how large a Russian force was stationed there. We had only ascertained that there were some infantry and more than ten guns for its defense.

Our regiment, as the reserve force, went round the foot of Waitozan and stopped in the cultivated fields near the seashore. At this time it was burning hot in Liaotung; moreover, there was no stream of water to moisten our mouths, no trees or bushes beyond the village to give us shade. Our position was even without grass, and we were exposed to the red-hot-poker-like rays of the sun, which seemed to pierce through our caps and melt our heads. We, however, consoled ourselves with the idea that this horrible fire-torture would not last long, and that soon we should have a chance of real fighting. But we remained in the same position from 9 A.M. till 3 P.M., all the hottest hours of the day. Far away to the left was visible the rippling water of the eastern sea—how we longed for a cold bath before going forward to die on the battle-field! We could not help our mouths watering at the distant sight of the sea!

After a while, a Russian gunboat appeared near Hsiaoping-tao, an island to our left, and began to fire at our reserve force. Many circles of smoke were scattered high in the air, the air itself made a whirling sound, and the shot fell on our position with a tremendous noise. Shot after shot, sound after sound! Some would hit rocks, emit sparks, spread smoke around, and the rock itself would fly in pieces. Seen from a safe distance, it is a heart-stirring sight, but we would not have welcomed a real hit. Nearly all this shot came very near us, but fortunately none of us was wounded. Soon we began to hear the booming of guns and cannon in the direction of Kenzan; and we knew the attack had begun. We were anxiously longing to march and join the battle.

How eagerly we welcomed the order, “Forward, march!” As soon as it was heard, all the men jumped up with a spring and turned their eyes to the colonel’s face. The commander’s brave bearing is always looked up to by his men as their pattern. Especially in a critical moment, when the issue of the day is to be settled, his undaunted attitude and steady gaze will alone inspire his men with the courage and energy which lead them to victory.

Now we were to march. Our heavy knapsacks would have hindered our activity. The men hurried to put about a day’s ration into a long sack to be fastened to the back, and fixed their overcoats to their shoulders. I pulled out two or three cigarettes from a package and started at once. Without any special order from anybody, our pace became faster and faster—we marched along a long road toward the place where the roar of cannon and rifles was rising. We came nearer and nearer to the noise of the battle-line. When we reached the actual spot, how our hearts leaped!

The steep hill occupied by the enemy rose in front of us almost perpendicularly. Our first line was incessantly exchanging fire with the Russians. As the fighting became harder and harder, the number of the wounded increased in proportion; they were carried to the rear in quick succession. Bloodstained men on stretchers, wounded soldiers walking with difficulty, supporting themselves on rifles—the sight of these unfortunate ones made us fresh men the more eager to avenge them.

The struggle became still fiercer. Our artillery tried hard to silence the enemy’s guns; our infantry were clambering up the steep height one after the other—they would stop and shoot, then climb a little and stop again. The whole sky was covered with gray clouds—white and black smoke rose in volumes; shells fell on the ground like a hail-storm. After a short time, our superior artillery effectively silenced three or four of the enemy’s guns. Our infantry came quite close to the enemy, when two mines exploded before them. Our men were enveloped in black smoke and clouds of dust—we feared great damage was done. Strange to tell, however, not one of our men had fallen when the smoke-cloud cleared away. The enemy had wasted a large quantity of precious powder with the mere result of raising a dust!

The Russians tried to hinder our pressing on, not only by these exploding mines, but also by repeated volleys from the mountain-top. This latter scheme was carried out so incessantly that we could hardly turn our faces toward the enemy or raise our heads comfortably. On and on, however, we marched without fear or hesitancy. A small company of men at the head of the line would clamber up the rocks and precipices, ready for annihilation; encouraged by their example, larger forces would break in upon the enemy like a flood. Stepping on mine-openings and braving rifle and cannon fire coming from front and side, the extreme danger and difficulty of their attack was beyond description. The enemy resisted desperately; this Heaven-protected steep Kenzan was too important for them to give up.

Suddenly a tremendous shout arose throughout our whole line; all the officers, with drawn swords and bloodshot eyes, rushed into the enemy’s forts, shouting and yelling and encouraging their men to follow. A hell-like struggle ensued, in which bayonet clashed against bayonet, fierce shooting was answered by fierce shooting, shouts and yells were mingled with the groans of the wounded and dying. The battle soon became ours, for, in spite of their desperate resistance, the enemy took to their heels, leaving behind them many mementos of their defeat. Banzai was shouted two or three times; joy and congratulation resounded on the heights of Kenzan, which was now virtually ours. The Flag of the Rising Sun was hoisted high at the top of the hill. This stronghold once in our hands, shall we ever give it back to the enemy?

