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Title: Tales of the Samurai: Stories illustrating Bushido, the Moral Principles of the Japanese Knighthood
Author: Miyamori, Asataro
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Tales of the Samurai: Stories illustrating Bushido, the Moral Principles of the Japanese Knighthood" ***
[Illustration: “A warrior burns incense into his helmet when he is
determined to die on the field”
See page 194]
TALES OF THE SAMURAI
Stories illustrating Bushido, the Moral Principles
of the Japanese Knighthood
BY
ASATARO MIYAMORI
Professor of English in Toyo University,
Tokyo, Japan
Author of “Representative Tales of Japan,”
“Tales from Old Japanese Dramas,” &C.
With 8 Coloured Illustrations
By A Japanese Artist
THE KYŌ-BUN-KWAN
Ginza, Tokyo, Japan
1920
PREFACE
The following tales of the samurai, the knights of old Japan, are based
largely on real facts. They have been adapted from among traditional
stories related by _kōdanshi_, story-tellers, who nightly delight
large audiences with romances and historical stories, especially the
noble deeds of the samurai. There are also numerous Japanese books and
magazines devoted to stories of this description, which are read with
keen interest by all classes of our countrymen, in particular by young
people.
It is true the samurai class has gone forever along with feudalism;
but fortunately or unfortunately the Japanese at large are samurai
in a sense. During the last half century European civilization has
revolutionized Japanese society, both for better and for worse. In
institutions political and social, in manners and customs, in arts
and literature, the Japanese have lost many of their characteristics;
yet it may safely be said that the sentiments, motives and moral
principles of the samurai in some measure remain in the bedrock of
their character in their subconsciousness, so to speak. The Japanese of
to-day are intellectually almost cosmopolitans, but emotionally they
are still samurai to no small degree.
Honest Kyūsuké, the hero of the story of the same title, was not a
samurai, but his principles were those of a samurai. Let that justify
the inclusion of the story in this volume.
The author’s hearty thanks are due to Mr. Joyen Momokawa, a celebrated
_kōdanshi_, who kindly helped him in the choice of these tales, and
also to the editor of the _Kōdan Kurabu_ for permission to translate
_Katsuno’s Revenge_, one of his stories.
A. Miyamori.
Tokio, December, 1920.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Ungo-Zenji 1
The Loyalty of a Boy Samurai 23
Katsuno’s Revenge 35
A Wedding Present 83
The Heroism of Torii Katsutaka 115
The Wrestling of a Daimio 141
The Story of Kimura Shigenari 165
Honest Kyūsuké 203
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“A warrior burns incense into his helmet when he
is determined to die on the field” _Frontispiece_
“May I ask you to explain the place of honour
given to a garden _geta_?” 18
“I caught these sparrows quite of my own accord” 32
She filled Hachiya’s cup to the brim 52
Terumasa took hold of the man’s collar and twisted
his face upwards 108
He raised his voice so that every word rang clear
and distinct 138
Gonshirō threw him by a supreme effort down on to
the mats 153
“Whose hat is that?” 217
UNGO-ZENJI
It was snowing fast.
Already as far as eye could see the world was covered with a vast
silvery sheet. Hill and dale, tree and field, all alike clothed in
virgin white.
Caring nothing for the bitter cold, but loving the beautiful, Daté
Masamuné determined to go out to enjoy the scene. Accordingly,
accompanied by a few attendants, he wended his way to a pavilion set on
a low hill in the castle grounds whence an extensive view, embracing
the whole of his little fief of Osaki, could be obtained.
In later life Masamuné distinguished himself by signal service rendered
to the state, eventually becoming one of the greatest daimios in Japan,
under Iyeyasu, the first Shogun, but at this time Osaki was his sole
estate, and his income did not exceed 100,000 _koku_ of rice a year.
“What an enchanting picture! What can compare with a snow landscape?”
he exclaimed, as he stood enraptured, gazing with delight from the
balcony of the pavilion at the pure loveliness of the scene before
him. “It is said that snow foretells a fruitful year. When the harvest
is abundant great is the rejoicing of the people, and peace and
prosperity reign over the land!”
While his lordship thus soliloquized, Heishiro, the
sandal-bearer—Makabé Heishiro as he was called from his birthplace,
Makabé in Hitachi, a surname being a luxury unknown to the third
estate—waited without. Having adjusted his master’s footgear there
was nothing more to do till he should come out again. But presently
Heishiro observed that the snowflakes fell and lay somewhat thick on
his valuable charge. He hastened to brush them off with his sleeve, but
more flakes fell, and again the _geta_ (clogs) were covered with icy
particles.
“This will never do,” he said to himself. “His lordship disdains to
wear _tabi_ (socks) even in the coldest weather, deeming it a mark of
effeminacy; should he place his bare feet on these damp _geta_ he will
assuredly catch cold. I must keep them warm and dry for him.”
So the good fellow in the kindness of his simple heart took up the
heavy wooden clogs, and putting them in the bosom of his garment next
to his skin, continued his patient waiting.
“His lordship comes!”
Heishiro had just time to put the _geta_ straight on the large stone
step at the entrance before the double doors slid open fight and left
and Masamuné appeared, young, imperious.
He slipped his feet on to the _geta_. How was this? They felt warm to
his touch! How could that be in such freezing weather? There could be
but one explanation. That lazy lout of a sandal-bearer had been using
them as a seat—sitting on the honourable footgear of his august master!
The insufferable insolence, of the fellow!
In a passion at the supposed insult he caught the offender by the nape
of his neck, and shook him violently, exclaiming between his set teeth,
“You scoundrel! How dared you defile my _geta_ by sitting on them! You
have grossly insulted me behind my back! Villain, take that....”
Catching up one of the clogs which he had kicked off, he struck the
poor servitor a heavy blow between the eyes, which caused him to
reel stunned and bleeding to the ground. Then hurling the companion
_geta_ at his prostrate victim, he strode proudly back to the castle,
barefooted, for he was in too great a rage to wait until another
pair of _geta_ could be brought.
No one stayed to look after Heishiro. None cared what became of him.
For some time he lay as he had fallen, but presently the cold brought
him back to consciousness, and he rose slowly and with difficulty to
his feet.
He picked up the _geta_ with which he had been struck, and with tears
mingling with the blood on his face gazed at it mournfully for a few
moments. Then, as the thought of his master’s injustice came over him,
he gnashed his teeth in impotent rage.
“Haughty brute, that you are, Masamuné,” he muttered, “you shall pay
for this! The bond between us as lord and vassal has snapped for ever.
I have been one of the most devoted of your humble servants, but now
I will never rest till I have had my revenge on you for this cruel
treatment!”
Then Heishiro again put the _geta_ into his bosom, though with how
different an intention from before, and descending the hill on the side
furthest from the castle, limped painfully away.
* * * * *
From that time forth the man had but one idea—to wreak condign
vengeance on the arrogant noble who had so abused his kindness.
But Masamuné was a daimio, though a poor one, while Heishiro was only
a serf. Assassination was impossible, Masamuné being always well
guarded even while he slept, besides possessing considerable bodily
strength himself. He must have recourse to other and subtler means. He
thought long and deeply. There were only two persons of higher rank
than the daimio who could affect his position at will—the Emperor and
the Shogun. But how could a man of Heishiro’s standing gain the ear of
either of these two illustrious personages so as to slander Masamuné
and influence them against him? The very idea was absurd! True, it was
a warlike age and promotion speedily followed the achievement of a
deed of valor; with a spear in his hand and a good horse under him one
might rise to almost any height. But Heishiro was no soldier and his
physical strength was small. With a sigh he admitted to himself that
the accomplishment of his purpose did not lie that way.
And then a happy thought struck him. He remembered that any one, high
or low, great or small, could become a priest and that the prospects
held out in that profession were boundless. There was no distinction
to which a man of the lowliest parentage and the weakest body might
not aspire. A learned priest with a reputation for sanctity might get
access to Court—gain the notice of the Emperor himself!
That was it!
Heishiro resolved to turn priest, and with this in view made all haste
to Kyoto, where he entered the Temple of Ungoji in Higashiyama as an
acolyte.
But the career of an acolyte is none of the easiest. Before he can
be received into the priesthood he must go through all forms of
asceticism, self-denial, and penance. Furthermore, he has to serve his
superiors as a drudge, doing the most menial tasks at their command.
Heishiro had a very hard time of it. A man of ordinary perseverance
might have succumbed and given up. Not so Heishiro. Not for a moment
did he dream of abandoning his self-imposed task. He was determined as
long as there was life in him to endure every hardship and humiliation,
so that eventually he might attain his end. Still he was but human, and
there were times when his weary body almost gave way and his spirit
flagged. His racked nerves seemed as if they could bear no more. At
such times he would look in a mirror at the reflection of the deep
scar on his brow, and draw from its place of concealment the odd garden
_geta_, saying to himself, “Courage! Remember Masamuné! Your work is
not done yet.”
Then strength and calmness would return and he once more felt equal to
labour and endure.
* * * * *
Little by little Heishiro rose in the favour of his superiors, and his
learning showed marked progress. At length, he thought he might get on
faster if he went to another monastery, and the Temple of Enryakuji on
Mt. Hiei being the largest and most renowned of all places of sacred
teaching in Japan, he applied there for admission and was readily
admitted.
Twenty years later, Jōben, for that was the name Heishiro took on
entering the priesthood, was known far and near for his erudition and
strict application to all observances of a life of the most austere
piety. But he was not satisfied. He was still very far from being in
a position to attract the notice of the Emperor. Yet higher must he
climb. To be world-famous was his aim.
So he made up his mind to go over to China, justly regarded as the
fountain-head of all knowledge and wisdom. All she could impart of the
Buddhistic faith he would acquire. As soon as an opportunity offered
Jōben sailed from his native shores and found himself among a strange
people. Here he remained ten years. During that time he visited many
famous temples and gathered wisdom from many sources. At last the
fame of the traveller reached the ear of the Chinese Emperor, who was
pleased to grant him an audience, and graciously bestowed on him a new
sacerdotal name, that of Issan-Kasho-Daizenji. Thus it came about that
Jōben left his country acknowledged, indeed to be a wise and holy man,
but he came back to be regarded as the foremost divine in Japan.
