LIFE OUT OF DEATH
THE day of the 24th of August dawned upon a battle-ground covered with the dead and wounded of both sides. I discovered that the man in my arms was Kensuke Ono, a soldier whom I had trained. He was wounded in the right eye and pierced through the side. Thinking that he could not live, he had called my name and offered to die with me. Poor, dear fellow! My left arm that embraced him was covered with dark red clots of blood, which was running over Ono’s neck. Ono removed my arm, quietly pulled out his bandages, and bound up my left arm. Thus I lay surrounded by the enemy and seriously wounded; there seemed no slightest hope of my escape. If I did not expire then, it was certain that I should soon be in the enemy’s hands, which meant a misfortune far more intolerable than death. My heart yearned to commit suicide before such a disgrace should befall me, but I had no weapon with me, no hand that could help me in the act. Tears of regret choked me.
“Ono, please kill me and go back and report the conditions,” I urged him. I begged him to kill me, but he would not consent. He was almost blind, for both his eyes were covered with blood, but he grasped his rifle and said, “I resist your orders.”
I expostulated with him and explained our position, saying that the enemy had changed their attitude to a counter-attack and we were already surrounded by them; beside that, we had gone far into the enemy’s ground since the previous night, so that if we remained in that helpless state we were sure of being made prisoners. Then I asked him how he felt about becoming a captive of the Russians, and told him that it was a far greater mercy to me who could not move a limb for him to kill me at once and make good his escape. But Ono was already losing his reason and simply continued saying, “I resist your orders.” There was no other help, and I resigned myself to dying where I was. At the same time I was extremely anxious to send Ono and let him report the condition of affairs at the present moment. So as a means to make him go I said, “Bring me a stretcher and I will go,” and urged him to hurry up. Of course I knew full well that, since that incarnation of love in the shape of a stretcher company could not reach the ravine, much less could it come to this spot encircled by the enemy, my only hope was that he might thus have a chance of returning alive to our main body and also of reporting my death. Ono, in a state of frenzy, jumped up at my words, and saying, “Please wait here,” ran over to the earthworks and disappeared. Would he successfully go through the enemy’s investment, back to our main position? Later, when I found him in a hospital, I was astonished at his good fortune.
I was thus left lying alone surrounded by dead and dying. This moment was the most hallowed, the most painfully sad, and the most exasperating in my life. I repeated to myself Nelson’s words, “Thank heaven, I have done my duty!” and comforted myself with the idea that, though doomed to failure, I had done my whole life’s work. I thought of nothing else. I was only conscious that the life-blood of a man twenty-five years of age was fast flowing to its speedy exhaustion, but did not feel the pain of the wounds at all. A number of the Russians were going to and fro in the trenches only a few ken from me and firing at our surviving men, each Russian using five or six rifles in turn. While I was watching their action with wide-open eyes, one of them turned back and noticed my being still alive. He signaled to the others, and three or four shots visited me at once. They fixed their bayonets and came jumping toward me. I shut my eyes. I was about to be butchered. My body was not of iron and stone to begin with, and its limbs were shattered and had no power to resist or chase the enemy. I could not escape from the poisonous teeth of the wolves. But Providence had not forsaken me yet. At this critical moment I only heard the din of a close fight near me, but was spared the point of an unknown savage’s bayonet. As they rushed toward me, five or six of our survivors encountered them, fought them, and all fell. And I who had had nothing but sure death to wait for was saved at the cost of my poor comrades’ lives. By this sacrifice was my faint breathing continued.
At this juncture a man jumped up the earthworks with a loud yell, and his sword raised high in the air. Who was this brave fellow who stormed the enemy’s trenches single-handed? I was astonished at his audacity. But alas! a shot came flying from somewhere, hit him, and he fell at my right side, as if crumbling down. He faced death as if returning home. He had jumped up there bravely all alone to seek death, and attracted the enemy’s attention by his triumphant cry.
After a while the shells from the Japanese army began to burst briskly above our heads. Percussion balls fell around us and hurled up smoke and blood together. Legs, hands, and necks were cut into black fragments, and scattered about. I shut my eyes in perfect resignation and prayed that my agony might be put to a speedy end by my being shattered to pieces all at once. Still no shell came to break my flesh and bones, but only small fragments came and injured my already wounded limbs. One wounded soldier who was near me received one of those horrible fragments on the face. He writhed for a few minutes, then fell on his face and expired. Every moment I expected to meet a similar fate; or to be eaten by the hungry dogs and wolves of the field, half dead, half alive, yet unable to resist my fate. I was being picked off inch by inch by the fierce eagle of the north. I heard some one crying “Nippon Banzai” at my head. I opened my eyes and dimly discovered that is was a poor, wounded man. His reason was all gone, yet he did not forget to shout Banzai for his Fatherland. He repeated Banzai over and over again, and also shouted “Come, come, Japanese soldiers!” He danced, jumped, and shouted in frenzy until he was exhausted, then he closed his lips and his color began to fade. I shut my eyes and prayed that he might go in peace.