COUNTER-ATTACKS ON KENZAN

KENZAN once in our hands, Shuangting-shan and its vicinity soon became ours. Through the smoke our colors were seen flying over the forces now occupying these places, whose thunder-like triumphal shouts echoed above the winds. This Shuangting-shan was as important as Kenzan—neither position must remain in the hands of the enemy. But Shuangting-shan was not strongly fortified and the Russians could not hold it long against us. It was an easy prey for us. “When one wild goose is frightened, the whole line of wild geese goes into disorder; when one company wavers, the whole army is defeated,” so says the old expression. When the Russians lost Kenzan, which they had relied upon so much, Shuangting-shan fell like a dead leaf, and Hsiaoping-tao also became ours. This island is to the left of the foot of Shuangting-shan and, as I have already told you, Russian ships had appeared in that neighborhood and attacked us on the flank; this attempt at piercing our side with a sharp spear was very effective. These ships were driven back into Port Arthur more than once by our fleet; but as soon as they found a chance, they would come back and bombard our flank. During the battle of the 26th, three or four gunboats of the enemy were in that vicinity; they greatly hindered our attacks on Kenzan and Shuangting-shan. So the left wing of our left column was ordered to take the island, and it soon fell into our hands. Thus the whole of the first line of the enemy’s defense about Port Arthur came entirely under our flag.

Every detachment of our army was successful in its attack of the 26th, and this gave us an enormous advantage for the future development of our plan of campaign. We were now in a position to look down upon the enemy’s movements, from those same heights whence they once had espied our doings. It is, therefore, no wonder that the Russians tried to recover this vantage ground. It is said that General Stoessel ordered his whole army to recover, at whatever cost, this Kenzan, which, he said, was indispensable for the defense of Port Arthur. This was quite natural for them. But we Japanese had determined not to give up the place to the enemy, whatever counter-attack, whatever stratagem, might be brought to bear. If they were ready for a great sacrifice, we were equally willing to accept the sacrifice. Brave Russians, come and attack us twice or thrice, if you are anxious to have regrets afterward! What they did was “to keep the tiger off the front gate and not to know that the wolf was already at the back door.”

The long, summer-day’s sun was going down, a dismal gray light enveloped heaven and earth; after the battle warm, unpleasant winds were sweeping over bloodstained grass, and the din of war of a short time before was followed by an awful silence, except for the scattered reports of rifles, with thin, dull, spiritless sound. This was the repulsed enemy’s random shooting to give vent to their anger and regret—it was quite an amusement for us. All of a sudden, dark clouds were vomited by mountain peaks, the whole sky became black in a moment, lightning and thunder were followed by bullet-like drops of rain; nature seemed to repeat the same desperate, bloody scene that we had presented a short while before. This battle of the elements was an additional hardship for our men,—they had not even trees for shelter,—all looked like rats drenched in water! We spent the night on this mountain in the rain, listening to the neighing of our horses at its foot.

A severe battle is usually followed by a heavy storm or shower. When the battle is at its height, the sky is darkened with powder-smoke and the whole scene is dismal and dreary. Presently a heavy shower and deafening thunders come to wash away all impurities of the battle-field. This rain is called “the tears of joy for the victor, and the tears of sorrow for the defeated;” it is also the tears of mourning for the dead comrades. Such a stormy night was almost sure to be utilized by the enemy to recover the lost position. But we were not off our guard after our victory, as the enemy may have imagined—the roar of thunder or the fall of rain did not make us less vigilant. Each time they visited us, we were sure to dismiss them at the gate, thanking them for their fruitless visit. Once we occupy a place, a line of strict vigilance is spread all around, ready to meet the enemy’s counter-surprise at any moment. This is what we call “tightening the string of the helmet in victory.”[42]

Seven days had elapsed after our taking Kenzan and Shuangting-shan, when the enemy began a counter-attack, at mid-day of the 3d of July. They seemed to be trying to recover Kenzan with an overwhelming force. About eight or nine hundred of their infantry pressed straight on from Wangchia-tun; their artillery took up their position in and about Tashik-tung and began to fire at us with great energy. We had been expecting this all the time and were not surprised. All our guns and rifles were concentrated on their front; they were brave enough to rush on in spite of this shower of shot. But our fire was too much for them; they “fell like a row of ninepins.” The officer at their head flourished his long sword high in the air and furiously rushed toward us; but he too fell. At each volley they fell like autumn leaves in the wind. The remnant of the enemy thought it impossible to face us; they ran back into the valleys in complete disorder. Their infantry had thus retreated, but the battery was not silenced so easily. For some time longer it held on and fired at our centre vigorously. Perhaps the sight of the retreating infantry made the artillerymen lose courage; the noise of their firing became less and less; soon the whole line of battle became as quiet as a dream. We shouted Banzai again and again. The enemy’s first effort to regain Kenzan had failed!