After his return Issan-Kasho-Daizenji stayed at Ungo-ji, the temple
in Kyoto where he had entered on his noviciate. He had heard nothing
of Masamuné for some years and was anxious to learn what had become
of him. He was unpleasantly surprised to hear that the object of his
hatred had also risen in the world, and that now as lord of the Castle
of Sendai he was considered one of the most important men of the
day. Not only did he hold a high office at Court, but as the head of
the North-Eastern daimios, even the Shogun had to treat him with
respect. All this was annoying if nothing worse. The Zenji saw that he
would have to bide his time, and act warily. A false move now might
render futile all his long years of travail.
But after all he did not have to wait very long.
The Emperor was taken ill and his malady was of so serious a nature
that the skill of the wisest physicians proved of no avail. The highest
officials of the Imperial Household met in solemn conclave to discuss
the matter and it was decided that earthly means being vain the only
hope lay in an appeal to Heaven.
Who was the priest of character so stainless, of wisdom so profound
that he might be entrusted with this high mission?
One name rose to all lips—“Issan-Kasho-Daizenji!”
With all speed, therefore, the holy man was summoned to the Palace and
ordered to pray his hardest to the Heavenly Powers for the restoration
to health of the Imperial patient.
For seven days and seven nights the Zenji isolated himself from all
mankind in the Hall of the Blue Dragon. For seven days and seven nights
he fasted, and prayed that the precious life might be spared. And his
prayers were heard. At the end of that time the Emperor took a turn for
the better, and so rapid was his recovery that in a very short time all
cause of anxiety about him was over.
His Majesty’s gratitude knew no bounds. The Zenji was honoured with
many marks of the Imperial regard, and as a consequence, all the
ministers and courtiers vied with each other in obsequiousness to the
favourite of the Emperor. He was appointed Head of the Ungoji Temple,
and received yet another name, Ungo-Daizenji.
“The attainment of my desire is now within reach!” thought the priest
exultantly. “It only remains to find a plausible pretext for accusing
Masamuné of high treason.”
But more than thirty years had elapsed since Makabé Heishiro, the lowly
sandal-bearer, had vowed vengeance on the daimio Daté Masamuné, and
not without effect had been his delving into holy scriptures, his long
vigils, his life of asceticism and meditation. Heishiro had become
Ungo-Daizenji, a great priest. His character had undergone a radical
change, though he had not suspected it. His mind had been purified
and was now incapable of harbouring so mean and paltry a feeling as a
desire for revenge. Now that the power was in his grasp he no longer
cared to exercise it.
“To hate, or to try to injure a fellow-creature is below one who has
entered the priesthood,” he said to himself. “The winds of passion
disturb only those who move about the maze of the secular world. When a
man’s spiritual eyes are opened, neither east nor west, neither north
nor south exists—such things are but illusions. I have nursed a grudge
against Lord Daté for over thirty years, and with the sole object of
revenge before my eyes have raised myself to my present position.
But if Lord Daté had not ill-treated me on a certain occasion, what
would my life have been? I should, probably, have remained Heishiro,
the sandal-bearer, all my days. But my lord had the unkindness to
strike me with a garden _geta_ without troubling himself to find out
whether I deserved such chastisement. I was roused to anger and vowed
to be revenged. Because of my resolve to punish him I turned priest,
studied hard, endured privations, and so, at length, have become
one of the most influential priests in the Empire, before whom even
princes and nobles bow with reverence. If I look at the matter in its
true light it is to Lord Daté that I owe everything. In olden times
Sakya Muni, turning his back upon earthly glory, climbed Mt. Dantoku
and there served his noviciate with St. Arara. Prince though he
was, he performed all menial offices for his master, who if ever the
disciple seemed negligent, would beat him with a cane. ‘How mortifying
it is,’ thought the Royal neophyte, ‘that I, born to a throne, should
be treated thus by one so far beneath me in rank,’ But Sakya Muni was
a man of indomitable spirit. The more humiliations he had to suffer
the more earnestly did he apply himself to his religious studies, so
that, at the early age of thirty he had learnt all his teacher could
impart, and himself began to teach, introducing to the world one of
the greatest religions it has ever known. It may truthfully be said
that Sakya’s success was largely, if not wholly, due to that stern
and relentless master who allowed no shirking of his work. Far be it
from me to institute any comparison between my humble self and the
holy Founder of Buddhism, but, nevertheless, I cannot deny the fact
that the pavilion in the grounds of Osaki Castle was my Mt. Dantoku,
and this old garden _geta_ my St. Arara’s cane. Therefore it should be
gratitude, not revenge, that I have in my heart for Masamuné, for it
was his unconsidered act that laid the foundation of my prosperity.”
Thus the good priest relinquished his long cherished idea of
vengeance, and a better feeling took its place. He now looked upon
the blood-stained _geta_ with reverence, offering flowers and burning
incense before it, while day and night he prayed fervently for the long
life and happiness of his old master, Lord Daté Masamuné.
* * * * *
And Masamuné himself?
As stated above he attained great honours and became a leading man in
the councils of his country. But at the age of sixty-three he tired of
public life and retired to pass the evening of his days at his Castle
of Sendai. Here, to employ his leisure, he set about the restoration of
the well-known temple of Zuiganji, at Matsushima, in the vicinity of
the castle, which during a long period of civil strife had fallen into
decay, being in fact a complete ruin. Masamuné took it upon himself to
restore the building to its former rich splendor, and then when all was
done looked about for a priest of deep learning and acknowledged virtue
who should be worthy to be placed in charge of it.
At a gathering of his chief retainers he addressed them as follows:—
“As you know I have rebuilt and decorated the Zuiganji Temple in this
vicinity, but it still remains without a Superior. I desire to entrust
it to a holy and learned man who will carry on its ancient traditions
as a seat of piety. Tell me, who is the greatest priest of the day?”
“Ungo-Zenji, High Priest of the Ungoji Temple in Kyoto is undoubtedly
the greatest priest of the day,” came the unanimous reply.
So Masamuné decided to offer the vacant post to the holy Ungo-Daizenji,
but as the priest in question was a favourite at Court, and enjoyed the
confidence of the Emperor, it was necessary that His Majesty should
first be approached before anything was said to the Zenji. Masamuné
tendered his petition in due form and as a personal favour to himself.
The Emperor who retained a warm affection for the retired statesman,
readily assented, and thus it came about that Ungo-Zenji was appointed
Head of the Zuiganji Temple in the beautiful district of Matsushima.
On the seventh day after his installation, Masamuné paid a formal call
at the Zuiganji to welcome the new arrival. He was ushered into the
private guest-room of the Zenji which was at the moment unoccupied.
On turning to the alcove his attention was at once arrested by the
sight of an old garden _geta_ placed on a valuable stand of elaborate
and costly workmanship.
“What celebrated personage has used that _geta_?” said the astonished
Masamuné to himself. “But surely it is a breach of etiquette to
decorate a room with such a lowly article when about to receive a
daimio of my standing! However, the priest has doubtless some purpose
in allowing so strange an infringement of good manners.”
At that moment the sliding doors opened noiselessly, and a venerable
man in full canonicals and bearing a holy brush of long white hair in
his hand, came in. His immobile face was that of an ascetic but marred
by a disfiguring scar on his forehead between the eyes.
Ungo-Zenji, for he it was, seated himself opposite his guest and
putting both hands, palm downwards, on the mats bowed several times in
respectful greeting, Masamuné returning the courtesy with due ceremony.
When the salutations were over, Masamuné could no longer restrain his
curiosity.
“Your Reverence,” he began, “in compliance with my earnest request you
have condescended to come down to this insignificant place to take
charge of our temple. I am profoundly impressed by your goodness
and know not how to thank you. I am a plain man and unskilled in words.
But, your Reverence, there are two things which puzzle me, and though
at this our first interview you may deem it a want of good breeding to
be so inquisitive, may I ask you to explain the place of honour given
to a garden _geta_, and the scar on your brow that accords so ill with
your reputation for saintliness?”
[Illustration: “May I ask you to explain the place of honour given to a
garden _geta_?”]
At these words, poured out with the impetuosity he remembered in
Masamuné as a young man, the priest smiled a little. Then he withdrew
to the lower end of the apartment and with tears glistening in his
sunken eyes, said:—
“How rejoiced I am to see your face again. To gaze upon your unchanged
features reminds me of the days of my long past youth.”
“What, your words are strange! How can I remind you of your youth,
when, to my knowledge, we never met till this day?”
“My lord, have patience, and I will explain all,” replied the Zenji.
“In those days I was but a servant—a sandal-bearer known as Makabé
Heishiro—it is not likely so humble an individual would retain a
place in your memory. It was when you were residing at the Castle of
Osaki....”
He paused, but Masamuné, too amazed to utter a word, only looked
intently at his former servant as if trying to recall having ever seen
him before.
So Ungo-Zenji went on with his story, and in detail told all that had
befallen him since that snowy day more than thirty years before. He did
not spare himself, but told how through all those years he had been
actuated by a feeling of revenge and revenge only, and how the thought
of some day seeing his enemy in the dust had been the spur to goad him
on to conquer all difficulties, to surmount every obstacle.
“At length,” concluded the priest, “I came under the notice of the
Emperor who so magnified a trifling service that he loaded me with
rewards and marks of favour. ‘Now is my time!’ I thought. But to my own
astonishment I found that so vile a passion no longer existed in my
nature—the desire for revenge had fled. I began to view the affair in
a different light, and to look upon you as my benefactor. But for you
I should still be a sandal-bearer—but for you the stores of knowledge
at my command would never have come within my reach—but for you the
intercourse I have had with the illustrious and sage men of two
countries would have been an impossibility. Therefore, my hatred is
turned to gratitude, my wish for vengeance to a heartfelt desire for
your long life and prosperity. I pray daily that some day I may be
enabled in some small measure to requite the inestimable benefits I owe
to you. Your lordship now understands why I so treasure an old _geta_,
and how it is I bear this ugly scar on my brow.”
Masamuné listened to the narrative with growing wonder and the deepest
attention. At its conclusion he rose and taking the Zenji by both hands
gently, but forcibly, drew him to the upper end of the apartment. When
both were again seated he spoke.
