Chapter IV: Part 4

“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.”

His hand trembled, and his lips quivered as if he wished to say more; soon he started on the journey from which none return. Poor Heigo! he could not join the great fight soon to take place, but died in this sad way. An apology for not doing anything better and an entreaty to be avenged were the last words of this loyal subject. On the following day his comrades interred his remains in the field, and Chaplain Toyama read prayers and gave him a posthumous name according to the Buddhist custom. The tomb-post bearing this new name was set up facing Port Arthur.[45]

Here I must tell you about a memorial service for the dead that was held in the camp. Since our attack on Kenzan, we had lost no small number of men, so his Excellency the Commander of our Division appointed the 1st of July for a service in memory of those brave souls. An altar was raised on a farm near Lingshwuihotszu toward the cloudy evening of that day. It was called an altar, but in reality it was only a desk that we found in a farmer’s yard. It was covered with white cloth, and a picture of Amida Buddha that Chaplain Toyama happened to have was hung above it. In front of the altar, boxes were piled up containing the ashes,—these boxes were about five inches square. Also provision was made for burning incense, and the altar was set facing Port Arthur. The dim light of candles added to the gloom and sadness of the occasion; the insects singing far and near seemed to chant about the inconstancy of all things. A shower falling through the willow-branches, which were being combed by the winds, seemed like tears of heaven. The officers of the division formed a semicircle before the altar, the soldiers stood behind them, and when the reading of the Scriptures by the chaplain was ended, the commander stepped forward solemnly and offered incense, then bowed his head and did not raise it for some minutes. His heart was full of untold grief and gratitude. His lips were repeating the phrase, “You have done well!” The spirits of the brave dead must also have been grieved to have left such a worthy general. Other officers, one by one, followed the general, bowing and offering incense, each sorrowing over his unfortunate subordinates. “You have fought bravely and proved the success of my training. You have faithfully done your duty and been useful instruments in the hands of His Majesty,” was the silent tribute each officer gave his own men. The surviving men, who had entered the garrison at the same time with those unfortunate comrades and striven with them in the performance of their daily duties, must have envied their manly, heroic death and wished they had so distinguished themselves as to die with them. The drops moistening the sleeves of the officers and men, now bowing before the altar, were not merely from the shower of heaven.

THE BATTLE OF TAIPO-SHAN

AFTER we repulsed the enemy at Kenzan in their desperate attempts at retaking the hill, our position increased daily in strength. On the one hand, every preparation was being made for an aggressive movement. Twelve guns captured at Nanshan were arranged on the heights near Lwanni-chiao, and six heavy naval guns were placed on the height to the west of Chuchin-antsu. On the other hand, powerful scouting parties were being frequently dispatched to ascertain the arrangement of the advance posts of the enemy. At this time, the enemy’s main position was on the steep hills between Eijoshi in the north with Shwangtai-kou and Antsu-ling in the middle, and Taipo-shan and Laotso-shan in the south. They had fortified these naturally strong places with everything that money and time could afford, fully determined not to allow us Japanese to advance even one step south of this line. So it was extremely difficult to take this position by storm. But we had been drawing our bow for a month, and were now quite ready and anxious to let the arrow go. The opportunity ripened, the men’s morale was at its best. On July 26, all the columns and corps started from our position with one accord to descend upon the Russian position in the south.

The sole objective of the regiment to which I belonged was the strongly fortified Taipo-shan, on which the enemy relied as the most important point in their advance position. On the night previous to the opening of hostilities the plan of campaign was minutely explained to us; the brigadier-general specially urged officers and men to do their uttermost and never to stop until the place was captured, saying that this battle was the first important step toward the real investment of Port Arthur, and that we were to attack the strongest of the enemy’s advance posts. Our colonel also addressed us, and said that this was the first time that our regiment was to fight as a whole; that the final victory of a battle is, in fact, won early in the struggle; that all our lives belonged to him as our commander and that he would not hesitate to sacrifice them, but would resort to whatever means he might think advisable, during the act of fighting. He also told us that this was the time for us to put to test the spirit of Bushidō,[46] in which we had been long and carefully trained; that we must remember his every-day instructions in general and the one given on the day of our departure from the garrison in particular, so that we might concentrate our thoughts and aspirations upon justifying His Majesty’s gracious trust in us, and be ready to fall, all of us, under the honored banner of our regiment. This was truly a solemn injunction! The commanders of the battalions and companies followed suit, and each of us was carefully put in mind of his duty and urged to do his very best to keep the honor of the regiment unsullied. Thus our already willing determination was made still firmer and stronger. We were in such an uplifted state of mind that we had taken the whole of Taipo-shan before beginning hostilities.

