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.
Ch. XVI.