“Your Reverence,” he said in a voice full of emotion. “What you have
just told me quite puts me out of countenance. I can just recall the
incident of which you speak and I remember how angry I felt at what in
my arrogance I deemed a gross insult. I do not wonder at your desire
for revenge, but, that you should renounce the triumph that was yours
for the asking—that, indeed, amazes me! Such magnanimity is almost
incredible! You prove to me that religion is not the empty abstraction
some call it, and I humbly beg your pardon for my past offence, and
request you to enrol me as one of your disciples.”
In this way, Masamuné who was of a frank and noble disposition repented
of the fault committed in his youth, and the sandal-bearer achieved a
greater victory than he could have boasted of had he caused his enemy
to die a shameful death.
A hearty friendship sprang up between the two generous minded men, and
till death parted them many years later they saw much of each other
and their affection grew. The priest was always a welcome guest at the
Castle, while with earnest piety, Masamuné prosecuted his studies in
sacred lore under the guidance of Ungo-Zenji.
THE LOYALTY OF A BOY SAMURAI
Matsudaira Nobutsuna was one of the ministers of the Shogun Iyemitsu,
next to Iyeyasu, the ablest of all the Tokugawa Shoguns. A man of great
sagacity, he contributed not a little to Iyemitsu’s wise administration.
When Iyemitsu was a young boy named Takechiyo, Nobutsuna who was called
at that time Chōshirō served him as one of his attendants and playmates.
One morning when the young nobleman was passing along a corridor
accompanied by Chōshirō and two other boys, on the way to the private
apartments of his father, the Shogun Hidetada, his attention was caught
by some fledgling sparrows that were hopping about and chirping gaily
on the tiles of the roof. Takechiyo, then but ten years of age, was
seized with a fancy to have them; and turning to Chōshirō, three years
older than himself, he commanded:—
“Catch those little sparrows for me, Chōshirō.”
“With pleasure, your lordship; but should I be found catching sparrows
I should be reprimanded by his Highness and the officials. Fortunately
I shall be on duty to-night; so to-night I will climb out on to the
roof when there is no one to see me, and give you the little birds in
the morning. Will you please to wait till then, my master?”
“I suppose I must.” And the small company passed on.
* * * * *
That night when all was quiet, Chōshirō managed somehow or other to
get out on to the roof, and crawling carefully on all fours to the
spot where the parent birds had built their nest, reached out one hand
and seized one of the little sparrows. Poor little things! Surprised
in their sleep they were not able to escape. Transferring his captive
to the left hand Chōshirō again stretched out his right and caught
another. Whether the attainment of his purpose caused him to relax his
care or for some other reason, certain it is that at this moment his
foot slipped and with a heavy thud he fell down into the court-yard
below. As he fell he involuntarily clutched the birds more firmly so
that they were instantly squeezed to death. With the dead birds
in his hands, he fainted. But the roof was comparatively low, and he
also had the good fortune to fall on to some bushes so that he was not
killed as might have been the case.
The sound of the fall awoke the Shogun. He started up and followed by
his consort and some attendants went out on to the verandah and opening
a sliding shutter looked down. By the light of a lantern held by one
of the servants he perceived the boy lying on the ground just beneath.
Chōshirō had now recovered consciousness and was trying to rise though
the pain he felt all over his body rendered the operation one of
considerable difficulty. His consternation was great when the light of
the lantern revealed his person to those on the verandah.
“Chōshirō, is that you?” called his lord, recognizing the boy at once.
“It is strange that you should be on my roof at this time of night!
Come up instantly and explain your conduct. This must be inquired into.”
The boy, still holding the dead sparrows, obeyed. Prostrating himself
before the Shogun he waited for him to speak.
“What have you in your hands, Chōshirō?”
“Sparrows, my lord.”
“Sparrows? Do you then climb roofs at midnight to catch sparrows? A
strange fancy!”
“Yes, my lord. I will tell you the truth. When Takechiyo Sama and
I were passing along the corridor this morning his attention was
attracted by some little sparrows on the roof and we stopped to watch
them. Takechiyo Sama said ‘What dear little things they are!’ and the
desire then arose in my mind to get them for him that he might play
with them. So to-night when everyone was asleep I climbed out on to the
roof of your apartments in disregard to the respect I should have shown
to your august person, and caught two of the young sparrows. But how
quickly the punishment of Heaven followed my crime! I fell down as you
see and my wickedness was discovered. I am ready for any chastisement
your lordship sees fit to inflict.”
“My lord,” here broke in Lady Eyo, the Shogun’s consort. “Excuse my
interference, but I think Takechiyo must have ordered Chōshirō to catch
these sparrows. There is no doubt about it.”
It should be explained that Lady Eyo had two sons—Takechiyo and
Kunimatsu. Takechiyo, the elder, was sharp-witted and active though
rather rough in his manners; his brother, on the contrary, was
quiet and effeminate. For this and probably some other unknown reason
the younger son was his mother’s favourite, and it was her desire that
he should be appointed heir to the Shogunate in place of his elder
brother. She therefore lost no opportunity to disparage Takechiyo in
the estimation of his father, hoping thereby to attain her object in
due time.
“What a thoughtless boy Takechiyo is!” agreed the Shogun. “This was
undoubtedly done at his instigation. How cruel to command Chōshirō to
endanger his life by catching birds on a roof at night! Though he is
but a child there is no excuse for him. The proverb says ‘A snake bites
even when it is only an inch long.’ One who is so inconsiderate to his
attendants when young cannot be expected to govern wisely and well
when more power is invested in his hands. Now, Chōshirō,” turning to
the boy who still knelt at his feet, “Takechiyo ordered you to get the
sparrows; is it not so?”
Chōshirō had heard with surprise the unkind words of the Shogun and
his lady about his adored master. What did they mean by the words “A
snake bites even when it is only an inch long?” If their feelings
towards the boy were already so antagonistic what would they think and
do should the real facts of the case be disclosed? Chōshirō firmly
resolved to take all the blame even at the risk of his life.
“Oh, no, my lord,” said he earnestly. “Takechiyo Sama never gave me
such a command, never! I caught these sparrows quite of my own accord.
I meant one for Takechiyo Sama, and one for myself.”
[Illustration: “I caught these sparrows quite of my own accord”]
“Nonsense! Whatever you say I know Takechiyo is at the bottom of it.
You are a bold fellow to dare to tell me an untruth!... Let me see,
what shall I do to you?... Here, bring me one of those bags.”
The Shogun pointed to some large, strong leather bags, resembling
a money-pouch in shape, in which in the event of a fire or of an
earthquake his valuables would be incased before putting them into the
_dozō_ or fire-proof godown.
When the bag was brought the Shogun said:—
“Now, Chōshirō, if you don’t confess the truth, I will have you put
into this bag and never allow you to go home again, nor give you any
food. Do you still persist in your falsehood?”
“It is no falsehood, my lord. It is the truth that I caught the
sparrows of my own wish. No one but myself is responsible for my
misdeed. My fall from the roof was the punishment of Heaven. It is
right that you should chastise me also. I beg you to do so.”
With these words, Chōshirō, betraying no signs of fear, put himself
into the bag.
“What a stubborn boy!” exclaimed the Shogun in anger.
Then with the help of his consort he tightly fastened up the bag with
the boy in it, and had it hung from a peg on the wall of the corridor.
Leaving the poor child in this state all retired once more to their
broken rest.
* * * * *
Late the next morning, having had breakfast and finished her toilet,
Lady Eyo, attended by two maids of honour, came out to the corridor
where the bag still hung and ordered it to be taken down. On opening it
the boy was found still holding the dead sparrows.
“Good morning, your ladyship,” said Chōshirō, rubbing his eyes with his
closed fists.
“You were ordered by Takechiyo to take the sparrows, is it not so?”
said Lady Eyo kindly, hoping to make the boy confess the truth.
“No, my lady. It was my own idea. Takechiyo Sama had nothing whatever
to do with the matter.”
“Come, boy, if you are so obstinate you will have to remain a prisoner
always, and never have anything to eat. But if you confess what I am
convinced is the truth, you shall be released and have food at once.
Now tell the truth.”
“My lady, as you command me to do so I will tell the truth; but I am
so hungry that I find it difficult to speak at all. May I ask for some
food first? If you will allow me to have even some _musubi_,[1] I will
say all you wish.”
“Good boy, you shall have some _musubi_ at once.”
The lady gave the order and soon the boy was eagerly devouring the
rice-cakes. Three or four large ones made a good meal.
“Thank you, my lady; I am now able to speak.”
“Then confess the truth, good boy, confess quickly; I am tired of
waiting.”
“Forgive me, my lady; I caught the sparrows of my own accord. I
received no order direct or indirect from Takechiyo Sama. That is the
truth.”
The lady for once forgot herself and flew into a passion. Stamping
her foot on the floor, she rushed into the Shogun’s room and gave him
an exaggerated account of what had happened. He was very angry.
“The young rascal,” cried he, rising, and taking his Yoshimitsu sword
in his hand, “I will kill him myself. Tango Hasegawa, bring Chōshirō
here.”
Tango found the culprit sitting in the bag his hands on his lap.
“Chōshirō,” he said, “His lordship is terribly angry with you—your
stubbornness and insolence are past endurance. He intends to kill you
with his own hands. Prepare yourself for instant death!”
“I am quite prepared, sir.”
“Your father is my old friend,” went on the man pitifully. “If you have
any farewell message for him I will undertake to deliver it.”
“Thank you, sir; but I have no words to send to my father. It is the
duty of a samurai to sacrifice his life for the sake of loyalty. After
my death my motive for refusing to confess what my lord the Shogun
desires will become clear. Tell my father only that I met my doom
fearlessly by my lord’s own sword. My one sorrow is that my mother
is now ill and this news may lead to her death also. That is my only
regret.”
“What a truly heroic resolve!” cried Tango, unable to restrain his
tears. “Your father may well be proud of you, boy, when I tell him how
you met death.”
Taking Chōshirō by the hand Tango conducted him into the presence of
the Shogun and his lady. The stern noble stood up on their entrance
and laying his hand on the hilt of his sword motioned to them to
approach nearer. The brave boy kneeling down pushed the stray locks
from his neck, and with clasped hands and closed eyes calmly awaited
decapitation. The Shogun’s manly compassion was not proof against
this pathetic sight. Throwing his sword away, “Chōshirō, you are
forgiven!” he cried. “I recognize your supreme fidelity to your young
master—faithful unto death! Tango, I foretell that when Takechiyo
succeeds me as Shogun, no one will be able to assist him in the task of
ruling this people so well as this courageous young samurai. Chōshirō,
you are pardoned!”
