I filled a cup with water that was fetched by one or two soldiers at the risk of their lives, and we all drank farewell from the same cup. Soon we received orders to advance to a point half-way up the side of Panlung. We began to move on quietly; we who had already drunk together the death-cup went again through that same terrible ravine full of our dead comrades. This was the third time that we had traveled by this path, and none expected to walk over it a fourth time alive. To die under the flying Flag of the Rising Sun, and to die while doing splendid service to one’s country, was the wish and resolve of every heart. Before beginning this final march to the battle-field, we all made ourselves as light as possible; we carried with us just enough hard biscuit, “iron rations,” to support life for two or three days; the rest we left behind. My khaki uniform was decorated by a national flag hanging from my belt, a Japanese towel was tied around my neck. I wore no shoes, only tabi[56] on my feet, and my whole appearance was like that of a dancer at a summer festival in Tokyo. I carried with me my sword, my water bottle, and three hard biscuit. Thus armed and attired I was to appear on the glorious stage of death.
The mere thought of this ravine makes one shudder even now. We jumped over or stepped on the heaped-up corpses and went on holding our noses. What a grief it was to have to tread on the bodies of our heroic dead! I found one wounded man squatting in a corner groaning with pain. I asked him where he was wounded. He told me that his legs were broken, and for three days he had had no single grain of rice, nor a single drop of water; no stretcher had appeared, and he had been waiting for the arrival of death ever since he fought and fell. I gave him the three biscuit I had, and told him to eat those and wait patiently for the coming of our bearer company. He clasped his hands together and shed tears for joy and gratitude and begged me to tell him my name. I was deeply touched by this experience. “Farewell” was the only thing I could say to the poor fellow as I passed on. We now came to the wire-entanglement of Panlung-shan.
This fortress of Panlung had been captured with the flesh and blood of the Ninth Division and the Seventh and Eighth Regiments of the Second Reserve, and was now an important base from which a general assault on the northern forts of East Kikuan and Wantai was to be made. This critical spot was finally taken after a terrible struggle and a valiant action by the men of General Oshima’s command. The sad story was eloquently told by the horrible sights of the ravine. While running through the opening in the wire-entanglement beyond, I noticed many engineers and infantry-men dead, piled one upon another, caught in the wire, or taking hold with both arms of a post, or grasping the iron shears.
When we reached the middle of the side of Panlung, I saw the regimental flag that I used to carry, flying above our heads in the dark. My heart leaped at the sight of the dear flag. I scrambled up to where it was planted and came face to face with Colonel Aoki, with whom I had exchanged farewell salutations at the foot of Taku-shan some days before.
“Colonel, I am Lieutenant Sakurai!”
He looked at me as if thinking fondly of bygone days, and said:—
“Are you Sakurai? I do pray for your success.”
After this word from my commander, how could I be satisfied without doing something? I must exert myself to the uttermost.
Then I heard a voice calling my name from the top of the mountain, so I bade farewell to the colonel and went on to the top to find Lieutenant Yoshida, a friend of mine from the same province, sitting there alone. I had heard of his being in the Ninth Division, fighting before Port Arthur, but I did not expect ever to meet him. To see an old friend just before going into a fierce engagement was touching.
“Sakurai, isn’t it fearful, the fighting of the last few days?”