The scene in the camp presented an extraordinary sight during the night previous to our march. Comrade was whispering with comrade here and there. Some there were who grasped their rifles lightly and smiled a lonely smile by themselves. Others changed to their best and cleanest underwear, so that they might not disgrace themselves before the enemy, dead in dirty clothing. Still others were looking vacantly into the heavens and singing in an undertone. And what was I thinking at this moment? All, I hope, were equally anxious to be able to die happy and contented, saying, “I have done my duty, by the blessing of Heaven.”

Before daybreak of the 26th of July, when the fog was so thick that we could not see a foot ahead, and a cool breeze was sweeping through space after the shower of the previous evening, thousands of warriors began to move like a long serpent through the dark. At 3 A. M. we reached the foot of Iwayama, which was assigned to the reserve of our regiment. On the top of this hill was the position for the skirmishers; another hill to the right was assigned to the artillery. Until the signal for opening hostilities was given, even one man’s head was not allowed to be thrust out of the line. All loaded their guns and were breathlessly waiting for the colonel’s order, “Fire!” He was standing on the top of Iwayama with his field-glasses in his hand; his aide-de-camp stood before him with an open map, and occasionally fumbled about in his knapsack. Pack-horses loaded with ammunition were gathered together at the foot of the hill, and the soldiers detailed to distribute it were eagerly waiting to begin work. The signal was to be a cannon-shot; we studied the hands of our watches and our hearts jumped as the time went on minute after minute.

At forty-nine minutes past seven, the first roar was at last heard on the left wing. It was the signal for commencing attack on the enemy along Laotso-shan and Taipo-shan. For the last twenty days, we had not discharged a single shot, so this cannon report must have taken the enemy unawares, and their hurried response sounded dull and sleepy and went high above our heads. Our plan was that the left wing should first attack and defeat the enemy on Laotso-shan, and then our detachment was to reinforce it. So we had to remain idle for some time and watch the progress of their attack on Laotso-shan. After a while, our naval guns began to make such a tremendous noise, that we hoped the enemy would soon be scared to death and give up their advance posts as our easy prey. But they proved stronger than we thought and did not disperse themselves like baby-spiders before our assault.

The fight increased in severity as time went on; our whole artillery was concentrated upon the heavy artillery on the northern slope of Laotso-shan and endeavored with might and main to silence them. After some time, when the enemy’s fire had slackened a little, our infantry of the left wing began to march forward under the protecting fire of our artillery. At once they captured a crescent-shaped height, about two thousand metres ahead of us; immediately afterward they turned to the left and occupied the northern shoulder of Laotso-shan at ten o’clock. It seemed that the Russians had not fortified these places very strongly, for, after some resistance, they gave up the large fort on the important spot of Laotso-shan. Still their resistance was quite stubborn, and even when our infantry occupied the top of the hill, a portion of the enemy still stuck to the southern slope and stood fearlessly and desperately under our concentrated downward fire. This was the cause of the long duration of this attack. Eventually our left wing succeeded in routing and driving them away from this spot; but they had the inlet of Lungwang-tang at their back and could not retreat in that direction. Soon they were hard pressed and obliged to leave many dead and wounded behind; the remainder jumped into junks and concealed themselves on the opposite side of the inlet.