The Russians were so persistent in their attempt at recovering the lost position, that, soon after this severe defeat, about the same number of infantry as before made their appearance on Taiko-shan. Their band playing vigorously, they approached our first line. When the distance between the two parties became only seven or eight hundred metres, they deployed, shouted “Woola!” very loud, and rushed on us bravely, encouraged by the sound of fife and drum. We met them with a violent, rapid fire, killing both those who advanced and those who retreated. One of our detachments also took the offensive. This again was too much for the enemy; they took to their heels and went back toward Taiko-shan. In spite of the clear fact that it was impossible for them to defeat us, they repeated one attack after another, making a fresh sacrifice of men each time, fully determined to recover Kenzan. This tenacity of purpose was truly worthy of a great Power and deserves our admiration. Just as we have our loyal and brave “Yamato-damashii,” they have their own undaunted courage peculiar to the Slav race. “The tiger’s roar causes storms to rise and the dragon’s breath gathers clouds in the sky.” Each of the contending parties had a worthy foe with which to compare its strength.

At one o’clock on the morning of the following day (the 4th), the enemy broke through the darkness of midnight and surprised us on Kenzan with a forlorn-hope detachment. This movement was so quick and so clever! not a blade of grass, not a stone was disturbed—they clambered up the steep ascent without a noise, and quite suddenly they killed our sentries and rushed into our camp in a dense crowd, with loud shouts, flourishing their swords and brandishing their rifles. A scene of great confusion and desperate struggle ensued; it was pitch dark and we could not tell friend from foe—the only thing we could do was to cut and thrust as much as possible without knowing at whom. We could not see anything, but each could hear and feel the heavy fall to the ground of his own antagonist. Once again our defense was too strong even for this assaulting party, who went down the hill in disappointment, though without confusion. We were all astonished at their valor and perseverance. Even those who were left behind wounded would try and resist us with rifle or sword. One of them, in particular, who was seriously wounded and on the brink of death, raised his drooping head and smiled a ghastly smile of defiance and determination.

Such a clever, well-planned surprise having failed, we thought that probably they had given up any idea of further attack on us. Contrary to our expectation, however, they still clung to the object of recovering Kenzan by some means. At the dawn of the same morning, they tried an open attack with a large force. This assault was particularly fierce. This time they showed even more determination than before; their artillery kept up a continuous fire, while the infantry made their advance under its cover. The number of men on their first line was constantly increased, and they seemed determined to wrest Kenzan from us at any cost. In spite of our advantageous position, in spite of our experience in repeated repulse of the enemy, the assault of this large body of Russians was far from easy for us to break. But we too had increased our numbers and had improved our defenses as much as possible, in expectation of just such an attack. Consequently this was almost as severe a fight as our attack on Kenzan.

The artillery of the enemy increased in strength hour after hour and occupied the heights connecting Wangchia-tun, Mautao-kou, Antsu-ling, and so on; their main strength was directed to Kenzan, and also to our infantry position in general. Their way of pouring shrapnel on us was most energetic, and they proved themselves better marksmen than ever. Without the intermission of even a minute or a second, their shot and shells rained on us in a heavy shower. From early morning both our artillery and infantry kept up a rapid fire and tried hard to prevent the enemy from coming nearer, fully determined not to allow them to enter, even one step, into the place we had once taken with our blood. In particular, those who were stationed at Kenzan had the hardest of times; they stood firm under the enemy’s fierce fire and checked with great difficulty an attempt to rush their position. Sometimes they were hard pressed and in danger of giving way; at such times the officers in front would stir them up and cry, “Shoot! Shoot!” staring at the enemy with angry eyes and spitting foam from their mouths! The men kept their eyes fixed steadily on the enemy, their hands at work incessantly with magazine and trigger. They strained all their energy and power and did not economize powder, of which they are so careful at other times.

