Chapter XVIII

IN MEMORY OF THE DEAD.

A SHINTO SERVICE.

The priest stood on the mountain facing the multitude. In his uplifted hand was a pine branch hung with strips of white paper--emblems of the soul’s purity. Swish! Swish! Swish! Thrice the branch swept the air above the bowed heads in the plain below. The simplicity of this act of purification, the silence of the vast congregation, the beauty of the scene--all combined to fill with awe and reverence the alien spectator as well as the native worshipper. It has been my lot to attend many services on the field of battle. I have knelt with soldiers in the desert strewn with ten thousand dead outside the grey walls of Omdurman; I have heard the song of thanksgiving echo among the ruins of Khartoum over which hovered the Shade of Gordon; and under a shell-swept hill in Ladysmith I have joined in the prayer of a besieged garrison. These are memories that can never fade. Nor will there pass out of remembrance the scene of that day when an army assembled among the mountains of Manchuria to do honour to its dead.

No temple raised by human hands could be so majestic and so inspiring as this valley edged round with purple hills and the deep blue of heaven above. The walls of the tabernacle were flowing contours of nearer hills clothed with pine trees and the shelving side of Mount Phœnix seamed with dark coombs in which nestle shrines and sepulchral mounds. Old marbles, ever beautiful, were never so rich and rare as this carpet of brown and green and gold woven by field and grove and river. Through every shade and tint they ran--from nutbrown to russet and auburn, from verd antique to emerald and the tender green of young corn; from orange to saffron and amber and burnished gold--all blended in one splendid polychrome. Upon this spacious floor stood the soldiers--eight thousand or more. They were men of the Second Division. On the right were three regiments of infantry in brigade formation; a regiment of cavalry was mounted between them and the artillery, who were without their guns, and on the left stood the engineers and train battalions. The long lines of khaki looked like a border of old gold in a gorgeous prayer mat spread before an altar raised upon the heights.

Afar off on a lofty terrace in the shadow of a green bluff the priests had built their sanctuary--an oblong enclosure marked by banners. The entrance was a gate of two slender tree stems with a crossbar from which hung two flags--white with a red sun in the centre--emblems of Empire and of the Sun Goddess, from whom sprang the long line of Mikados who have ruled Japan. On the right front of the enclosure floated a black banner and on the left front a yellow, symbolising victory and the return home.

At regular intervals were flags of white, blue, yellow, black, and red. Each colour has its meaning, though what it is must remain the subject of controversy. Some maintain that these primary colours represent five elements--earth, air, water, fire, and death: others contend that they are emblems of the four seasons and of the end of all things: some hold that yellow signifies the earth, blue the East, red the South, white the West, and black the North: others will urge that blue symbolises the beginning of life, red prosperity, white perfection, yellow the earth, and black death. That they have meaning is certain, though, like much of the ritual of Shinto and Buddha, it is lost in the mist of ages.

At the back of the enclosure was the inner sanctuary, formed by four poles hung with rope, from which were suspended narrow strips of white paper known as “go-hei,” emblems of purity and resting places for the souls of the departed. The altar was a table spread with a white cloth upon which rested a mirror--symbol of perfection borrowed from the Shingon sect of Buddhists. On each side stood an earthen pot from which rose great paper flowers, red and white and blue, and before the altar was a small table with a porcelain bowl that held a large pine branch hung with strips of white paper. At the back of this inner sanctuary rose a tablet of plain white wood bearing in Chinese characters the legend: “To the memory of the souls of the departed.” Close by stood a wooden pail with a wooden dipper, decorated with “go-hei,” to perform the ceremony of lustration before prayer, and, at a short distance on the right, was a small screened enclosure where the offerings were laid. And about the shrine stood white covered trays and baskets, laden with sacrificial gifts for the solace of the _manes_--heaps of radishes, piles of rice cake, bottles of beer, flasks of saki, or rice spirit, fish, and fowl--the fruits of the earth and of the waters thereof.