The work assigned to the left wing being thus finished, our regiment now had the great opportunity of attacking the enemy. Whereupon Colonel Aoki ordered all his captains, “Whole line begin firing from the right.” All at once the whole line thrust out its head, the first and second battalions on the right and the third on the left. Their firing sounded like popping corn. As soon as we began, the Russian bullets began to fall in large drops about us, stirring up sand, kicking stones, and felling men. Those that passed near our ears made a whistling sound, and those going high through the air, a trembling boom. Our skirmish-line, forming a long chain, lost its links here and there; the carriers of stretchers ran hither and thither conveying the dead and wounded to the first aids. There was not only the hail of rifle-shot, but large projectiles began to burst over our heads and emit white smoke. The fragments of shell fell on the ground with a thud and made holes, or pierced the skirmishers’ heads from above. Sometimes the empty case of a shell would go past the hill and fall in the midst of our reserve. While I was still with the reserve I actually saw a soldier, who was struck by such an empty shell, lose his right arm and die on the spot. When we examined an empty shell later on, we discovered inside it, first a piece of overcoat, then a piece of coat, then a piece of undershirt, then flesh and bone, then again underwear, coat, and overcoat, together with grass and pebbles stained with blood.

This struggle lasted for several hours; the enemy’s artillery was very strong and we could not find a chance to go forward. Our dead and wounded increased so fast that the stretchers prepared were not sufficient. The fire reached even the first aid stations far in the rear. Some wounded soldiers there were injured again or killed. It was a desperate fight. The reserves were brought about to the left of the artillery’s position, so that they could form an assaulting column at a moment’s notice and rush upon the enemy when the opportunity came. At this time I was with them, carrying the regimental flag. Because our position was with the artillery and because the flag was a great target for the enemy, the Russians in Wangchia-tun began at once a fierce fire on us. Their concentrated fire was well aimed, and their shells came like rain, falling sideways in the wind. When the smoke cleared away for a minute, we found a lieutenant who had, just a moment before, been bravely ordering his men, lying dead covered with blood. The chief of the gun detachment and also the gunners were torn to pieces, their brains gushing out and their bowels mixing with mud and blood. When the reserve gunners went to take their places, they also were killed. Such a bloody scene can never be realized without an actual sight; my pen is powerless to describe it.

Our reserve having suffered no small loss before the strong fire of the enemy, we had no resource left but to try a desperate assault upon them. Every moment longer that we remained in this position meant the loss of so many more men. Clouds had been gathering and lowering in the sky for some time; it was dark and dreary. Soon the swift wind ran side by side with powder and smoke, and muddy rain fell obliquely with the shot and shell. At this dismal stage of affairs we, the reserves, were ordered to join the colonel. We at once left the artillery and began to march to the left, clambering over the rocks. The sharp wind flapped the colors violently, and I feared that they might be torn to pieces any moment. At this juncture a shell burst over my head and its fragments rent the air; a part of the flag was blown away, a man was killed, and a piece of the shell fell into a valley far behind us.

As was said before, the colonel was on the top of Iwayama; the enemy was sure that our strength was concentrated there and showered upon it a hail-storm of shrapnel. Colonel Aoki stood in the midst of that as firm and unflinching as Ni-ō or Fudō,[47] staring at the enemy with steady gaze. When I approached him and reported the tearing of the flag, he simply remarked, “So!” After a while he said, “Isn’t this just like a manœuvre?”

He was so full of courage and strength, his fearless and composed attitude was such an inspiration to his subordinates, that the somewhat despondent soldiers at once recovered their spirits and energy on looking up at his face.

It was already 2 P.M., and yet the fighting had not come to any decisive result. Our casualties increased in number hour after hour. At this moment a portion of our left wing began to move forward. Our detachment was also ordered forward, whereupon the whole line of men rose like a dark fence, and pushed on right to the muzzles of the enemy’s guns. The Russians seized this opportunity to increase the intensity of their fire; those of us who went forward were mowed down, and those who did not press on were already dead! Lieutenant Yatsuda was shot through the chest, yet he continued to shout, “Forward! Forward!” paying no attention to the gushing blood and without letting his men know of his wound. He pressed on furiously about a thousand metres toward the enemy, and when he approached the line to be occupied he shouted Banzai faintly and died.