[1] Boiled rice pressed into balls sometimes taken for a simple lunch.
KATSUNO’S REVENGE
I.
A man and a woman were whispering to each other by a shaded lamp in
a quiet detached room which was partly hedged by _unohana_ whose
snow-white flowers gleamed in the moonlight. Only the frogs croaking in
the neighbouring paddy-field broke the stillness of the night.
The man was Sakuma Shichiroyemon, a councillor of Oda Nobuyuki,
the lord of the castle of Iwakura, in the province, of Owari. About
fifty-two years old, he was a fierce-looking man with powerful muscles
and bristling gray whiskers. Haughty, quick-tempered and very jealous
he tyrannized over his subordinates and was accordingly an object of
hatred throughout the clan. The person with whom he was now talking
was a woman close upon his own age—the supervisor of Lord Oda’s
maids-of-honour, by name O-Tora-no-Kata. Being a cross, cunning,
and avaricious hag, she was regarded by the maids with terror and
detestation. “Birds of a feather flock together.” She had wormed
her way into the good graces of Shichiroyemon in order to make her
position secure; whilst the latter, on his part, had set her to spy on
the actions of his lord, as well as of his colleagues and inferiors.
“What’s that, Madame Tora?” asked Shichiroyemon, his face reddening
with anger. “Do you mean to tell me that our lord is going to set that
green boy of a Hachiya over me as Prime Councillor?”
“I repeat what I hear;—all the maids say so....”
“Pshaw! How I do hate that Hachiya—that peasant’s son born in
obscurity. Who knows where he comes from? A pale, smooth-faced womanish
sprig! How glibly he flatters our lord! He has never been in battle;
what use is such a bookworm in these warlike days? And yet this
inexperienced stripling is going to be appointed Prime Councillor!
Humph, what infatuation! Ha, ha, ha!”
“It will not boil yet. The fire is not strong enough.”
“Eh! The fire?”
“Ha, ha!” said O-Tora with a disagreeable smile. “Here I have good fuel
to make you burn!”
“Don’t try to annoy me like that,” said he impatiently. “Tell me
quickly.”
“It is the secret of secrets. I can’t readily ... w-e-l-l ... sell
it.” She spoke slowly, with an emphasis on the word ‘sell.’
“How grasping you are! Well, then, I will buy your secret with this.”
So saying, Shichiroyemon took a packet of money out of his bosom and
threw it down on the mat. The crone picked it up in silence, a cunning
smile playing about her lips.
“Mr. Sakuma, you must not be off your guard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, K...; you must give her up.”
“What! Give up Katsuno?” he exclaimed, startled. “Why? Tell me quick!”
“Don’t be surprised, sir. It is our lord’s pleasure to give her to
Hachiya in marriage.”
Katsuno was a maid-of-honour of Oda Nobuyuki with whom she was a great
favourite. A young damsel of nineteen springs, she was the incarnation
of beauty, grace and sweetness of disposition, combined with refinement
and dignity. In spite of his years Shichiroyemon was madly in love with
the fair maiden; but though he had courted her in every way through
O-Tora, she had shown no inclination to respond to his advances.
“Has Hachiya formed a liaison with Katsuno?” asked Shichiroyemon
anxiously.
“Not that; you know they are both such honest blockheads; they are
too stupid for that. Even if they had the inclination, it would be
impossible for them to elude my vigilant eye—not even a devil could do
it!”
“Is it then our lord’s order?”
“That is it. To-day our lady said to me, ‘It is not good for Hachiya to
be alone any longer; Katsuno is a beautiful and excellent-minded maid,
I will give her in marriage to Hachiya before long in reward for her
faithful service!’ Yes, surely, our lady told me so.”
“Is that indeed so?” said Shichiroyemon, his brow darkening, and his
eyes glaring with the intensity of his jealousy. “That green peasant’s
son of a Hachiya! It would be infamous to put him over a man of my
ability and experience, it would be an additional wrong to give Katsuno
to him in marriage. What an insult! What mortification to one of my
years! I cannot stand it! I shall never rest till I have taken some
steps against this Hachiya—my mortal enemy! I will have my revenge! He
does not provoke me with impunity!” He spoke so fiercely and the look
on his face was so diabolical that the old woman was frightened.
“Your anger is quite natural, sir; but you know ‘Anger leads to loss.’
You must think more calmly about this matter.”
“Have you anything to propose?”
“Well, ... of course, in the first place Hachiya must be assassinated,
and then we must manage to get Katsuno out of the hands of our lord on
some pretext or other;—I will undertake _that_.”
“And I will settle the other business! But, be careful, Madame Tora!”
Here a puff of cool wind swept through the room and blowing out the
light of the lamp put an end to their conference for that time.
II.
It was a fine afternoon in autumn; in the gardens of the castle of
Iwakura, the glowing maple leaves and vari-coloured chrysanthemums were
in the height of their beauty.
To-day being the anniversary of the death of Nobuyuki’s father, all
the inmates of the castle had been busy since the early morning with
religious services, and a visit to the deceased’s grave; to-night a
banquet was to be given to all the samurai.
It was now about four o’clock, and several maids-of-honour who had
retired to a private chamber to enjoy an interval of rest were talking
volubly.
“What chatterboxes you are, maids! You prattle like sparrows.” This
from O-Tora who entering at this moment made the sneering remark
that effectually put a stop to the gay talk. As she seated herself,
one of the girls, a saucy young thing, ventured to say with a demure
smile. “But, Madame, women are chatterboxes by nature, aren’t they?
‘Nightingales visit plum-blossoms’ and ‘Sparrows and tigers visit
bamboo groves’; so we chattered like sparrows hoping Madame Tora
(tiger) might be induced to come to us.”
At this repartee the rest of the maids burst into peals of laughter
and even the cross-grained duenna could not refrain from a sour smile.
“Your mention of sparrows reminds me of Takané (the name of a
white-eye)” said she. “It seems the bird has not uttered a note all
day. Has it been fed?”
The girls started guiltily, for so busy had they been all day they
had quite forgotten to attend to the bird, a great pet with their lord
who had received it, together with other gifts, from the Shogun in
recognition of his military services. Nobuyuki dearly loved the
bird for the sake of its song, in addition to which he prized it on
account of its donor.
O-Tora, observing the consternation of the maids, revenged herself on
them by saying spitefully:—
“You had better have kept your idle chattering till you had fulfilled
all your duties, you good-for-nothing girls.”
“It is a shame to have forgotten all about the poor little bird!” said
Katsuno, who was with her companions.
“Poor thing, how hungry it must be! I will go at once and give it some
food.”
Stepping down into the garden, she went to an old plum-tree, and
stretching up her arms took the beautifully ornamented cage of the bird
off the branch on which it hung. As she did so the hook came off and
the cage fell to the ground, with the result that the door came open
and the little prisoner with a glad twitter escaped. With a cry of
dismay the girl ran after it, but too late; the bird had already made
its way through the trees and was now flying far away across the blue
sky rejoicing in its freedom.
“What have you done, Katsuno?” cried O-Tora, from the verandah.
Inwardly glad of this golden opportunity to carry out her dark
scheme of getting Katsuno into disfavour, she yet cunningly concealed
her delight under cover of fear and consternation. “Alas! You have let
Takané fly away. Dear, dear, what carelessness! How could you do it!”
Katsuno, gazing up at the fast disappearing bird, seemed half
stupefied. At O-Tora’s words she came to herself, and then overwhelmed
with thought of the consequences staggered a little and fell wailing
to the ground. Her young companions standing on the verandah uttered
exclamations of amazement, but none of them came to her aid, or
attempted to console her. “What will you do, Katsuno?” continued the
old vixen, who had by this time come down to where the unhappy girl
lay, and seized her by the neck of her garment. “You know Takané is not
a common bird, but a treasured present from His Highness the Shogun.
Do you realize what you have done in letting it escape? Can you atone
for your fault simply by a few tears? What can you do to repair the
injury you have done to me, for it is I who shall be blamed,—I shall be
considered responsible for this misfortune! Come, get up, girl, what
have you to say?”
“Katsuno, prepare for death!” A loud and angry voice caused them
all to start. Informed of what had occurred the hot-tempered Nobuyuki
had rushed to the scene, and now with a drawn sword stood over the
prostrate girl in a passion of ungovernable rage.
At this critical moment another voice was heard.
“My lord, my lord, wait!” It was the new Prime Councillor, Tsuda
Hachiya, who thus ventured to interpose. “Calm yourself, my lord, I
beg you. Do you forget the day? Is it not the holy anniversary of the
demise of your revered father? Can you sully this solemn occasion with
a bloody deed committed in the heat of anger? Restrain yourself and
leave this matter to my discretion.”
Nobuyuki’s rage subsided as quickly as it had risen, and his better
reason prevailed. At the remonstrance of his favourite he sheathed his
sword and retired to the verandah.
By this time most of the retainers had arrived at the castle for the
evening’s banquet, and hearing of the incident hastened to the scene.
Shichiroyemon was among them and under cover of the confusion whispered
something to his accomplice,—then coming forward “How about Katsuno’s
chastisement, my lord?” he said. “You act wisely in not inflicting
death with your own honourable hands, but as an apology to His
Highness the Shogun, and as an example to the clan it is necessary—it
is imperative that she should receive condign punishment.”
“W-e-l-l—” Nobuyuki hesitated; then turning to Hachiya, “What is your
opinion, Hachiya? Shall I do as Shichiroyemon says?”
“No, my lord. History tells that long, long ago, in the reign of the
Emperor Takakura, one cold frosty morning, some thoughtless gardeners
cut off a few branches of a beautiful maple-tree of which the young
Emperor was very fond, and burned them to warm their _saké_. Fujiwara
Nobunari, an official in charge of the tree, greatly shocked at this,
bound the offenders hand and foot and reported the matter to the
Emperor. The benevolent monarch, however, was not enraged at all, but
said calmly, “A Chinese poet sings:—
‘In woods we gathered maple-leaves[2]
‘And burned them to warm _saké._’
I wonder how these humble gardeners have learned to have such a refined
taste? What a poetic idea!” Thus the Emperor acquitted the careless
gardeners. This is one reason why the Emperor Takakura is revered
as a great sovereign even now after the lapse of so many centuries. So
I hope and pray that my lord who is as large-hearted as the Emperor,
will be lenient with a young girl who through no fault of her own has
been so unfortunate as to cause this accident.”