The firing from both sides became more and more violent and quick, so that birds could not have found space to fly, or animals places for hiding. Thousands and thousands of shot and shell crossed in the air and made a dull sound in the heavy-laden atmosphere; the whole heaven and earth seemed the scene of the frantic rage of demons, and we could not prophesy when this scene would come to an end. The enemy’s artillery fire was very strong; their _time_ shells would fly to us in bundles, explode over our heads, and kill and wound our men mercilessly. The explosion of their spherical shells would hurl up earth and sand before and behind our skirmish line, raising a thick black and white smoke at the spot. The struggle of our artillery to resist such a violent, incessant attack was beyond description. They were sometimes obliged to change their position for a while. The issue of the day was still hanging in the balance; the enemy’s forces were reinforced from time to time by fresh men—they renewed the attack again and again. On our side, too, a part of our general reserve was placed on the line of battle; moreover, several companies of heavy artillery were sent out from Pantao to Hwangni-chuan, Tashang-tun, and their vicinity. Also, the marine heavy artillery corps was stationed at Shakako in the south. With this increase of strength on both sides, each party threatened to annihilate the other. The fight of the day became more and more desperate; the boom of cannon and rifle lasted from dawn till dusk—still it did not lessen in its volume. The enemy seemed anxious to take advantage of the good effect of their fire to make an assault on us under its cover. The sharper their attack, the more watchful we became, and each time we dealt a correspondingly severe counter-attack.

The melancholy rays of the setting sun shone upon the dismal scene of the battle-field, with a background of dark gray which added to the sadness of the sight. This sadness, of course, was associated with our anxiety about the issue of the struggle. Was the battle of this day to cease without any result? Nay, the enemy would not give up the attack with the arrival of night; on the contrary, because they had a plan for a great night assault on us, they continued their firing from morning till evening, in order to exhaust us both in body and resources. We were sure that this was their plan, and so at night we waited for their coming with more vigilance and watchfulness. As was expected, the enemy’s whole line began to move late at night and attempted to storm Kenzan and recover the place with one tremendous stroke. They came upon us in rage and fury: their bayonets glittered in the dark like the reflection of the sun on ice and frost; their “Woola” sounded like the roar of hundreds of wild beasts. “Now is the time for us to show them what we’re made of!” With this idea in all our minds, we began with one accord to shower on them an accurate fire; nearly all the shot told. We were almost certain that the enemy would be defeated before so sure a fire. Their cry of “Woola” became less and less loud; the flowers of their swords also faded away in the dark. At last the whole place became perfectly quiet, so that we could hear the melancholy note of summer insects singing in the grass, and the groaning of the wounded Russians left on the field. Up in the sky, thick clouds hung heavy and low, threatening to begin to rain at any moment. Our eyes rained first a drop or two in spite of ourselves—for our comrades who had died in this battle.

Later, when all the information was gathered, we found that the number of the Russians that began the attack early in the morning was about one thousand; it was gradually reinforced and became five thousand, and at last it was more than ten thousand. Added to this, some gunboats of the enemy appeared off the coast of Lungwang-tang and fired vehemently on our centre and left wing. Even this large, combined force of the army and navy could not accomplish their cherished object—all their stratagems and tricks were of no avail against us. After this fourth and hardest assault, they seemed to lose courage and hope; no further attack was made on Kenzan; the only thing they continued to do was to reconnoitre our camp, and to direct slow firing on us both day and night, accompanied by an occasional night assault on a small scale, which seemed intended to cover and protect the defensive works which they were putting up in great hurry along the heights of Taipo-shan.

ON THE DEFENSIVE

WHAT an irksome, tantalizing business is defense! We may be quite ready to march and fight, both in morale and in material preparations, and yet we must wait until the right opportunity arrives. The sword hanging from the belt may moan from idleness, the muscles of the arm sigh from inactivity, and yet we have to wait till the proper time comes. But defense is the first step toward offense. We must first try every possible means, on this line of vigilant defense, to ascertain minutely and accurately the condition of the enemy, and to find out the arrangement of their men, before we lay our plans and begin a march and attack. So, therefore, our defense is like the dragon concealing itself in a pond for a while, and our march its gathering clouds and fogs around itself and ascending to heaven. So, then, I propose here to tell you a little about the actual condition of our line of defense after the battle of Kenzan.

