“Thank you all for seeing me off so kindly. I will return your kindness by distinguishing myself in the field.” Words like these sounded at the doorways of the barracks everywhere. The men anxious to serve; the nation to help their families; was this not the secret of our splendid victory? We were busy night and day until the mobilizing was completed. Some were assigned to field regiments, others were put on the waiting-list, and soon we were ready to start at a moment’s notice. Those who were left at home to fill up vacancies later on were sorely disappointed, and entreated their officers to allow them to join the fighting regiments at once. Their comrades had to comfort and encourage, cheer and praise these disappointed men, explaining to them that the war with Russia was not likely to come to an end in six months or even in a year; that their turn was sure to come before long; that it was not at all a disgrace to be on the waiting-list, on the contrary that they were to have the honor of dealing the finishing stroke to the enemy. After our regiment was ready to start, one sad affair took place. Togo Miyatake was one of those who were lodged in a Buddhist temple called Kwan-nonji to wait for a later summons. He was in good health and excellent spirits. When leaving home he had promised his parents, brothers, and friends that he would be among the first to help win battles. Now, instead of dying in the field, he had to wait, doing nothing. He did not know when he would be sent. This was too great a humiliation for him to bear. He thought it better to kill himself, so that his spirit, freed from the shackles of the body, might be at the front to work with his living comrades. Left in such a situation as he was, poor Togo’s narrow but strong sense of patriotism made him resolve on suicide as the most honorable way of escape. Late one night when his friends were fast asleep he scribbled a line of farewell to this effect: “I am more sorry than I can possibly bear not to be at the front with the others. No one would take me in spite of my entreaties. I will prove my loyalty with death.” Thus prepared, he drew a dagger from a whitewood sheath[12] and cut across the abdomen, whispering Banzai to the Emperor in a shower of tears. This took place on the 12th of May in a lonely corner of an old tottering temple, when the sound of rain dripping from the eaves made the sad scene still sadder. But good Heaven seemed to take compassion on such a faithful soldier. His friends awoke and came to the rescue. He was sent to a hospital. His wound healed in due time, he was discharged, and later he was allowed to go to the front. Cold reason may call this man a fool, or a fanatic, but his heart was pure and true. This incident testifies to the childlike simplicity of devotion that prevailed throughout the whole army.