“Enough, Mr. Tsuda!” broke in Shichiroyemon. “You are doubtless a great
scholar, and eloquent, but the slack measure you suggest would be a
bad precedent. You are always tender and sympathetic with women, but
in dealing with a matter such as this we must make no distinction of
sex. As well might you pardon the offender who sets fire to the castle
and reduces it to ashes, just because she is a woman and it was ‘by
mistake’! Is that justice?”
“Your argument is absurd,” replied the younger man contemptuously.
“You speak as if severity were a good principle in government. If so,
why did Kings Chow and Chieh of ancient China, and the Tairas and
the Ashikagas in our own country come to such speedy ruin? Recollect
that to-day is the sacred anniversary of the demise of the father of
our lord, and therefore it might well have been our lord’s purpose to
have set the white-eye free, himself, for the peace of the revered
spirit.[3] The fault unintentionally committed by Katsuno has thus led
to the humane act of setting a poor caged bird at liberty. I have
somewhere read these lines:—
‘Though one loves the sweet songs of a caged bird,
‘Who knows the sadness of its inner heart?’
In my opinion Katsuno has committed no fault in the true sense of the
word, but on the contrary, done a good action.”
With the exception of Shichiroyemon and O-Tora, all present listened
with admiration to the eloquent pleading of Hachiya on behalf of
Katsuno. The black-hearted pair persisted in urging the girl’s
expulsion from the castle, but Nobuyuki turned a deaf ear to their
arguments, and decided to let the matter rest. Katsuno, all this time
on her knees in the garden, now almost worshipped her deliverer in the
depth of her gratitude.
III.
Tsuda Hachiya was now thirty-one. He was born the son of a farmer,
but being a handsome, well educated lad, in his sixteenth year he had
been appointed to the post of page in the household of Nobuyuki who
soon began to treat him with great fondness. The young samurai devoted
his leisure hours to a further study of literature, and to the practice
of fencing; and as he speedily evinced marked administrative ability,
such as was rarely found among the intellectually ill-trained samurai
of those days, he rapidly rose in the service, until now, while still
a young man, he was both Prime Councillor and Steward, and exercised
great authority. But notwithstanding the rank and power that might well
have turned the head of one so young, he behaved modestly in public
and private, and served his lord with all faithfulness and diligence,
gaining thereby the admiration of the whole clan for his character and
virtues.
One evening Hachiya presented himself before his lord at the latter’s
urgent summons.
“Hachiya,” began Nobuyuki, abruptly, with a pleasant smile, “I think it
is high time for you to—, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me, my lord, I do not understand you?” said Hachiya with a
puzzled look.
“That important affair of yours.”
“That important affair of mine?” echoed the young man more puzzled than
before.
“Ha, ha! how dull-witted you are to-day! The Katsuno affair!”
Hachiya did not speak. It was not the first time that Nobuyuki, who
was enthusiastic over the question of Hachiya’s marriage, had offered
to act as middleman between him and Katsuno. Far from objecting to
the proposed bride, Hachiya’s inclination pointed that way, but his
prudence, however, had hitherto prevailed, and he remembered the saying
‘a full moon is sure to wane.’ His appointment as Prime Councillor over
the heads of older men was already calculated to give offence; should
he marry Katsuno, the acknowledged beauty of the clan, would he not
still further give cause for jealousy and ill-feeling? Moreover, he was
not ignorant of Shichiroyemon’s mad attachment, and had no desire to
provoke his resentment; therefore, on various pretexts, he had month
after month evaded his lord’s importunity.
“Do you again say ‘until next month’?” said Nobuyuki, half
threateningly, as the young man remained silent. “Think not to deceive
me in that way!”
Hachiya did not answer; his head was bent in respectful attention.
“Answer me at once! Still silent?... Tell me, do you dislike the girl?”
“Oh, no, my lord, but I fear her refusal!”
“Is that all! Set your mind at rest on that score; I have sounded her.
Poor girl! Since the white-eye incident her ‘sickness’ has become worse
and she has grown quite thin!”
Observant and sympathetic, Nobuyuki had found out that Katsuno was
love-sick for Hachiya.
“Do not tease me, my lord! I will tell you of my real reasons for this
hesitation.”
And with this preface Hachiya gave his reasons, at each one of which
the older man gave a little nod of comprehension.
“I admire your prudence and forethought,” he said when Hachiya ceased
speaking. “But remember you can never do anything if you think so much
of the feelings of others. As for that doting old Shichiroyemon, do
not fear him. I have set my heart on your happiness, and I never do
things by halves. It is my wish, also, to give Katsuno the desire of
her heart. But as it is so near the close of the year we will postpone
the marriage till the New Year, and then I will listen to no more
denials. Yes, yes, that is what we will do, Hachiya.”
So saying, Nobuyuki summoned a maid and in a low voice gave an order.
Presently a bottle of _saké_ and some cups were brought in. Then the
_fusuma_ between this and the next room was gently slid open and there
appeared a beautiful young woman clad in a gay _uchikaké_ or gown, who
knelt with movements full of grace on the threshold. It was none other
than Katsuno.
“What is your pleasure, my lord?” said she bowing reverently first to
Nobuyuki and then to Hachiya.
“Ah, is it Katsuno? I want you to serve us with _saké_. Sit nearer to
me, Hachiya; come, let us have some _saké_.”
“Excuse me, my lord. Something tells me I am needed at home; besides it
is getting late. With your kind permission, I will go home at once.”
“No, no; not just yet, Hachiya. Though it is late no loved one is
waiting for your return, I imagine. Ha, ha! Come, you cannot refuse.
Katsuno, pour him out a cup of _saké_!”
[Illustration: She filled Hachiya’s cup to the brim]
Katsuno hesitated bashfully, but on Nobuyuki’s repeating his command,
she took the bottle, and with a hand that trembled filled Hachiya’s
cup to the brim. Their eyes met and both blushed consciously.
“If you have drunk, let Katsuno have the cup,” said Nobuyuki.
“I should return the cup to your lordship.”
“No, I will have it after her. Give it to Katsuno.”
Hachiya had no choice but to do as he was told, and accordingly offered
the cup, into which he had poured more _saké_, to the maid-of-honour,
who overcome with shyness, took and sipped it with difficulty.
“Give it to me.”
Nobuyuki drank off three cupfuls and then said with a sly laugh:—
“I am mightily glad you have thus exchanged the wine-cups of betrothal!
Ha, ha! You have my hearty congratulations!”
The young lovers prostrated themselves in acknowledgment of his favour,
but even as they did so the loud clang, clang of the alarm-bell broke
the stillness of the night and caused them all to start up to listen.
“What can it be?” exclaimed Hachiya, opening the _shōji_ to look out.
No need to ask that question; the lurid sky, the quickly rising flames
and showers of falling sparks proclaimed all too surely a house on fire!
“A fire, my lord! And not more than five _chō_ beyond the pine-trees on
the bank of the moat. I must go at once!”
“No doubt as to its being a fire,” said Nobuyuki looking out also, “Is
it not in your direction?”
“Allow me to leave your presence; I fear it is as you say!”
“Then lose no time! I will give the necessary instructions to the
Fire-Commissioner myself.”
With a hurried word of thanks and apology to his lord and Katsuno,
Hachiya left the apartment and ran home at the top of his speed. A
fierce wind had arisen and whistled through the branches of the tall
old pine-trees; louder and louder clanged the iron-throated bell.
His fears were all too surely realised: he reached his home only to
find it wrapped in flames! A detached room where he had been wont to
study was already reduced to ashes and the fire had caught on to the
main building. The trees in the garden were also burning and as the
wind shook the branches they let fall a shower of sparks. A number of
samurai and firemen were doing their utmost with squirts and rakes
to get the fire under, but against the fierce flames fanned to
fury by the strong wind their efforts were of little avail. Hachiya
involuntarily heaved a deep sigh of despair, but there was no time
to delay. It was imperative that he should venture into the burning
building and save, if possible, important documents and ancestral
treasures, as well as some highly valued gifts he had received from his
lord.
As he rushed through the front gate a dark form sprang from the shade
of a great pine-tree and plunged a sword into his side. Before Hachiya
could draw his own weapon the assassin gave him another thrust through
the heart, and the young Councillor fell lifeless to the ground.
The charred body of the hapless samurai was found in the ashes of his
ruined home.
IV.
On hearing of Hachiya’s death, Nobuyuki clenched his teeth, and Katsuno
was beside herself with grief.
A dagger—an excellent blade by Masamuné—was found near the body. Seeing
it, Nobuyuki slapped his thigh in delighted recognition, for it was a
well-known weapon which his elder brother Nobunaga, Lord of Owari, had
given to the elder brother of Shichiroyemon, Gemba Morimasa, one
of Nobunaga’s councillors. Except Morimasa nobody could have had it
but Shichiroyemon; therefore, Nobuyuki who knew of the terms between
his two followers, had no doubt but that his favourite councillor had
fallen a victim to the jealous malignancy of the man he had superseded
both in the favour of their master, and in the affection of the girl
on whom he had set his heart. Added to this, a man who had been
arrested on suspicion on Hachiya’s premises the night of the fire,
confessed after a strict examination that it was at the instigation of
Shichiroyemon that he had set fire to the house.
Evidence of his guilt being so strong, some sheriffs were despatched
to Shichiroyemon’s residence to arrest him; but the wily scoundrel
scenting danger had fled, and it was not till after a rigorous search
that it was found that he had taken refuge in the neighbouring province
of Mino in the castle of Inaba, belonging to Saitō Dōzō.
O-Tora-no-Kata also disappeared about this time, and rumour had it that
she was now in the mansion of Gemba Morimasa.
* * * * *
It was the seventh of January, and most people were enjoying the
New Year festivities. But to Nobuyuki, the season brought no joy; he
still brooded over Hachiya’s tragic end. Buried in thought as he leant
on his arm-rest, he did not notice the entrance of Katsuno, still pale
and emaciated she knelt before him.