A strong army of fourteen battalions and twenty-four guns had tried a hard and desperate assault on our position, to recover Kenzan “at whatever cost,” to use General Stoessel’s expression. But their scheme of reprisals was of no use. They retreated far back toward Shwangtai-kou and Antsu-ling on the north, and Taipo-shan and Laotso-shan on the south, and there along the heights they put up strong works of defense, planning to make a firmer stand there than at Kenzan. And we remained in exactly the same position as before, not even an inch of ground was given back to the enemy; our line stretched from Antsu-ling in the north, with Lwanni-chiao, Kenzan, Hwangni-chuan, and Tashang-tun in the middle, to Shuangting-shan in the south. Our regiment was to watch over the heights to the northeast of Hwangni-chuan and Tashang-tun, and on the very first day we began to dig with picks and shovels. As compared with our experience in Changchia-tun, we were much nearer the enemy, and, moreover, we had to make our works much stronger, knowing that the enemy would be sure to try an occasional assault on us, notwithstanding their repeated defeats in the attempt to recover Kenzan. We had no time to give our men rest after their hard, continuous fighting. We could not leave our gateway wide open for thieves and burglars, however anxious we were to rest our men. The urgent necessity of the case did not allow sympathetic consideration for their exhaustion. The brave soldiers themselves did not think of any repose; day and night they carried the sand-bags, and wire-entanglement left at Changchia-tun, along the rocky steep path, or with no path at all, catching hold of grass-roots or points of rock. They devoted every available minute to putting up strong works as quickly as possible.

Our position was on a steep, rocky, skeleton-like mountain, over valleys with sides almost perpendicular. There were no trees to shield us from the sun, no streams of water to moisten our parched lips. Our only comfort was that we could see through the mist the forts on far-away Lautieh-shan and ramparts on nearer hills and peaks, and imagine that soon the curtain would be raised and a great living drama again be presented on the stage. We pictured to ourselves the joy of another valiant struggle and wished that we might be allowed to sacrifice ourselves so completely that not a piece of our flesh be left behind. Days passed in hard work and vain imaginings. When the curtain of night covered the scene, a body of black forms would climb the hill. What were they? They were fresh men to take the places of those exhausted by the day’s hard work. Had they to work even at night? Yes, on the line of defense this night work was the more important. In the daytime the enemy’s artillery would fire and try to find out where we were working, and therefore steady progress was impossible. To make up the time lost we had to work at night. Looking at the distant smoke rising from the camp-fires of the enemy, our men dug earth, piled up stones, carried sand, filled sacks, and planted stakes for wire-entanglements. In doing this we had to try to make as little noise as possible, and of course could not smoke. Even the lighting of a cigarette might give occasion for the enemy to fire at us. At two or three o’clock in the morning, we were still working hard, in spite of heavy rain or furious storm. The men did all this without complaining, ungrudgingly; they only thought of doing their very best for their country, and for their sovereign. They truly deserve the heartfelt thanks and praises of the nation.

In the small hours of the morning the body of pioneers would rest their arms awhile. Even then there were some who stood straight like statues with their guns on their shoulders, straining their eyes toward the enemy. The duty of the sentinels was also far from easy. Exposed to the night wind of the peninsula they would smile and say: “It’s very cool to-night! Shall we have another night assault as usual?”

We did not know certainly where the enemy’s artillery was stationed, but they would fire into the valley where the staff officers had pitched their tents, as if in search of us. It was on the 15th of July, if I remember correctly, that a big ball came flying, exploded with a tremendous noise, shattered rocks, threw up stones, raised dark yellow smoke, and shook the earth. We had been accustomed only to field-gun balls: this was our first experience of such a huge one. We were greatly astonished. Probably the enemy had hauled a navy gun up to Lungwang-tang and fired at us with that. They still seemed anxious to find a chance of recovering Kenzan, and sent us long-distance balls diligently. All our battalions, therefore, agreed to take careful statistics, and report how many balls were sent and to what part of our line, between what and what hours. The enemy tried in vain to frighten us by shattering the rocks of Kenzan with long-distance shot. Seen from a distance, the explosion of shrapnel looks like fireworks, but to be under such a shower of fire is not particularly pleasant.

There was one thing that puzzled us very much. Every day, almost at the same hour, they would fire at us with special zeal; their aim was always directed to our headquarters and sometimes they would inflict upon us unexpected damage. We thought, of course, there must be some secret in this mysterious act of the enemy’s, but it was not at all easy to find out that secret. After a long and careful investigation, the following wonderful and detestable fact came to light.

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:—