This day was to come to an end with bombardment only. It had been our plan to employ the first day or two in bombarding the enemy and then to go on with an infantry attack. That evening I went on business to the headquarters of our division, that is, the place where our artillery was posted. It was a dark night, and through the sky whitish-blue bars of fire were flying to and fro between the contending parties; it looked to me like the highway leading to hell. The Russian search-lights were being thrown over the position of our artillery from Kikuan-shan and Hokuginzan. These terrible lights would turn every now and then toward our infantry, who were approaching the enemy step by step. We, too, used the search-lights captured from the enemy and tried to counteract the power of theirs and also to expose the Russian battery to view, but they were far inferior to those still in the enemy’s possession. Star-shells were shot off from time to time by the enemy, which illuminated the sky far better than the annual display of fireworks at Ryogoku.[55] They were like great electric lamps hanging in the air, making the whole place as light as day, so that even the movement of an ant could easily be detected. They were powerful in thwarting the progress of our assaulting column, because every movement of the detachment was exposed by this light and could be accurately seen by the enemy, and the usual machine-guns were sure to pour a rain of horrible shot upon the invaders. Therefore, as soon as we saw the star-rocket burst in the sky, we used to caution each other, saying, “Don’t move! don’t move!”
When I reached headquarters, the division-commander and his staff were standing at our artillery position and watching this scene of night fighting without the cover of darkness. As soon as a search-light was seen in a Russian fort, our chief-of-staff would order, “Hit that! Smash that fellow!” He said, folding his arms in utter unconcern: “I feel like a young bride! Exposed to such a full glare of light, I am awfully shy and bashful!”
Our detachment marched as far as Yangchia-kou during this night. Soon after we reached there, a shell came near us with a tremendous noise. We said to each other: “Some must have been killed. Who are they? Who?” When the smoke cleared, we found four or five men lying dead or wounded, two of them recruits who had arrived only a few days before from home. One of the two was killed in a horrible manner; the half of his body below the waist was entirely gone. The legs of the other were shattered and the blood was gushing out like water. His captain went to him and encouraged him, saying: “Don’t be afraid! Be brave!”
“Captain, I am very sorry to be thus disabled without having fought at all. I will come back healed as quickly as possible. Please let me be in your company again.”
“Even without having fought, your wounds are honorable. Get well quickly and come back!”
Why one is shot on the battle-field and the other not seems an inscrutable mystery. Some there are who in one severe fight after another do not sustain a single scratch; others seem to be followed by shot or to draw shot to themselves. Some are killed very soon after landing and before knowing how it feels to be shot at. When once you become a target for shot, forty or fifty may come to you, as to that man in the battle of Taipo-shan of whom I have already spoken. Is this what is called fate, or is it mere chance? On the 19th, when the headquarters of the division were removed to the northern slope of Taku-shan, the division-commander was observing the enemy, with a staff-officer on either side, when a projectile came and both the staff-officers were killed on the spot, while the general in the middle was not even slightly hurt. In an assault on a fortress those in front have of course the highest probability of being hit, but even those in the rear sustain more injury than in a field battle. Napoleon said: “A shot may be aimed at you, but cannot pursue you. If it could pursue you at all, it would overtake you even if you fled to the uttermost parts of the earth.” Yes, a shot is an uncanny thing, like an apparition. With our human power we cannot tell whether it will hit us or not. It depends entirely upon one’s luck. There is another incident that I recollect in this connection. After the battle of Taipo-shan, five or six of the retreating Russians were walking off in a leisurely way, without hurrying, and swinging their arms. This behavior we thought very impudent, and each of us aimed at them as carefully as in drill-ground practice and fired at them with our rifles resting on something steady, but all in vain. One officer was sure he could hit them, but he too failed, and the Russians continued to walk off slowly and were eventually lost sight of. Several times after this, we tried our skill in musketry on a Russian standing on a fort and waving his handkerchief to challenge us, or on some audacious fellow who would dare to come out of the breastwork and insult us. In spite of our skill, indignation, and curiosity combined, these impudent fellows often escaped in safety. Such being the case, those who have been through several battles become naturally careless and fearless. At first we involuntarily lower our heads a little at the sound of a small bullet. Even the officer who scolds his men, saying, “Who is it that salutes the enemy’s shot?” cannot help nodding to the enemy at first. Of course this does not imply timidity at all; it seems to be the result of some sort of reflex action of the nerves. But when the shot begin to come like a shower of rain, we can no longer give each shot a bow, but become bold at once. The boom and roar of big shells excite in us no special sensation. When we know that by the time we hear these horrible sounds the projectiles have gone far past us, our courage is confirmed and, instead of bowing to an empty sound, we begin to think of standing on the breastwork and munching rice-balls to show off to the enemy! And the shot seems to shun those audacious ones as a rule, to go round them and call upon others!
Ch. XXV.