“No, let them reach the plain and form in their best order. I wish to crush them completely.”
Even when the first ranks of the enemy appeared, Mori remained inactive. They formed quickly and advanced. Still Mori remained impassive.
When the bakufu troops had advanced half of the mile separating the two armies, Mori, turning upon the little eminence, whispered in the ear of his youngest lieutenant. The young man rode off at full speed to the artillery.
A moment more and the lines of infantry split apart to allow the passage of forty guns. At full gallop they rushed towards the enemy, sending up great clouds of dust from the dry plain as they sped on. Their carriages swayed from side to side without disturbing the pose of the impassive men seated there. The postilions lashed their horses.
Mori faced his staff. He smiled with a quiet smile.
“Now we shall see, my lords, how the line holds.”
The officers addressed, thinking he referred to the cannonading, looked for an unexpected fire from the batteries. None came. Straight and true towards the heart of the enemy’s lines, the artillery, drawn by foaming horses, rushed. The enemy’s lines held. But a hundred yards separated them. It held at eighty; it wavered; at sixty—it broke.
As if in answer to his unheard command, his flying batteries whirled in irregular curves, stopped, unlimbered, fired, then with the speed of wings were off again, this time in retreat.
Again Mori’s infantry lines parted. Out went the twenty remaining guns, straight for the enemy.
Mori’s lips poured out a stream of orders. His staff flew over the ground. The whole army advanced to support the artillery attack, while the boomerang batteries were recovered.