The blood from my wounds had dyed my body red all over. My arms were bandaged, but all the other wounds were left uncovered. Sometimes I shut my eyes in quiet thought and again opened them to stare about me. To my left I saw two Japanese soldiers lying dead under the flying Rising Sun. Probably the flag had been planted there by these two heroes, but if our men pushed forward to it, the enemy were sure to shoot them down; while, if the Russians attempted to retake the spot, they were equally sure of being killed by our artillery. This dauntless pair had kept the spot unto death, and they must have died smiling and contented at their success. Is this not a fine piece of poetry in itself? What poet will sing these heroes to posterity!
As I was faintly smiling over this poetic sight of the battle-field, I saw the most brutal act committed that I could have imagined. Ah, men and women of a civilization of justice and mercy, please remember this fact! I have already told you of a savage Russian who butchered Captain Yanagawa wantonly. Here again, before my very eyes, I saw a Russian commit a most deliberate act of cruelty and barbarism. I had noticed a Russian officer repeatedly pointing to his wounded leg and making signs with his hands for help. Later I saw a Japanese hospital orderly, himself wounded, go up to the Russian. Without attending to his own wound, he took out bandages from a bag at his waist and bandaged the Russian. He did his duty of love and mercy faithfully, thinking that the wounded foe was not a foe any more, only a hero who had toiled for his own country. His kindness in dressing the wound of the Russian was so beautiful and holy that tearful gratitude was due to him even from a hard-hearted savage. But how did this Russian return the kindness of this hospital orderly? Tears of gratitude? No! A hand-shake of thanks? No! Indeed, no! Lo, this beastly Russian officer bestowed a pistol shot upon his Japanese benefactor! Do not forget this, you people of justice and humanity! As soon as the orderly had finished bandaging, the Russian pulled out his revolver from his hip and took the life of the good Samaritan with one shot! My heart was bursting with indignation at the sight of this atrocious outrage!
But my indignation, my exasperation, could not be translated into action. I simply shut my eyes and gnashed my teeth; soon my breathing became difficult. I felt that my life was fast ebbing, when some one caught hold of my coat and raised me; after a minute I was let alone. I slightly opened my eyes and dimly saw two or three Russians going up the hill. I had been on the point of being made a prisoner! That very moment when I was raised and laid down was the boundary-line between my life and death, between my honor and disgrace! The enemy caught hold of me once, but soon let me go; probably they thought I was dead. No wonder they thought so, for I was covered with blood.
Then some one came running stealthily to my side and fell down without a word. Was he dead? No, he was simply feigning death. After a while he whispered in my ear: “Let us go back. I will help you.”
In the midst of my panting, irregular breathing, I looked at the man. He was a stranger to me, a private with his head bandaged. I replied to his very kind offer and said that I could never get back alive under the circumstances, and wished him to kill me and go himself if he could. He said that he could not expect to get me back alive, but that he would at least carry my body; he would not allow it to be left among the enemy. As soon as he had said this, he caught my left arm and put it on his shoulder. At this juncture, the brave fellow who was lying at my right, and who had been groaning for some time, said in a faltering, tearful voice:—
“Lieutenant, please give me the last cup of water.” My heart was bursting with emotion, and I fell down by his side in spite of my helper. This poor fellow was probably one of my men; he asked me to send him out on his last journey. Poor, poor soul! Of course I could not force myself to go and leave my poor comrade alone.
“Have you any water?” I asked my helper. Whereupon he took out his water bottle, stepped over my chest, and poured water into the mouth of the dying man, who put his shattered hands together as in supplication and murmuring “Namu-Amida-Butsu![58] Namu-Amida-Butsu!” like a faint echo, slowly drew his last breath.
I had no heart to leave behind other comrades, dead or wounded, and seek my own safety. But my kind helper grasped my left arm once again, raised me on his back, and in one bound leaped over the earthwork, when both of us went down with a thud. Quickly he picked up an overcoat and covered me with it, and again in silence lay down by my side. In this way I was taken out of the trenches on the back of an unknown soldier. It was while being thus carried that my legs touched a corner of the earthwork, and I felt excruciating pain for the first time. After a while he whispered to me again, “As the shot are coming fast now, we must wait a little.” He unsheathed his bayonet and bound it as a splint to my broken leg with a Japanese towel. I was very thirsty and wanted to drink; he gave me all that was left in his bottle, saying, “Don’t drink much.” And also he soothed me often, saying, “Please be patient awhile.” I saw many comrades groaning and writhing about me, and my kind helper would pick up water bottles scattered over the place and give them drink. Often he would feign death to escape the enemy’s eyes, and lie down quickly, covering me with his body. I did not yet know even the name of this chivalrous man.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“My name is Takesaburo Kondo,” he answered, in a whisper.