“Ah, Katsuno, I am glad to see you,” he said, “I was thinking of
Hachiya, and of your great grief in losing your future husband just
after you had exchanged the cups of betrothal. I feel for you with all
my heart!”
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied sadly. “You are too good to me!”
“It is natural you should grieve,” went on Nobuyuki, after a pause.
“But mere sorrowing does no good to any one. Far wiser would it be to
devise some way to kill the base assassin and avenge Hachiya with all
speed.”
“You are right, my lord,—I think my husband in Hades would be pleased
to know that your lordship is willing to do so much for his honour. May
I ask what is the result of your negotiations with His Excellency, the
Lord of Owari?”
Nobuyuki’s brother, the Lord of Owari, being the son-in-law of Saitō
Dōzō, Nobuyuki had requested his brother to arrange for the delivery of
Shichiroyemon, but Dōzō had ill-naturedly refused.
“This puts difficulties in our way,” concluded the old lord
disconsolately.
“I have a favour to ask of your lordship; may I venture to speak?”
“By all means.”
“Permit me to go to Inaba, my lord.”
“To Inaba! You want to go to the castle of that Saitō Dōzō?”
“Yes, my lord. I wish to enter the castle in disguise, and avenge the
death of Hachiya on his murderer!”
“Not to be thought of, Katsuno!” Nobuyuki could not keep back a smile,
though he saw the girl was in deadly earnest. “A young woman, and
single handed!—absurd!”
“Not so, my lord, believe me!” Katsuno’s eyes gleamed, and her breath
came quick and fast. “I have thought it all out. I beseech you to let
me go!”
Nobuyuki argued with her in vain. Her mind was made up, and nothing
could shake her resolution. Therefore, he at length reluctantly gave
her the desired permission, at the same time handing her the Masamuné
dagger, to which reference has been made before, and saying:—
“This is the dagger with which our Hachiya was stabbed; thrust it up to
the hilt in the throat of his murderer, and avenge his death!”
“I will, or die in the attempt! My lord, I thank you, farewell,
fare....”
A burst of tears choked her utterance; she hastened from the room.
“May you have all success,” said Nobuyuki, as she disappeared, and then
he returned to his thoughts.
V.
In the guise of a merchant’s wife, and assuming a false name, Katsuno
journeyed to the castle-town of Inaba, and taking up her abode at the
house of an uncle who was a farmer living in a village close to the
town, watched for an opportunity to achieve her purpose.
One day, Yoshitatsu, the son of Saitō Dōzō, returning from hunting,
stopped to rest at the farm-house. Katsuno waited upon him and served
him with tea. Her beauty and grace of manner attracted the attention
of the young nobleman. In reply to his inquiries Katsuno’s uncle told
him that she had recently lost her husband, a merchant, and that she
was anxious to enter the service of a daimio’s lady. Yoshitatsu
undertook to engage her as maid-of-honour to his mother, and his offer
was immediately accepted with joy. She was soon an inmate of the
castle, where her faithful service pleased her mistress so much that
she speedily became a great favourite.
* * * * *
A warm spring day, with the delicate blossoms of the cherry-trees
filling all the land with their beauty, and the faint sweetness of
their perfume. Since dawn a large number of workmen had been busily at
work sweeping the courtyard of the castle, and spreading clean sand
over it. Some important function must be on hand. Katsuno wondered what
it was.
“Excuse my curiosity, my lady,” she said as she served her mistress
with a cup of tea, “but for what are those men making such great
preparations? Is anything going to take place?”
“Don’t you know? To-morrow there will be matches of mounted archery.”
“Mounted archery, my lady? What is that?” asked Katsuno, feigning
ignorance.
“All the samurai who are skilled in archery will practise the art
on horseback.”
“Are many coming, my lady?” asked Katsuno, her heart beating high with
the hope that at last she might meet her enemy.
“About a hundred, I believe, to take part in the competition, and of
course, all the samurai of our clan with their families will be present
to look on.”
“Who are the archers?”
“Why do you ask?”
Katsuno was embarrassed for a moment, but quickly regaining her
presence of mind, she replied:—
“For no special reason, my lady; but my father, though only a farmer,
was very fond of archery, and so, from a child, I have been interested
in the sport.”
“Ah, I see. Well, they brought me a programme of the day’s events
this morning; here it is; you can see the names of the archers for
yourself.” The lady handed Katsuno a sheet of soft, thick paper covered
with bold, black characters. With an eagerness she strove to conceal,
she ran her eyes down the lines, till near the middle of the page she
found the name “Sakuma Shichiroyemon” At last! This was the time for
which she had waited and planned.
“All the archers seem to be good samurai. What a splendid sight
they will present! How I should like to see the sport, even from a
distance.”
“There should be no difficulty about that. You have my permission.”
“My lady, I am deeply grateful.” She could say no more, but such was
the state of her feelings that it was with difficulty she performed her
usual duties that day, nor could she sleep at all at night.
VI.
The following day the weather continued to be all that could be
desired. The wide courtyard was duly prepared. The centre was enclosed
for the list in the shape of an oblong square, and temporary stands had
been erected all round it to accommodate the spectators; these were
covered with gay carpets and soft cushions which gave colour to the
scene. A dais in the very centre of the gallery on the eastern side
of the lists and at a convenient distance from the target, was richly
decorated with hangings of purple and white silk, which fluttered
gently in the breeze. This was the place of honour for Lord Saitō and
his family.
From early in the morning, samurai after samurai began to arrive at
the castle, and soon every stand was crowded. The lord of the
castle accompanied by his family and attended by a numerous retinue
of councillors, pages, and maids-of-honour, presently appeared, and
in great state seated himself in the place prepared for him. Katsuno,
gaily dressed, her face powdered and painted in the usual fashion, and
the Masamuné dagger concealed in the bosom of her garments, was among
this company, and avoiding the attention of the others, eagerly awaited
her opportunity.
“To-day, or never,” she thought to herself. “If I let such a golden
opportunity pass, I shall never get another! Dearest Hachiya, look at
me from Hades! I will avenge your death before the sun sets!” Then
clasping her hands she murmured a prayer, “Oh, Hachiman, God of War,
favour me with success!”
When those about to take part in the competitions were ready, the
umpire, the herald, the signalman and the registrar, all betook
themselves to their respective stations; a large drum being then loudly
beaten to announce that the tournament was about to begin.
One after another, the archers clad in _kosodé_ (silk underclothes),
_hitataré_ (court robes), and _mukabaki_ (breeches), came forth on
horseback into the lists and rode to and fro, till coming to the
appointed spot from which to aim, they shot their arrows at the
mark. The judge, or umpire, would then after a careful examination
give his decision, the herald would loudly proclaim the name of the
archer and his achievement, while the registrar would make a written
record. Then it was the part of the signalman to announce the event
to the spectators, who raised such shouts of applause that one might
almost fancy the petals of the cherry-blossoms fell in showers from the
vibration in the air.
So archer after archer exhibited his skill, until now it was the turn
of “No. 53” Sakuma Shichiroyemon. Katsuno, who had been impatiently
awaiting her chance, and whose nerves were strained to the utmost,
involuntarily grasped the dagger in her bosom.
Shichiroyemon rode out slowly, but as soon as he had bowed low to his
lord, put spurs to his horse and dashed swiftly forward.
In her nervous excitement Katsuno pushed forward and straightening
herself assumed the attitude necessary to cut at her enemy as he
came up to the dais. In so doing she touched her mistress’s shoulder
and shrank back inadvertently, but the next moment she again pressed
forward and stood ready.
Shichiroyemon galloped up with the speed of lightning, the horse’s mane
touched the railing of the gallery, but before the girl could act was
far out of her reach.
With an exclamation of dismay she stood looking after him.
“What is the matter with you, Katsuno?” said Lady Saitō, displeased at
the want of manners in her favourite maid.
Recalled to herself the girl forced a laugh but replied readily enough:—
“Forgive my rudeness, my lady! In my admiration of the heroic sport I
forgot myself.”
“You are indeed fond of archery!”
“Yes, my lady, there is nothing I like so well.”
“A strange taste for a girl!” said her mistress looking curiously at
her. “But the excitement is too much for you; you are pale and your
eyes are bloodshot. Have you a headache?”
“No, your ladyship, but I did not sleep last night.”
“Are you not well?”
“I am quite well; it was the thought of to-day’s pleasure that kept me
awake.”
“What a passionate lover of archery!” said the lady laughing, and
Katsuno flushed at her mocking tone.
The performance of the various numbers on the programme required many
of the archers to appear several times in the lists, Shichiroyemon
among them. Every time he rode forth Katsuno eagerly watched for her
chance, but to her intense mortification it nearly always happened that
his horse was on the opposite side of the lists; and the few occasions
on which he approached close enough to where she waited, he dashed
past so swiftly she was unable to do anything. She wondered if her
enemy had recognised her and was on his guard. She suffered an agony of
impatience and fear, and almost gave up in despair.
The programme had been duly gone through, and there now remained only
the final ceremony of _nanori_ or “declaring of names.” How would this
be performed? she wondered. She feared it would not bring Shichiroyemon
within her reach. Should she rush desperately into the lists and
kill him there in the midst of his compeers? No, that would be too
hazardous; should she fail her chance would be gone for ever. On the
other hand if she let slip this opportunity was it likely she would
ever get another? And she must decide quickly.
While Katsuno agonized thus, the ceremony had commenced. Each archer in
his turn rode up to the dais, bowed reverentially to his liege lord,
declared his name, and slowly withdrew. Quickly making up her mind she
braced herself for action.
The day had advanced and it was now the middle of the afternoon. The
cherry-blossoms hung still in the bright sunshine, for the air had not
movement enough to stir even their delicate petals. A langour seemed
to have fallen on all and even the spectators showed signs of fatigue.
Only Katsuno was keenly on the alert!
“No. 53!” At the call Shichiroyemon leapt on his horse, pausing a
moment to arrange the harness. A swift glance at him as he sat in the
full blaze of the sun showed Katsuno that he was splendidly arrayed
in a white _kosodé_, covered with a design of nightingales perched
on plum-trees. With bow and arrows in his hand, and mounted on a
snow-white steed he made a gallant show, his bronze complexion and
bushy whiskers adding to his grim and warlike appearance. Katsuno
gnashed her teeth.
