The War in the East: Japan, China, and Corea

by Trumbull White

PORT ARTHUR FROM THE BAY.

As the Japanese troops reached the edge of the town, driving the Chinese before them, a halt was called before the army marched in, as the force was not yet assembled in strength. This delay enabled the Chinese to take to boats, and scores of sampans and junks were soon moving off, some over the lagoon to the mountain fastnesses of Lao-tieh-shan promontory in the southwest, and some out to sea, in full view of the Japanese fleet. When the first division was all assembled before the town, with the left wing to the northeast in case the enemy should rally and try to dash out, the order was given to enter the town and storm the inner fort, Golden Hill. The Second Regiment led, firing volleys file by file through the streets, past the docks, and the burning army stores, up the hill, and into Ogunsan, which was practically abandoned without an effort at defense.

During the evening Hasegawa’s brigade went over the hills, and occupied the two eastern shore forts called the “Mule’s Jaws.” The following morning Yamaji’s first regiment marched around the lagoon and occupied the peninsula forts, which had been deserted during the night. Where the Chinese all vanished to, appeared rather a mystery to the victors. It was found that most of them got away along the beach past Hasegawa, and the rest westward in small parties under cover of darkness. In such a wide stretch of hilly country, it was easy for them to conceal themselves if they once escaped the vicinity of their foes. Port Arthur was in full possession of Marshal Oyama, with the fleet under Admiral Ito safe in the harbor.

Now comes the most painful recital of the war. It is difficult to reconcile in any one’s mind the pretensions to enlightened civilization which the Japanese had claimed, with the horrible atrocities committed by the victorious army during the days following the capture of Port Arthur. Let us glance at what had been the history of Japanese treatment of the wounded in previous battles.

It will be remembered that in a foregoing chapter of this work, the proclamation of the Japanese minister of war enjoining humanity upon all his soldiers was quoted, and that it was stipulated that the ignorance of the Chinese as to the true meaning of humanity would cause them to commit atrocities no doubt, which must not be imitated in retaliation by Japanese troops. At Hiroshima, the military headquarters of Japan during the war, was the principal military hospital and the establishment of the Red Cross society, which to investigators were a remarkable revelation after all that had been said about Japanese inhumanity and indifference to suffering. As long ago as 1877, when the Satsuma clan raised the standard of rebellion, a benevolent society was founded to aid and care for the sick and wounded, enemies as well as friends, after the manner of the European Red Cross societies. Subscriptions at once began to pour in, the emperor and empress helping greatly, and throughout the Satsuma war the young organization distinguished itself admirably. From that time special efforts were made to bring the society up to the high standard of its western models in every way; and when the government of Japan in 1886 declared its adhesion to the Geneva convention, the “Hakuaisha” was reorganized and formally enrolled on the international list of Red Cross societies. Since then it had made rapid progress, its membership reaching nearly thirty thousand in 1893, with funds liberally augmented by the emperor, and an annual income before the war with China of $70,000. Since 1887, a large number of women, including members of the royal family and of the nobility, have become qualified nurses of the order and have taken instruction in the making of articles for use in its work. The objects of the society, as set forth in the rules, are to help the sick and wounded in time of war, and to prepare for the same by organizing a trained staff in time of peace. The last activity of the Red Cross society prior to the war in 1891, was when[was when] the central provinces of Japan were devastated by an earthquake which caused the loss of more than seven thousand lives, besides untold suffering.

With the object of training a staff properly, the society in 1886 established a hospital of its own in Tokio, and three years later, when this one was outgrown, a new one was erected on a splendid site provided by the emperor and empress. The hospital itself covers some two acres, and the grounds about ten. After the war began, the membership funds and operations of the society were all multiplied about three times above normal. All the working staff was under the control of the army medical staff, and operated in conjunction with the army corps. At Hiroshima in the permanent military hospital, Chinese wounded by the scores and hundreds were received and treated with the same care that was given to the Japanese. For order, cleanliness, and convenience these institutions would reflect credit on any country. Just prior to the battle of Port Arthur, the female nurses of the Red Cross societies in Hiroshima numbered eighty-eight and more were soon to come from Tokio. Like the men they had uniforms of European pattern, and all wore the badge of membership. Many had other badges representing special qualifications or services.

In Corea there were two hospitals managed by the Red Cross society, one near Chemulpo and the other near Ping-Yang. At the seat of war the society had a staff of forty, consisting of a chief manager, a secretary, a treasurer, five doctors, two pharmacists in charge of the drug supplies and thirty male nurses.

To those who love contrasts, it will be startling to note the difference between the spirit of the Japanese Red Cross society, which was doing everything that humanity and science could suggest for wounded Chinamen, and that of the victorious army at Port Arthur in its atrocious butchery of unarmed fugitives.

The execrable deeds which followed the taking of the place pushed into the background the question of how many hundreds on one side or the other fell in the battle. The massacre of the whole remaining population of Port Arthur, between two and three thousand, without distinction of age or sex, and that by the soldiers of Marshal Oyama’s army, for a time passed practically without mention in the newspapers of England and the United States. Three of the famous correspondents who entered the town with the Japanese army were Creelman of the New York World, Villiers of the London Standard, and Cowan of the London Times. The first detailed description of the atrocities witnessed by these correspondents was that made by Creelman, and for a time after his story was published, other leading American journals denounced it as false. One month later it was found that Creelman’s shocking story was true in every essential particular. No words except those from the lips of men who saw the acts of inhuman barbarity can justly describe the scenes. Said Cowan, in a letter dated at Kobe twelve days after the taking of Port Arthur:

“What happened after Port Arthur fell into Japanese hands, it would have been impossible and even dangerous to report while on the spot. At the earliest possible moment, every foreign correspondent escaped from the horrifying scene to a place where freedom of speech would be safe; and as we sailed away from Port Arthur on the Nagoto Maru eight days ago, almost astonished to find ourselves escaping alive from the awful epidemic of incredible brutality, the last sounds we heard were those of shooting, of wanton murder, continued the fifth day after the great battle. When the Japanese army entered Port Arthur on the 21st, beginning a little after two o’clock in the afternoon, the Chinese had resisted desperately till the last, retreating slowly from cover to cover, until they got back among the buildings on the outskirts of the town. Then at last all resistance ceased; they were thoroughly defeated, and made a stampede through the streets trying to hide or to escape, east or west as best they might. I was on the brow of a steep hill called “White Boulders,” in Japanese Hakugoku, commanding a close view of the whole town at my feet. When I saw the Japanese march in, firing up the streets and into the houses, chasing and killing every live thing that crossed their path, I looked hard for the cause. I saw practically every shot fired, and I swear positively that not one came from any but Japanese. I saw scores of Chinese hunted out of cover, shot down, and hacked to pieces, and never a man made any attempt to fight. All were in plain clothes, but that meant nothing for the soldiers flying from death got rid of their uniforms how they might. Many went down on their knees, supplicating with heads bent to the ground in kowtow, and in that attitude were butchered mercilessly by the conquering army. Those who fled were pursued and sooner or later were done to death. Never a shot came from a house as far as I could see, and I could hardly believe my eyes, for, as my letters have shown, the indisputable evidence of previous proceedings had filled me with admiration of the gentle Japanese. So I watched intensely for the slightest sign of cause, confident that there must be some, but I saw none whatever. If my eyes deceived me, others were in the same plight; the military attaches of England and America were also on Boulder Hill and were equally amazed and horrified. It was a gratuitous ebullition of barbarism they declared, a revolting repudiation of pretended humanity.