A brave commander’s men are always brave! One of Yatsuda’s men had his right arm shattered before his lieutenant was shot, but he would not stay behind. When the lieutenant told him to go to the first aid, he said, “Why, such a tiny wound! I can still fight very well, sir.” He poured out water from his bottle and washed his wound, bound it up with a Japanese towel, and pressed on panting with the skirmishers, his gun in his left hand. When he came near the enemy’s line, he was killed by the side of Lieutenant Yatsuda, whom the brave fellow considered his elder brother. Even in his death he grasped his gun firmly. Both of them showed the true spirit of Japanese warriors, doing their duty till the last moment and even after death.

At last the reserve in the hands of Colonel Aoki was reduced to two companies of infantry and one of engineers. What a disastrous struggle this had been! Ever since morning our artillery had been trying hard to silence the powerful guns of the enemy. Their desperate efforts were all in vain, and the strong posts of the enemy remained without damage. What a disappointment! Our infantry were already only five or six hundred metres from the enemy, but until our artillery should have destroyed the offensive and defensive works of the Russian forts, an assault would have resulted only in complete annihilation. So these infantry men were patiently waiting quite close to the enemy for the right moment to come. The long summer day at last came to its close, and the dreary curtain of darkness enveloped the scene of battle.

The rain ceased for awhile, but the night was dismal. Hundreds of dead bodies were strewn on hill and in valley, while the enemy’s forts towered high against the dark sky as if challenging us to a fruitless attack. But our morale was not at all impaired; on the contrary, this day’s failure added to our firm resolve to storm and defeat the Russians on the next. During the night the firing of guns and rifles went on unceasingly, and in carrying the dead we had to use tents to supply the deficiency of stretchers. The wounded were also picked up and carried to the rear by the ambulance men. And we who had escaped injury sat by the side of our silent dead and without sleep waited impatiently for a better day to break.

THE OCCUPATION OF TAIPO-SHAN

ON the next day, the 27th, fully determined to drive out the enemy, our entire artillery began firing at early dawn, striving to open a passage for our infantry. Our bombardment was more violent than on the previous day, and the enemy’s response was also proportionately fiercer. Why was it that the Russian forts were so strangely impregnable? On the line connecting the heights their trenches were faced with rocks and covered with timber roofs, and they could fire at us through portholes, safely concealed and protected from our bursting shells. They had quick-firing guns and machine-guns arranged in different places so that they could fire at us from all points and directions, and these formidable guns were well protected with strong works built of strong material. Added to all this, the side of our hill and the opposite side of their hill formed a rocky valley with almost perpendicular walls, so that we could not climb down or up without superhuman efforts. To attack such a strongly armed enemy in a place of such natural advantage meant a great amount of sacrifice on our part.

So long as our artillery remained unsuccessful, our rifle fire was of course of no use. Somehow we must damage the enemy’s machine-guns, otherwise all our efforts would end only in adding to our already long list of dead and wounded. This we well understood, but if we could not utilize our firearms, our only and last resource was to shoot off human beings, to attack with bullets of human flesh. With such unique weapons,—human bullets, the consolidated essence of Yamato Damashii,—how could we fail to rout the enemy? Orders were soon given. The fifth, seventh, and tenth companies of our regiment precipitated themselves down into the valley and began a furious assault on the enemy; whereupon the Russian artillery, who had hitherto been aiming at our artillery, directed their guns upon this forlorn hope, this rushing column. Simultaneously all the machine-guns and all the infantry in the forts concentrated their fire upon this desperate body, who pressed on like a swift wind with shouts and yells, not a whit daunted by this devilish fire. Their shrieks and the cannon-roar combined sounded like a hundred thunders thundering at the same moment. Press on! rush in! They fought like so many furies, wounded officers unheeded and fallen comrades ignored! Stepping on and jumping over the dead and dying, the survivors came at last within a dozen metres or so of the enemy. But they could not overcome nature—the rocky precipice stood like a screen before them, and half their comrades were strewn dead on the side of the hill at their backs; they could do nothing but stand there facing and staring at the enemy. While this assaulting column was pressing on under the heavy shower of shells and bullets, the sight was stirring beyond words; the men moved on like light gray shadows enshrouded in volumes of smoke. Some of them were seen flying high up in the air, hurled by the big shells. When their bodies were picked up, some had no wound at all, but the skin had turned purplish all over. This was caused by the throwing up and consequent heavy fall on the ground.

