“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!