After riding three times round the lists Shichiroyemon suddenly
tightened the reins and caused his horse to stop before the dais. Then
slowly riding up to the foot of the gallery he bowed low, as in a
clear voice he proclaimed his name. This moment, as he was about to
withdraw, was Katsuno’s opportunity. Slipping off her upper garment she
was on the step before any one could stop her.
“Well met, Sakuma Shichiroyemon. I am the wife of Tsuda Hachiya whom
you foully murdered! Taste the sharpness of my revenge!”
With these words she thrust the dagger into his side with all her
strength. So sudden was the attack, and such the force lent her by
desperation, that, strong man though he was, Shichiroyemon fell forward
from his saddle to the ground. With the cry “Hachiya is avenged!” she
gave him another thrust which proved mortal.
A white petal wafted by the breeze fluttered softly on to the
blood-stained dagger, and for a while all who witnessed the scene were
speechless with horror.
VII.
Saitō Dōzō, in his admiration of Katsuno’s heroic deed, had it in his
mind to save the girl from the consequences of her rash action; but as
a samurai it did not accord with his honour to do so. This for two
reasons; one being that he had refused to deliver up Shichiroyemon when
asked to do so by Nobuyuki; and the other because it was a disgrace to
him personally that a warrior under his protection should have been
killed by a woman. Therefore, he gave orders for the close confinement
of the culprit, directing that she should be strictly watched and
guarded night and day.
Now that she had accomplished her long-cherished desire, and had sent
word to that effect to Lord Nobuyuki, Katsuno no longer had anything to
trouble her, and awaited her sentence with a tranquil mind.
One evening she was arranging some wisteria flowers which had been
brought to her by one of the samurai, appointed to keep guard over her,
when without any announcement Lady Saitō came into her room.
“How tastefully you have arranged those flowers, Katsuno!” she said.
“Have you recovered yourself?”
The girl smiled.
“Yes, thank you, my lady; having attained my object, I have nothing
left to wish for, and am ready to meet my fate.”
“You are a pattern of womanhood! How I admire you! It is unbearable
that one so virtuous should be subjected to the ignominy of
imprisonment for so long. I have repeatedly implored my lord for
your release, but as yet without avail.”
“You are too good; but I have no hope of release, and I am ready to
die.”
“Your death would serve no end, and I do not intend to let your life be
sacrificed. Listen,” she came nearer and whispered in Katsuno’s ear, “I
have managed to get your guard sent away on some pretext, and to-night,
Katsuno, you shall escape.”
“Indeed, no, my lady; that cannot be! I am quite prepared for death.
Without Hachiya my life is nothing to me, and should his lordship
discover what you had done his wrath would be terrible,—What might he
not do to you!”
“Have no fears on that point. It is not likely my lord will suspect
that I had any hand in your escape, but at the worst he will not kill
me. Do not think of me, but fly!”
“But, my lady,...”
“Oh, how obstinate you are! Why will you throw your life away? Katsuno,
as your mistress, I command you to escape this night!”
Seeing her mistress would take no refusal the girl gave in, and they
proceeded to discuss plans.
“And when you are safe, Katsuno, how will you spend your life?”
“I shall become a nun and spend my life praying to Buddha for the peace
of my dead husband’s soul.”
“An admirable resolve, but foolish! Have you no love for your
parents?—for your family and home? Ah, forgive me, your parents and
brothers are dead? I did not mean to cause you pain. But do you not see
that in that case it is impossible for you to give yourself up to a
life of devotion? Who then could carry on the family name?”
“But, your ladyship, I became the wife of Hachiya....”
“Yes, yes, but you were only betrothed! If you had married him really,
the case would be different,—an engagement is nothing. No other
woman would have considered it necessary to avenge his death. Your
faithfulness has been demonstrated by your heroic deed. Your devotion
will be handed down to posterity as a model for all wives to admire and
emulate, but now that is over; other duties remain.”
“What would you have me do, my lady?”
“You must marry.”
“A second marriage!”
“No, a first; as you told me yourself you were never married to
Hachiya, so who can blame you or call you a faithless wife if you
contract a marriage with another man? Even Hachiya in the spirit world
would approve of it.”
Katsuno thought over these words. It was true according to the ideas
in which she had been brought up that it was her duty not to let her
family name die out.
“You are right,” she said at length. “If I escape I will not refuse to
marry.” But she sighed, for her heart was with Hachiya.
“I was sure you would be sensible. And now hear what I have to say; a
near relative of mine, Ōsuga Katsutaka, a retainer of Lord Tokugawa of
Mikawa province is looking for a wife. He is only twenty-seven, yet
he is distinguished for his scholarship, bravery and above all his
military achievements. He has a great future before him, and, what
counts with a woman before all things, he has very good looks! Will you
marry him? I have already sounded him on the subject and he is anxious
you should be his wife. Do not reject such a good offer.”
Katsuno was silent, partly because of maiden modesty, and partly
because it was too momentous a question to be decided without due
consideration.
“Why do not you answer? What is your objection? I assure you that Ōsuga
is every thing that can be desired; you would never regret marrying
him—he is so brave and learned! But what is most important in your
case, if you have two or three children by him you can adopt one of
them to succeed to your father’s house and carry on the family name.”
“I am deeply grateful to you for all your kindness, my lady. I will do
as you advise; you are wiser than I, and you know what is best.”
“Then you agree? That is right, you are a good girl, Katsuno, and
deserve to be happy, as I know you will be with Ōsuga. But it is
getting very late and it is time you went. A palanquin is ready with
ten strong footmen to convey you to the home of Ōsuga. I am sorry to
part from you but it has to be, Farewell.”
As she spoke, Lady Saitō handed Katsuno a letter addressed to Ōsuga
Katsutaka, and a packet of money for her travelling expenses. The
girl accepted them with many thanks, and bidding farewell to her
mistress made her way to the postern gate from whence she safely
effected her escape from the castle arriving at her destination without
adventure.
VIII.
Ōsuga Katsutaka married Katsuno with the hearty approval of his lord,
Tokugawa Iyeyasu, who greatly struck with admiration of the girl’s
heroic deed, readily promised to accord her his special protection.
On hearing of this, Shichiroyemon’s brother Gemba Morimasa, a
well-known warrior, who had won for himself the nickname of Gemba the
Tiger, clenched his teeth in wrath and mortification, and going to his
lord, Nobunaga, gave him a minute account of all that had happened,
requesting him to take immediately some steps to wrest Katsuno from
Iyeyasu’s hand.
“If this be left undone,” he continued fiercely, “my brother’s spirit
will never be at peace, nor will my outraged feelings allow me to rest.
You must see this, my lord.”
“Calm yourself, Morimasa. You speak wildly.”
“Who could help it, my lord! Just think of the case! Not only was
my brother murdered by a mere woman, but she, my mortal enemy, has
been taken under the protection of a powerful noble, so that I am
powerless to touch her! If I allow the matter to stand my reputation as
a warrior will be compromised. If you decline to interfere, I will go
myself and negotiate with Lord Tokugawa. At least you will allow me to
do that!”
“If you are so set upon it, I will see what I can do,” said Nobunaga,
reluctantly; and he accordingly sent a warrior to Iyeyasu to request
the delivery of Katsuno.
Iyeyasu readily granted the messenger an interview, but after listening
to what he had to say, replied bluntly:—
“I am sorry, but I cannot consent. Katsuno is a heroine, and such a
woman as is rarely found in Japan. To speak frankly, Shichiroyemon did
not behave well. I understand that because Katsuno would have nothing
to say to him, and because Hachiya, to whom she was affianced, was
a favourite with his lord, Shichiroyemon, out of a mean jealousy,
unworthy of a samurai, caused his house to be set on fire and himself
to be assassinated. In my opinion,—in the opinion of all right-minded
men, he richly deserved his fate, and it was fitting he should die as
he did. What can his brother urge in extenuation of his crime? His
demand is preposterous! Think of Katsuno! For the sake of a man to
whom she was merely betrothed, she boldly avenged his death, stabbing
a strong warrior in the midst of a large concourse. What courage! It
might well put a man to shame! And this heroic woman comes to me for
protection, honouring me by her confidence! Do you imagine I will give
her up? Never! Tell your lord that Iyeyasu is not one to betray his
trust, and that he emphatically refuses to deliver up this brave woman
to her enemies.”
There was nothing more to be said. The messenger returned to his
lord and gave the answer he had received. Nobunaga admitted its
reasonableness, and not even the hot-tempered Morimasa could deny its
truth. But being of a stubborn and revengeful nature, he brooded over
his grievance, and secretly schemed or the attainment of his purpose.
* * * * *
One fine autumn day Katsuno, attended by a maid, was strolling in the
grounds at the back of her residence. Sweet and beautiful she looked,
with the calm happiness of a contented young wife. To the west of the
garden were to be seen the quarters of her husband’s retainers, and
the twang of bowstrings accompanied by the whistling arrows showed
that the samurai were strenuously practising their archery. A grove
of maple-trees bounded the east, and their red leaves effectively
contrasted with the dark green of their background. In front, to
the south, the view led across paddy-fields to the tall black pines
enclosing the precincts of the village shrine. A few little birds
flitting here and there, and softly twittering, gave life to the scene.
Standing by a pond in the garden Katsuno was idly throwing some food
to the carp which came at her call, when the little gate that gave
entrance to the grounds suddenly opened, and an elderly woman came in.
“I am glad to see you, Miss Katsuno, nay, I should say Mrs. Ōsuga,”
said the newcomer bowing politely.
“Madame O-Tora!” exclaimed Katsuno, in surprise, quite taken aback by
this unexpected visitation. “Is it indeed you? I am very glad to see
you, it is long since I had that pleasure. How did you find your way
here?”
“By a mere chance,” replied the elder woman, smiling as though
overjoyed at the meeting, and speaking in propitiatory tones. “As I was
passing along this lane I happened to glance through the hedge and to
my great astonishment and joy recognised you in the garden. What a
happy home you have! I could envy you your good fortune!”
Katsuno made no reply to her honeyed speech, but asked curtly:—
“How do you _happen_ to be in these parts? Have you come to live here?”
“That is a long story,” said O-Tora in an agitated manner. “I can’t
tell it in a few words. I cannot stop to tell you to-day, but I will
come again soon when I have more time to spare and tell you all about
it. Now I must say Good-bye.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Not far from here ... but I’ll come again soon.... Good-bye!”