The enemy’s resistance was so stubborn that our fire seemed as powerless as beating a big temple-bell with a pin. If we had gone on in this way, we might have failed entirely. We had to attempt a final charge at the risk of annihilation. Soon the following order was given by the brigadier-general:—

“The courageous behavior of our officers and men since the beginning of the battle is worthy of all admiration. Our brigade is to attack the enemy along the eastern side of Taipo-shan at 5 P. M. to-day, to bombard with the entire force of the artillery, and the left wing to charge when our bombardment opens to them an opportunity, and thus to overwhelm and defeat the enemy. Your regiment must strive with the utmost effort to improve this opportunity and occupy the enemy’s position at your front.”

Yes, we were anxious to defeat the enemy with our utmost and most desperate effort! This was the day for us to unfurl our colors high above the enemy’s fortress and to comfort the spirits of those who during the past few days had died without hearing a triumphant Banzai.

A group of officers, while waiting for a proper opportunity to strike, were talking about the condition of affairs since the previous morning.

“The enemy is certainly brave! I noticed a Russian officer commanding his men from the top of a breastwork.”

“Yes, they are fighting hard; but we must carry their position _to-day_!”

We were beginning to feel that the Russian strength came not only from their mechanical defenses, but also from their intrepid behavior; but all were agreed in their ardent resolve to defeat the enemy and avenge their unfortunate comrades. Presently a young officer came along with a bottle of beer. Since the previous day we had been almost without food or drink, and this bottle of beer seemed a strange sight on the battle-field. We all wondered who he might be, and as he drew nearer we recognized Lieutenant Kwan, adjutant of the battalion.

“Isn’t it a rare treat, this beer? I have been carrying this bottle in my belt since yesterday, to drink a Banzai in the enemy’s position. But now let us drink it together as a farewell cup. You have all been very kind to me—I have made up my mind to die beautifully to-day.”

The young officer talked very cheerily and yet in real earnest, and filled his aluminum cup with the golden beverage. The cup went round among the group, and we smiled a melancholy smile over the drink. This ceremony over, Lieutenant Kwan raised the empty bottle high in the air and shouted, “I pray for your health!” and ran away to bury the dead. How could we know that this was his true farewell? Soon afterwards, without waiting for the happy moment of shouting Banzai in the enemy’s position, he joined the ranks of the illustrious dead. He and I came from the same province and we were very old and intimate friends; he loved me as his younger brother. So, every time we met on the battle-field, we used to grasp each other’s hand with fervor and say, “Are you all right?” Even such an exchange of words was an occasion of great pleasure to us. At this meeting, not knowing of course that it was the last time I was to see him, I failed to thank him for all his past friendship toward me. We had such a hurried, unsatisfactory, eternal good-by, as is usual on the battle-field. I learned afterward that the lieutenant, while superintending the burial of the dead, said to his men: “Please cover them carefully with earth, because I myself am to be treated in the same way very soon.”

Was he really conscious of his impending death? Lieutenant Yatsuda also, who died earlier than Kwan, suddenly pulled out a packet of dry chestnuts[48] from his pocket during his advance and said to his servant: “This was offered to the gods by my mother, and she told me to eat this without fail before fighting. I will eat one and you also eat one. This may be our last farewell!”

They bowed politely and munched the hard nuts together! Of course we were all ready for death, and each time we met we thought was the last. But when the true moment comes, some mysterious, invisible wire seems to bring the sad message to the heart.

