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.