ABOUT a month after the mobilization was ordered, another happy day came to us; the 21st of May, a day we shall never forget to the end of our lives.

While we had been waiting for this day, we had heard news of repeated victories of our forces in and around Chiu-lien-cheng.

We were frantically joyous over the news, but at the same time could not help feeling a foolish anxiety. “If they were making such steady progress out there, might not the war be at an end by the time we were starting for the front? A certain division was to go in a few days. When should we have our turn? While we were kept idle, other divisions might monopolize all the victories there could be. No room would be left for us unless we hurried up!” So, therefore, when we received the welcome order, there was none who was not quite ready to start at once.

On that long-looked-for day, we were ordered to assemble on the parade ground at six o’clock in the morning.

Our joy was boundless, the time had come at last for the greatest action of our lives. “The brave man is not without tears, but those tears are not shed in the moment of separation,” so the expression goes. Of course, we were as ready and willing to welcome the worst as the best, but because of this very resolve and expectation we could not help thinking of eternal separation,—parent from child, man from wife, and brother from sister. “Tears even in the eyes of an oni.”[17] How could we be without unseen tears, though valiantly forced back under a cheerful smile!

On the night previous to departure, I took out my old friends’ photographs to look at, made tidy the drawers of my desk, and so arranged everything that my affairs would be quite clear to my surviving friends. And then I went to sleep my last sleep on the mats peacefully and contentedly.

At three o’clock in the morning, the cannon roared three times from the tower of the castle. I jumped out of bed, cleansed my person with pure water, donned the best of my uniforms, bowed to the east where the great Sire resides, solemnly read his Proclamation of War, and told His Majesty that his humble subject was just starting to the front. When I offered my last prayers—the last, I then believed they were—before the family shrine of my ancestors, I felt a thrill going all through me, as if they were giving me a solemn injunction, saying, “Thou art not thy own. For His Majesty’s sakÉ, thou shalt go to save the nation from calamity, ready to bear even the crushing of thy bones, and the tearing of thy flesh. Disgrace not thy ancestors by an act of cowardice.” My family and relatives gathered around me to give me a farewell cup of sakÉ, and to congratulate me on my joyous start.

“Don’t worry at all about your home affairs—put into practice all your long-cherished good resolutions. For your death your father is quite ready. Add a flower of honor to our family name by distinguished service to the country.” This from my father.

“Please, sir, don’t be anxious about me. This is the greatest opportunity a soldier can possibly have. Only, do take good care of your delicate self.” This from myself.

Such an exchange of sentiments between father and son must have taken place almost simultaneously in a great many families.

When the time had come for me to start, I took up and put on the sword that had been placed in the family shrine, drank the farewell cup of water[18] my dear mother had filled, and left my home with light heart and light feet, expecting to cross its threshold no more.

One officer was just going to the front in high spirits when, on the night previous to his departure, his beloved wife died, leaving a little baby behind. He had, however, no time to see her laid in her last place of rest. Bravely, though with tears hardly suppressed, he started early in the morning. Private sorrow must give way before national calamity, but human nature remains the same forever. This unfortunate officer’s sad dreams in camp must have frequently wandered around the pole[19] marking her burial-place, and about the pillow of the baby crying after its mother.

At 6 a.m. our regiment was drawn up in array, the regimental flag was welcomed to the solemn and majestic tune of “Ashibiki,” and we all looked expectantly toward our colonel, who was to guide us through “savage sands and barbarian winds.”[20] The brave soldiers felt themselves to be the hands and feet of the commander. We had all said good-by to parents and homes: henceforward, our commander was to be our father, the boundless plain of Manchuria our home. Words utterly fail to describe that sense of mutual dependence which we felt at this moment toward each other, the one to command and the other to obey.

The colonel gazed down the ranks from one end to the other and read aloud his last instructions before leaving the home-land. Then at his initiative we banzaied His Majesty the Highest Commander three times over at the tops of our voices.

“Ah! a group of strong warriors has arisen! they rival each other in achievements of arms at the word of our great Sire. Where they go, the heavens will open and the earth crumble!”[21]

“First battalion, forward march!”

This was the first word of command Colonel Aoki gave his subordinates at their departure to the front. His voice confirmed our resolution to go forward, and brave, at his order, the strongest parapet or the fiercest fire of the enemy.

Our long-drawn, serpent-like regiment, sent off with the hearty and sincere Banzai of the people, began to move on step by step. The noise of our marching feet becoming fainter and fainter in the distance, the sound of our rifles and swords softly rubbing against our clothes, how gallant and stirring these must have sounded to the enthusiastic ears of the nation! The trumpet that resounded from near and far was our “good-by” to our dear countrymen. Old and young, waving the national flag and shouting Banzai in thunder-like chorus, made us the more determined to deserve their gratitude. Whenever in the field we made a furious assault, we felt as if this chorus of Banzai were surging from behind to stimulate and encourage us. Our own war-cry may well be said to have been an echo of this national enthusiasm. In the morning on the battle-field amid ear-rending cannon roar, in the chilly evening of a field encampment, this cry of Banzai from the heart of the whole nation was always present with us.

My humble self was honored with the important duty of bearing the regimental standard. The low bows and enthusiastic cheers at the sight of the flag, from crowds of people standing by the roadsides, stirred my spirits more and more, and also made me fear lest I might fail in my duty. During our march, Mr. Kojima, who had instructed me for five years in the high school, noticed me, came forward two or three steps, from among the watching crowd, with overwhelming joy in his face, and whispered in my ear: “Strive hard, Sakurai.”

This brief but forcible exhortation from my kind teacher rang in my ears throughout the campaign and urged me to be worthy of his teaching.

War-songs sung by groups of innocent kindergarten-children—how they shook our hearts from the foundation! Old women bowed with age would rub rosaries between their palms, muttering prayers, and saying: “Our great Buddha will take care of you! Do your best for us, Mr. Soldiers.” How pathetically their zeal impressed us!

Our transports, the Kagoshima Maru, the Yawata Maru, etc., were seen at anchor in the offing. The men began to go on board. Sampans, going and coming, covered the sea. Along the shore, the hills were black with men, women, and children from village and town, waving the national flag and crying Banzai at the tops of their voices. The farewell hand-shake of our colonel and the Governor of Ehime-Ken added to the impressive scene.

When all were on board and a farewell flag had been run up, our transports began to move on—whither? To the west—to the west—leaving dark volumes of smoke behind! Suddenly clouds gathered in the sky—the rain began to fall, first slowly and then with violence!

Eager brethren! enthusiastic countrymen! Did you expect us soon to return in triumphal procession, when you saw us off; thousands of us starting in good cheer and high spirits?