It was 5 P. M. Our whole artillery opened fire at the same time, and the whole force of infantry also joined in the bombardment. Heaven and earth at once became dark with clouds of smoke, and the war of flying balls and exploding shells threatened to rend mountain and valley. This was meant to be the decisive battle, so its violence and fury were beyond description. Our infantry shot and advanced, stopped and shot, rushing on and jumping forward. The hail-storm of the enemy’s projectiles did not allow them to march straight on. Sometimes “Lieutenant” was the last faint word of gratitude from a dying man. Again “A-a!” was the only sound made by the expiring soldier. But this was not the moment to take notice of these sickening scenes; we had to press on if it were only an inch nearer the enemy. What did the brigadier-general say in his message? “I admire your bravery,” were the words. Did he not say, “strive with your utmost effort”? Forward! march! advance! and be killed! This was not the time to stop for even half a moment! Such was the thought, and such were the words of encouragement from the officers, who ran about right and left on the battle-line, brandishing their drawn swords, stirring up their men and inspiring them with invincible spirit. Two companies of reserves and reserve engineers were also sent to the first line. At last our First Battalion came within twenty metres of the enemy, but the screen-like rocky hill on which there was hardly any foothold still stood before them. Desperately anxious to climb up, yet utterly unable to do so while the shower of the enemy’s bullets swept them from the side, the Second Company facing the enemy’s front became a mere target for the Russians’ machine-guns and was mowed down in a few brief moments. One bullet went through the sword blade and slightly injured the left eye of Captain Matsumaru. Our artillery fire made a pyrotechnic display in the air, but did hardly any damage to the enemy’s defensive constructions. Shrapnel was of no avail: we had to explode spherical shells, and smash the covering of the enemy’s trenches. “Even at the risk of damage to our own infantry, fire spherical shells as rapidly as possible,” was the message repeatedly sent to the artillery, but no single orderly came back alive: all were killed before reaching their destination. The lieutenant of the engineers was ordered to send explosives, but this also could not be done in time.

Seven o’clock had passed, eight o’clock too, and it was now nine, but there was no improvement in our condition. The First Battalion was obliged to halt for a while. The commander of the Second Battalion, Major Temai, was seriously wounded; the adjutant, while reconnoitring a route for the assault, was shot through the head and died as he turned and said, “Report!” The Third Battalion came close to the enemy, but could do nothing more: its dead and wounded increased moment after moment. Our situation was just like that of a small fish about to be swallowed by a huge whale,—we could not improve it by our own efforts. However, such was the tenacity of purpose and invincible courage pervading our ranks, that our determination and resourcefulness became greater as the enemy proved more difficult to subdue. All the battalions, more particularly the First, were now breaking rocks with picks and piling up stones to make footholds. But the work was not easy, so near the enemy that both parties were like two tigers showing their teeth and threatening to tear each other to pieces. The Russians tried hard to hinder our work; the slightest sound of a pick would immediately invite a tongue of fire that licked the place around us ravenously. In the midst of this great difficulty, a sort of foothold was made at last, and now we were ready to push in with one accord!

The night was growing old; a dismal waning moon was shining dimly over the battle-ground, showing one half of our camp in a light black-and-white picture. Major Uchino, commander of the Second Battalion, sent the following message to our colonel:

“Our battalion is about to try an assault, expecting its own annihilation. I hope that you also will assume the offensive. I sincerely hope and believe that my most revered and beloved colonel will be the successful commander of the attack, and that by the time the sun rises our honored regimental flag may fly over the enemy’s parapets. I hereby offer my respects and farewell to you.”

Then we heard the solemn tune of “Kimi ga yo” sounded by trumpets far away at the left wing. The moon shone through the small sky of our valley, and the long-drawn faint echo of the national air seemed to penetrate our hearts. The music sounded to us as if His Majesty were ordering us forward in person. The officers and men straightened themselves up, leaped and bounded with overwhelming courage, all at once burst over the enemy’s breastworks with shouts and yells, braving the shower of fire and clambering over the rocks and stones. Major Matsumura, at the head of the foremost group of men, shouted with stirring and flaming eyes: “Charge! forward!” The music swelled still more inspiringly, and all the succeeding bands of men shouted Banzai with an earth-shaking voice and encouraged their onrushing comrades. At the top of the hill the clash of bayonets scattered sparks—hand-to-hand conflict at close quarters was the last effort, the impact of the human bullets, the sons of Yamato. “You haughty land-grabbers, see now the folly of your policy,” was the idea with which every man struck his blow, the consequence being a stream of blood and a hill of corpses. It was a hard struggle, but at the same time it was a great joy to defeat the enemy after repeated failures! Body after body of men rushed in like waves—the Russians found it altogether too much for them. They wavered and yet continued for some time longer to resist us in close hand-to-hand fight, while we increased in courage and strength in proportion to their diminution of power. At last, at 8 A. M. of July 28, when the eastern sky was crimson, we became the undisputed masters of the heights of Taipo-shan.