“Which regiment?”
I was being saved by a gallant soldier, who was neither my subordinate, nor of the same regiment as myself, and whom I had never seen before. What mysterious thread of fortune bound him and me together? I could not explain the mystery, but I do know that it was the friendly, brotherly spirit pervading all ranks of our army that produced such a man as Kondo, whose name should be handed down to posterity as a model soldier and a heroic character. A few hours after I had been rescued, I fell into a state of complete unconsciousness. When at last I recovered my senses, the first thing that came to my mind was the beloved name of Kondo.
Brave Takesaburo! He not only rescued me from the encircling enemy of Wantai, but also with great difficulty carried me to our main position. It was daytime and the place was exposed to the Russian machine-guns. He himself was wounded. If he had left me there, me whose life was more than uncertain, and escaped to a safe place by himself, things would have been much simpler for him. But he had sworn to help me, and that promise was more important to him than his own life. He braved every danger, bore every difficulty, and with wonderful tact and sagacity made use of every possible device in my rescue, and he was under no personal obligation to me. For a while he covered and protected me with his body, then he said to me:—
“Although a great many shot are still falling about us, we must not stay here till night, or the enemy are sure to come and kill us. We must go now. Please consider yourself already dead.”
He wrapped me up with an overcoat and beckoned to another soldier near by. The wounded man came crawling to my side and, when he saw me, said:—
“Are you not Lieutenant Sakurai?”
I did not know who he was, but he must have been of the same regiment as myself, since he knew me. He said to me, “How badly you are injured!” and whispered with Takesaburo. Then I was carried away by these two men and left behind me Wantai, now the grave of the unconsoled spirits of my dear comrades, thinking all the time that it was a great shame to go back alone, leaving the dead and wounded friends behind. My two helpers would lie down every five or ten steps as if they were dead, and try to deceive the enemy’s vigilance. While being thus carried I felt no pain, only a very unpleasant grating of broken bones. We went past wire-entanglements and breastworks, and in the burning, straight, noonday rays of the sun, I was finally brought to a ravine a little below the wire-entanglement, and I thought the place was the foot of Kikuan.
I was laid down here for some time, and at last began to feel faint and dizzy, and everything went out of my consciousness as in sleep. This was caused by the profuse bleeding. At this time I was counted among the dead; the report of my death reached home. My teacher, Mr. Murai, placed the postal card I had written to him in the family shrine[59] and offered to my spirit incense and flowers, as I have since been told.
For some hours I was practically dead in this ravine, but the gate of the other world was still closed against me and I began to breathe once more. The first thing that I heard was a tremendous noise of a heavy cannon-ball falling near me, throwing up sand and pebbles, and covering me with dust.
I felt that it was this roar that called my spirit back into this world. As soon as I recovered consciousness, my wounds began to hurt terribly. I tried to move my comparatively sound right leg, but it would not move; the blood gushed out of it and coagulated over it. I noticed that a sun flag was spread over my face as an awning and that Takesaburo Kondo was still by my side watching me. I thanked him for his faithful service with tears of gratitude.
He fastened poles to the overcoat wrapping me and begged four or five wounded men who happened to come along to help carry me to the first aid. Lifting a corner of the flag that covered my face, he said: “Lieutenant, it seems that my wound is not a serious one, as I am not going to the rear. Your case is serious. Please take good care of yourself and become well again,” and he left me at last. I never saw him again.
Did I take his hand and thank him for his gallant service? No; I could not. I only wept for his goodness with unbounded gratitude in my heart and prayed that he might be spared. “To share the shadow of the same tree, to drink from the same stream of water,” is said to be the promise of meeting again in another world. But he voluntarily threw himself into the boiling caldron of danger and rescued me out of certain death; he was truly the giver of my renewed life. My present life is not mine at all; I should have died in Bodai surely: that I now live is due to Takesaburo Kondo alone. Kondo was killed within a month after this! His spirit is now too far away to see me, whom he rescued amid such great difficulties and dangers. When I think of this I cannot cry out my sorrow or talk about my sentiments, because both the cry and the words become choked in my throat.
During the night four or five wounded soldiers took advantage of the darkness to carry me past the enemy’s front to the first aid, which they found with difficulty. I was still faint and in a dreamy state and could not take in much; the only thing I remember is that I was put on a stretcher, without removing overcoat and poles on which I had been borne thus far. At last I was laid down in a spot where people were busy running to and fro. That was indeed the first aid station. As soon as I realized this, I cried out:—
“Is Surgeon Yasui here? Surgeon Ando?”