To understand the ceremony it may be necessary to say something about Shintoism. Whatever the country of its origin there can be little doubt that in growth and development Shinto is a genuine product of Japanese soil. The nature worship, which is a distinct part of its doctrine, was probably inherited from the Ainu who first inhabited the island, while the worship of heroes and ancestors was imported, like Buddhism, from the mainland of Asia. The Pantheon of Shinto is crowded with a host of deities; every stream, every mountain, every tree has its god or goddess; and every hero and every ancestor has its place in Shinto theocracy. Yet it is a religion only in name, for the Kannuski, or priests, have no code of ethics and no doctrine of the destiny of man. They teach no moral duty save that of obedience to natural impulses and to the dictates of the Mikado. Their prayers are invocations to the spirits of the dead, and their sermons are formal addresses, partly eulogies, partly petitions, composed in a language of a remote period not comprehended by the common people. Shinto, in short, is but a shadowy cult of ghosts accompanied with sacrificial rites, and demands of its disciples little more than a visit to some local temple at an annual festival. Its creed may be summed up in two sentences: belief in the continued existence of the dead--whether in a condition of joy or pain is not revealed: and belief in the divine origin and divine right of the Mikado. Its ritual is distinguished by severe simplicity; its temples contain no idols; its priests wear no splendid garments; the only incentives to worship are the mirror which symbolises perfection and the white strips of paper which signify purity. Despite the absence of inspiration, of a code of morals and of a theory of destiny--the essentials of all religions--Shinto is still the national religion of Japan, and every Japanese from his birth is placed under the protection of some Shinto deity.

The bugles sounded the general salute, and the shrill notes lingered in the sunlit air like dying peals of thunder as the solid lines of khaki in the plain below came to attention. The ceremony had begun. On the left of the sanctuary were arranged the officers of the First Army--Major General Matsunaga, Major General Okaziki, Major General Shibuya, and Major General Kodama--not the assistant chief of the General Staff--with General Nishi, commander of the Second Division, at their head. In this group were the foreign _attachés_, General Sir Ian Hamilton and Colonel Hume having the places of honour. On the opposite side stood three priests.

In ordinary times the Kannuski are not distinguishable from laymen, but on this day they wore their sacerdotal robes--long loose gowns with wide sleeves girdled at the waist. Upon their heads were black hats shaped like the biretta with a widow’s cap and strings at the back. The high priest--an old and bearded man of solemn and dignified bearing, who looked more like a Parsee than a Japanese--wore a sword in a velvet scabbard, and his gown was of red and black silk, closely resembling the old-fashioned dimity. The gowns of his assistants were of drab-watered silk, worn over regulation khaki trousers and regulation army boots that compelled one to the conclusion that they were private soldiers clothed for the nonce with priestly authority. Advancing toward the altar, the priests stood before the shrine, clapped their hands three times, placed them reverently together, bowed their heads, and uttered the invocation to the dead. It was an invitation to the souls of the departed to rest upon the white strips of paper, or “go-hei.” Returning to their original places, one of the junior priests took from the table in front of the altar the branch of pine. Raising it aloft in his right hand he waved the branch over the heads of his fellow priests, over the officers and _attachés_, and over the offerings prepared in the little enclosed space. Then, moving to the front of the sanctuary until he stood on the edge of the terrace, he swept the air thrice over the heads of the multitude far below. This was the act of purification in which the pine, or ever-green, signifies sincerity.

The High Priest thereupon drew near to the altar, and bowing before it took from his breast a scroll from which he recited in murmuring tones these words:

“I, Hirokage Shimizu, Shinto priest, reverently speak to the souls of Lieutenant Jiro Takuma and other officers and soldiers who died in the battle of the Yalu and elsewhere, inviting them to approach the altar which we have erected at the foot of Mount Teisen beyond the walls of Feng-hoang-cheng. When friendly ties were broken and we came to the Russians with weapons in our hands, you joined the Second Division and marched to the front with the First Army, knowing that this was the hour of sacrifice and of duty. Bravely did you endure hardship and privation on sea and land, on mountain and in valley. But for you the fight did not end there. On the first day in May you came to the Yalu where the enemy had all the great advantages that nature had bestowed on such a position. Here you fought with admirable courage amid hail of bullet and flash of bayonet. Some of you did excellent service in the work of reconnaissance, of road and bridge building and of transport. All of you helped to achieve that brilliant victory which has added lustre to the Empire and renown to the Army. Here in the citadel of Feng-hoang-cheng we have some leisure and would willingly tell again the story of that battle and talk over the future--but, alas, you are separated from us by the dark veil of death. Alas! we can neither see your brave faces nor hear your cheerful voices. Deeply do we feel this separation--we who in brotherly love shared with you the hardships and privations of the campaign. His Majesty, the Emperor, pleased with your victory, has proclaimed his recognition of your services; your countrymen applaud your courage and loyalty. Your merit is loftier than Mount Phœnix; your fame is brighter than the waters of the Yalu. More than worldly honour have you won. Your spirits will be forever with the gods who guard the Empire, and your name will be cherished as an example of loyalty. Who could withhold his respect; who would venture to disregard your services. The General who commands this Division and we also pay respect to your loyal souls by this memorial service held on the fiftieth day after the battle of the Yalu, and by offerings of sacred wine and meats. Humbly and reverently do we serve you with the rest of your comrades. We pray you to accept our services and the offerings laid upon the altar.”

This allocution ended, the High Priest stood near the shrine with face turned toward the East, while one of his assistants received from the hands of a soldier offerings to the dead. These sacrifices represent the chief substances of human food--rice, wine, fish, fowl, vegetables, natural sweets, such as fruit, artificial sweets, such as cakes, and water and salt. Each offering rested on a ceremonial tray or tiny table covered with white paper and was reverently handed to the High Priest who placed it upon the altar. For a moment the ceremony was interrupted while General Nishi descended the slope to escort Prince Kunni to his place at the head of the officers. His Royal Highness was attended by General Fujii, Chief of the Staff, and Colonel Hagino.

At the invitation of the High Priest, General Nishi stepped up to the altar, saluted and opening out a scroll read this eulogy to the dead:--

“We meet on this sacred spot outside the walls of Feng-huang-cheng on the 19th day of June on the 37th year of Meiji to do honour to the memory of brave men, officers and soldiers--one hundred and fourteen in number--who belonged to the Second Division and died in the service of their country. You, brave dead, bade adieu to your native land on the 1st day in March, and took part in the memorable attack on Chiu-lien-cheng on May 1st, having reached the banks of the Yalu in face of privations and hardships. This our first battle was destined to test before the eyes of the world the merits of our army, and to influence the spirit of our soldiers. Japanese courage, as the proverb says, never fails till death has conquered it. The whole world knows how we stood to the proof. Our enemy’s defences, strengthened by nature and art, were easily won. Thus has the glory of Japan been heightened and the prowess of our soldiers has been sharpened. Most of you fell on that memorable day. Even now we have before our minds the picture of your gallantry. Some few died in skirmishes that followed; and many have fallen a prey to disease which pays no respect to meritorious deeds. Our hearts bleed at the thought of your brave and noble deeds. Rest in peace, precious souls! Be comforted by the sweet consciousness that your brilliant exploits will be blazoned in letters of gold on the page of history, and that your grand example of self-sacrifice will be handed down from generation to generation. Our situation at the front renders it impossible for us to make fit preparation for such a celebration. Our offerings are small, but we commend our praise and gratitude to the consecrated memory of the dead.”

Again the bugles rang out filling the valley with the inspiring music of the anthem “Save our Country”; rifles rattled to the salute and the army below stirred into life. It was the end. Sharp words of command followed the notes of the bugle and the troops marched away to their appointed places at the outposts and lines of defence. Meanwhile the officers were laying upon the altar the last tribute of respect to the _manes_ of their comrades. Upon a table near the shrine there were many small branches of pine to each of which was attached a strip of white paper. General Nishi strode forward and receiving one of these branches saluted the altar and laid upon it this emblem of sincerity and purity. Prince Kunni followed with other officers and the foreign _attachés_, each of whom paid this tribute to the men who had fallen in battle.