The imperial colors waved high above our new camp, and the Banzai of rejoicing arose like surges of the sea!

THE FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE

BEFORE we at last secured the enemy’s position along the heights of Taipo-shan, all of us, from the division commander to the lowest soldier, had exerted our perseverance and bravery to the uttermost. We had fought against an enemy having a position naturally advantageous and strongly fortified; we had fought for fifty-eight hours without food, drink, or sleep, against a desperately stubborn foe. Our final success was pregnant of many important results to the subsequent plan of campaign. The battle of Nanshan, with more than four thousand casualties, had been considered the hardest of struggles so far; but, compared with Taipo-shan, Nanshan was won at a low cost. At Nanshan the enemy had an extended slope before them, where they swept away our attacking forces from a secure position. The nature of the ground along Taipo-shan was totally different, built up with perpendicular hills and deep valleys. We could defend ourselves in a dead angle, or could conceal and cover ourselves easily. And yet our casualties here amounted to the same number as at Nanshan. You can judge from this fact how severe was the battle.

For three days we contended for a small space of ground; no food at all could be conveyed from the rear. We only munched hard biscuits, our “iron rations,” could not dip with one hand a drop of water to drink, and did not sleep even a moment. But because we were so excited and anxious and determined, no thought occurred to us of being sleepy or hungry. The Russians also were in a similar condition. When we examined their skirmish-trenches, after our occupation of the place, we found them full of nastiness; the men must have remained there without moving one step for the long fifty-eight hours. The only difference was that they had no difficulty in the way of provisions, for our men were made happy with the black bread, lump-sugar, etc., that the enemy had left behind.

The first thing we felt when our work was done was sleepiness! We desired nothing but sleep. Groups here and there, talking about their dead comrades and their experiences, soon began to nod, one man after another, and would lie down under the coverings of the enemy’s trenches in a most innocent, childlike manner. The Russian dead scattered all about, weltering in blood, did not disturb their profound sleep. Neither did they think of eating or drinking; their snores sounded like distant thunder. Occasional bullets of the enemy did not disturb them even as much as the humming of mosquitoes.

The sublimity of a battle can only be seen in the midst of showers of bullet and shell, but the dismal horror of it can best be observed when the actual struggle is over. The shadow of impartial Death visits friend and foe alike. When the shocking massacre is over, countless corpses covered with blood lie long and flat in the grass and between stones. What a deep philosophy their cold faces tell! When we saw the dead at Nanshan, we could not help covering our eyes in horror and disgust. But the scene here, though equally shocking, did not make us shudder half so much. Some were crushed in head and face, their brains mixing with dust and earth. The intestines of others were torn out and blood was trickling from them. The sight of these things, however, did not horrify us very much. At Nanshan we did not actually fight, but only visited the scene afterward. This time we were accustomed to these sights through the long hours of suffering and desperate struggle.

At Nanshan, with the enemy’s dead in front of us, we could not but sympathize with and pity them; but here we hated and loathed them. How were they to blame? Were not they also warriors who died in the discharge of their duty? But after a hard struggle with them, in which we had had to sacrifice the lives of so many of our beloved men, our hearts involuntarily hated our opponents, who we wished had yielded to us more easily, but who resisted us to their utmost—and butchered our men from their secure trenches, thrusting out their guns from the holes. Of course our reason does not sanction it, but those who have had experience in actual fighting will easily sympathize with this sense of hatred and indignation at the sight of the dead of a brave but stubborn foe. Of course it is a silly thing, and we do all admire without stint their valor and perseverance. Their success in keeping us at bay for fifty-eight hours, under our overwhelming attack, is certainly worthy of a great military power. One Russian was found dead in a skirmish-trench with his head bandaged. Probably he fought on bravely in spite of his first wound until a second shot from our side gave him his death-blow. Those Russian dead, scattered in front of their breastworks, must have been the brave ones who rushed out of their trenches when we burst in, and fought us with their bayonets and fists. Some had photographs of their wives and children in their bosoms, and these pictures were bespattered with blood. One inclined so to do may condemn it as effeminate and weak to carry such things into battle; but thousands of miles away from home, at the dismal and bloody seat of war, where they could not hear from their beloved ones, was it not natural for them to yearn after them deep down in their hearts and console themselves with the sight of these pictures? It is human nature that every new landscape, every new phase of the moon, makes one think of home and friends—and brave fighters are also human, are they not?