“I am Ando! Yasui is also here!” was the immediate response. I did not expect to find these friends here, but simply called their names as in a dream, the names so dear to my heart. But the strange, mysterious thread that tied us together in friendship drew me to their place and put me under their care—a thing that could never be planned or mapped out in the battle-field, where separation and dispersion is so universal a rule. Heaven granted me a chance to meet them in my time of need. At this unexpected hearing of their voices my heart beat high.
“Surgeon Yasui! Surgeon Ando!”
They took my hands and stroked my forehead and said: “Well done. You have done well.”
I noticed that the body of my battalion commander, Major Kamimura, was lying to my left. When attacking the first skirmish-trenches, he was standing in the farthest front and cheering us on. And that same brave officer was now a spiritless corpse sleeping an eternal sleep here, his servant clinging to his body, crying at the top of his voice.
Soon I was bandaged and sent to the rear, and had to say an unwilling farewell to the two surgeon friends whom I had come across to my unexpected and unbounded joy!
When I met Surgeon Yasui later, he told me something of my condition at the time I was taken to the first aid:—
“The position of that first aid station was such that none of us expected to find any of the wounded of our detachment brought there; yet I was enabled to take care of you; that is the strangest of strange happenings. I had asked about you of the wounded men as they came in, and all said that you must be dead. There was one even who affirmed that you were killed below the wire-entanglements of Kikuan. So I had concluded that I should never see you again in this world of the living, but wishing to recover your body, I made careful inquiries about where you were killed—all to no purpose. Later, a sergeant by the name of Sadaoka came in, and I asked him about you and got the answer that you had been killed in the ravine of Kikuan. At once I dispatched some hospital orderlies to bring your body back on a stretcher, but it was too dark, and the enemy’s fire was still violent, and they came back without accomplishing anything. Still anxious to get you, I sent out a second group of orderlies, who brought you back, still living, to our great surprise and joy. At the first glance we thought that you must die in a few hours, and Surgeon Ando and I looked at each other in sorrow. Therefore, when we sent you on to the field hospital, of course we thought it was an eternal good-by in disguise.
“About a month after that I saw Takesaburo Kondo, who had rescued you, and a strange coincidence it was. I noticed a soldier passing our first aid station, shouldering a shovel. Suddenly the man fell face upward. I ran to the spot and saw that it was your Takesaburo Kondo. He was a special object of my respect and love, because I knew that he had saved you out of the enemy’s grip. He was still breathing faintly, so I gave him a drink from my water bottle; then he smiled and expired in peace.”
Thus the giver of my second life, Takesaburo Kondo, lost his noble life by a stray shot!
Our first general attack came to a close with these horrors. The second and the third repeated similar scenes or even more horrible ones. But our army was not discouraged; on the contrary, the repeated failures only added to their keen determination and abundant resourcefulness. Our army attacked again and again the desperately defending enemy, and at last took the great fortress. I have no right to speak about the investment of Port Arthur after this first assault. There are others better fitted to relate that great chapter of the war. For about three hundred days after this I was kept in bed, unable to move my hands or to stand on my feet. But in the agony of physical pain I was running to Liaotung in imagination, picturing to myself the brave and loyal officers and men fighting gallantly in the field. And on the second day of the Happy New Year of the 38th of Meiji I heard the news that the great fortress of Port Arthur, considered the strongest east of Suez, and the formidable base for the Russian policy of the aggression on Eastern Asia, no longer able to resist the tremendous power of the Imperial forces, had capitulated, and its commanding general had given himself up to the mercy of General Nogi. When I heard this news, not only I, but all the wounded who had taken part in the siege, wept while we rejoiced. The bleached white bones of our brave dead that filled the hills and valleys of Port Arthur must have risen and danced with joy! The spirits of those loyal ones who died unconsoled, crying “Revenge!” or “Port Arthur!” must have been lulled to eternal rest by this great news.
When I heard of the capitulation of Port Arthur, I cried with an overwhelming joy, and at the same time there came to me the thought of the great number of my dead comrades. I who had had the misfortune of sacrificing the lives of so many of my men on the battle-field, how could I apologize to their loyal spirits? I who left many brethren on the field and came back alone to save my life, how could I see without shame the faces of their surviving relatives?
The war is now over, the storm has ceased! The blood of brave warriors has bought this peace. The time may come when the hills of Port Arthur are razed to the ground and the river of Liaotung is dried up, but the time will never come when the names of the hundreds of thousands of those loyal officers and patriotic soldiers who gave their lives to the sovereign and to the country will be forgotten. Their names shall be fragrant for a thousand years and lighten ten thousand ages; their merits posterity shall gratefully remember for ever and ever!
APPENDICES