“The bravest is the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.”

Are not these the poet’s words? Those poor Russian soldiers, hunted out to the battle-field by the fury of oppression, had to suffer and die far away from home. Their situation deserves nothing but commiseration and sympathy!

As soon as the battle was over, my servant came to me with a hold-all left by the Russians. We opened it and found it full of all kinds of things, and among them a suit of Chinese clothes. This latter item was a surprise to us, and also an explanation. We had seen Russian scouts in Chinese costume who had appeared within our picket-line, and now at last we had found out their secret. They were certainly clever in the trick of quickly changing costume and character as if on the stage. During the War of American Independence, the English sentries were killed almost nightly by the enemy clad in goat-skins. Had the Russians learned the art from the Americans? They tried every trick in scouting—it was not only the real Russians who undertook this work, but even ghosts and apparitions were invited to join. We found also Japanese flags that they had left; perhaps they had even tried to deceive us with our own colors.

After this battle we captured some damaged machine-guns; this was the firearm most dreaded by us. A large iron plate serves the purpose of a shield, through which aim is taken, and the trigger can be pulled while the gun is moving upward, downward, to the left, or to the right. More than six hundred bullets are pushed out automatically in one minute, as if a long, continuous rod of balls was being thrown out of the gun. It can also be made to sprinkle its shot as roads are watered with a hose. It can cover a larger or smaller space, or fire to a greater or less distance as the gunner wills. Therefore, if one becomes the target of this terrible engine of destruction, three or four shot may go through the same place in rapid succession, making the wound very large. The bullets are of the same size as those used in rifles. A large number of these shot are inserted in a long canvas belt—and this belt is loaded into the chamber of the gun; it works like the film of the vitascope. And the sound it makes! Heard close by, it is a rapid succession of tap, tap, tap; but from a distance it sounds like a power loom heard late at night when everything else is hushed. It is a sickening, horrible sound! The Russians regarded this machine-gun as their best friend, and certainly it did very much as a means of defense. They were wonderfully clever in the use of this machine. They would wait till our men came very near them, four or five _ken_ only, and just at the moment when we proposed to shout a triumphant Banzai, this dreadful machine would begin to sweep over us as if with the besom of destruction, the result being hills and mounds of dead. After this battle of Taipo-shan we discovered in the enemy’s position the body of one soldier called Hyodo, who had been one of the forlorn-hope scouts of the Second Company. He had no less than forty-seven shot in his body, twenty-five on the right arm only. Another soldier of a neighboring regiment received more than seventy shot. These instances prove how destructive is the machine-gun! Of course, the surgeons could not locate so many wounds in one body, and they invented a new name, “Whole body honeycombed with gun-wounds.” Whenever our army attacked the enemy’s position, it was invariably this machine-gun that made us suffer and damaged us most severely.

In this camp we found four or five of the enemy’s war-dogs dead. They were strongly built, with short brown hair and sharp clever faces. They were shot by our guns, and, though brutes, had participated in the honorable death of the battle-field. The Russians train these dogs for war purposes and make them useful in more ways than one. I am told that sometimes these dogs acted as scouts.

I carefully inspected the scene of this terrible fight and learned how strong were both the natural position and the arrangements for defense. I almost marveled at our final success, even with a terrible loss of life and blood. Our engineers dug out a number of ground-mines and destroyed wire-entanglements put up by the enemy. The Russian loss was also very severe; a large number of their dead were left in the camp or on the line of their retreat—those whom they with difficulty picked up, were piled upon ten or more ox-carts and carried away through Hanchia-tun toward Port Arthur.

Let me leave the battle-field for a while and tell you what impression our army gave the Russians, and also recount the story of one or two valiant soldiers. After this battle, our detachment picked up a note written by the commander of a Russian division. Translated, it is as follows:—