And she hurried away. Katsuno stood gazing after her retreating figure
with an expression of mingled wonder and doubt, when suddenly from the
grove of maples an arrow whizzed past and grazing her sash pierced the
_shōji_ of the samurai’s rooms. Instantly an uproar arose, but before
anything could be done another arrow whistled through the still air.
Quick to think and act, Katsuno flung herself on to the ground but her
maid, too much alarmed to move, stood upright where she was.
By this time the young samurai had rushed forth with loud shouts.
“The villain is hiding behind the maples,” cried Katsuno. “Do not let
him escape, quick, quick!”
With drawn swords the party dashed into the grove, scattering the red
leaves as they pushed through.
IX.
While this was occurring, Katsuno’s husband was away from home
having gone up to the castle on duty. Two ruffians were caught, but
unfortunately the samurai, being unacquainted with O-Tora’s personality
and evil intentions, did not think of trying to seize her also, though
it would have been quite easy as she ran wildly hither and thither in
her bewilderment and alarm.
Closely questioned, the men confessed that they were spies, and had
been hired by Gemba Morimasa to assassinate Katsuno, O-Tora being decoy.
Iyeyasu, in righteous anger, caused them to be decapitated, and their
heads were exposed in front of one of the castle gates with a notice
which ran as follows:—
“These villains, on a strict examination, confessed that at the
instigation of Sakuma Gemba Morimasa, a high retainer of Oda
Nobunaga, they had come disguised to our castle-town with intent to
murder. However, it may be that they were common thieves and only made
up the above story to conceal their mean purposes. Therefore, we have
judged them as thieves, and expose their heads accordingly.”
At the failure of his plans, Morimasa flew into a terrible passion; nor
could Nobunaga allow the matter to pass without notice. He despatched a
messenger to Iyeyasu with a protest, to which he received the following
reply:—
“If an honourable samurai of Gemba Morimasa’s rank and position really
intended to take his revenge on an enemy he would have come openly and
in person. He would not intrust so important a task to low nameless
assassins! He could not so debase his honour! This was an act worthy of
a peasant, a mere tradesman, or a _rōnin_. So I concluded that those
men were common thieves and in that supposition caused that notice to
be written. Can Lord Oda say anything against it?”
What could Nobunaga or Morimasa urge against this temperate reply? They
could not confess that the would-be murderers were indeed what they had
said, and not the thieves that Iyeyasu affected to believe them.
Thus were they again baffled. But Nobunaga was exceedingly enraged and
determined to go to war with Iyeyasu in order to wipe out his disgrace.
He diligently set about his preparations.
It was not difficult to foretell the issue of a struggle between the
rival lords; Iyeyasu, with his small following, had no chance against
his more powerful enemy. Katsuno was in despair. It was all through
her that this danger threatened Lord Tokugawa, it was because he
had refused to give her up that all this trouble had come. She had
forfeited her life by her act of vengeance at the castle of Inaba, and
but for the mercy of Lady Saitō she would have died long before. Though
her husband loved her devotedly and she was not unhappy, still she had
no desire to live, and if she were to die, there would no longer be any
object in commencing a disastrous war. Therefore she would die.
In the silent watches of a winter’s night when the silver moon flooded
all the land with quiet beauty, Katsuno rose from her bed and with a
dagger put an end to her life,—in the flower of her womanhood, at the
age of twenty-two!
Katsuno left behind her four long letters addressed respectively to
Iyeyasu, her husband, Katsutaka, Lady Saitō, and her former lord, Oda
Nobuyuki, giving the reason for her rash act, and repeatedly thanking
them for all their kindness.
[2] Lines by Hakkyoi, a great poet of ancient China.
[3] On the occasion of Buddhist funeral ceremonies, and at religious
ceremonies held on the anniversary of a death, it is a common custom to
set at freedom caged birds for the peace of the spirit of the deceased.
A WEDDING PRESENT
“Let go! Let go, can’t you!” shouted a young horseman furiously, as he
raised himself up in his stirrups and angrily brandished a whip.
It was the ninth day of April in the twelfth year of Tensho (1584). The
battle of Komaki Hill, one of the five greatest battles in Japanese
history had just been fought, and intelligence had reached the camp
that Lord Ikeda Nobuteru of the Castle of Ōgaki in the province of Mino
and his eldest son had both fallen. Wild with grief and rage, Terumasa,
the only remaining son, had leapt upon his horse and was about to
plunge headlong into the opposing lines to avenge their death when his
faithful servant, Dansuké, caught hold of his bridle and with all his
might strove to keep back the impetuous youth—he was barely twenty—from
rushing on his fate.
But all unavailing were his remonstrances and entreaties. Quite mad for
the nonce, Terumasa was determined to carry out his intention, and he
struck Dansuké more than one stinging blow with his whip in order
to force him to let go.
“Since you will not listen to reason, my lord, it is vain for me to
seek to detain you. Go, then, and gain renown from all who shall hear
of your gallant deed—friends and foes alike. I wish you good speed. Let
me touch up your horse a little that he may go the faster.”
With these words the man struck the horse a sound blow on the crupper;
but cunning fellow that he was, he also gave the bridle a backward
twist before releasing it.
Like one possessed the animal reared, and started off—not the way his
rider wished to go, but straight back in the opposite direction.
“The devil!” cried Terumasa.
He tried to pull up; to turn round; but in vain. The horse blessed
with more sense than his master knew which way safety lay and that way
he meant to pursue. Presently, however, his pace relaxed and Terumasa
exerting all his strength managed to arrest his flight. Patting him
gently on the neck and speaking soothing words Terumasa at length
succeeded in turning him round, and was once more on the point of
performing his rash act when once more he was stopped by Dansuké, who
running up, quite out of breath, a second time seized the bridle.
“Would you check me again, scoundrel?” shouted Terumasa. “Let go, let
go, I say, or you’ll repent it!”
Raising his whip again and again he brought it down each time with
telling force on the head and shoulders of the man who dared to thwart
him; but, nothing daunted, Dansuké held on like grim death though the
blood was streaming from the cuts he received.
“My lord, my lord,” he gasped. “I entreat you to be calm, and to
consider for a few moments. Of what avail is this desperate action?”
“What, would you have me sit down quietly under this double loss? Would
you have me show myself an undutiful son as well as a disloyal vassal?
Are the vile miscreants to slay as they please and go unpunished?
Never! Let me go, I say!”
“No, no, my dear young master, I will not let you go.... I will not let
you go thus blindly in your rage to certain death.... What is one man
among so many? Do not think I do not understand your feelings.... I do,
I do.... But, my lord, when you perish in a foolhardy, though brave,
attempt to avenge the death of your honoured father and brother,
who, bethink you, will be left to carry on the family name?... What
will become of the noble house of Ikeda? If you follow your relatives
to Hades in this precipitate fashion, will your father be pleased? Will
he commend your devotion and say ‘My son, you have done right to follow
me!’ Will he not rather inquire ‘In whose care have you left the honour
of our family and its concerns?’ Your filial and fraternal affection is
altogether admirable, but your desire for revenge should not blind you
to the higher duty that awaits you—the duty you owe to a long line of
illustrious ancestors, the handing on of an untarnished name.... I do
not urge that you should give up all thoughts of vengeance only that
you should postpone their execution to a more propitious season. It is
unworthy of yourself to give way to this uncontrollable passion. Think
of the responsibility that rests upon you as the sole representative
of your family now that my honoured lord, your father, and his son
are no more. The time will surely come when you will thank me for the
restraint that so enrages you to-day. Oh, my dear young master, do not
be angry, but listen to the words of your devoted servant.”
During this long speech Terumasa fumed and chafed, and with kicks and
blows sought to release himself. But Dansuké would not let go his grip
and earnestly did he pour forth his supplication, though perforce it
was delivered in rather jerky and intermittent fashion. The bloody and
tearstained countenance of poor Dansuké at last wrought on the feelings
of Terumasa and caused him to desist. Seeing no other course open to
him, he ungraciously gave in and allowed his servant to lead his horse
back to their own camp. Here much sympathy was expressed for him in
his bereavement, but it was the unanimous opinion that Dansuké had
done right, for the time for revenge was not now when he was only too
certain to lose his own life without taking toll of that of his enemies.
Thus did the faithful Dansuké save the life of his young master and
preserve the noble family of Ikeda from extinction.
* * * * *
Peace reigned, for a reconciliation had been effected between the
conflicting factions of Tokugawa Iyeyasu and Hashiba Hideyoshi, to
the latter of whom the Ikedas had adhered. Hideyoshi was proclaimed
Regent. The bitter enemies of yesterday had turned, as you turn
your hand, to the warm friends of to-day. Iyeyasu, long a widower,
now sought the hand of Hideyoshi’s younger sister in marriage and was
accepted. Hideyoshi, on his side, adopted a son of Iyeyasu’s for his
own. Thus “after the rain the ground hardened,” as the old saying has
it. All was smiling peace and goodwill between the two families which,
so short a time before had been at daggers drawn, not in the figurative
sense only, but in the most deadly reality.
Terumasa, his hot passion cooled down, began to look at things in a
new light. To what purpose had his revered father sacrificed his life?
To no purpose whatever! Not alone his father, but his elder brother
and his brother-in-law—each and all had died in an utterly meaningless
strife. No cause had been served by their death. By this time they were
doubtless gnashing their teeth in Hades at the inconsequence of it all.
He thought of his own feelings at the time and of Dansuké’s devotion
which had saved him from falling another victim to the fate which had
overtaken his relatives.
“At the moment Dansuké said, if I recollect aright, that the time would
surely come when I should thank him for restraining my rash act.
Yes, he was right, though I little thought so then and only yielded
because I had to. That time has come, and sooner than even Dansuké
could have foreseen. He is a worthy fellow that Dansuké—I must see what
I can do for him.”
No sooner said than done. Terumasa, in recognition of signal service
rendered in the face of danger, promoted his humble vassal to the rank
of a samurai; and Dansuké, being a man of parts, once having his feet
on the ladder speedily climbed to a high position. Ban Daizen, as he
was now called, rose step by step till at last he reached the highest
rank in the service of his lord, becoming one of the chief officials of
the Bizen clan. It is within the memory of living men that on the gate
of Ban’s house hung a pair of rusty stirrups. These stirrups are said
to have been the identical ones with which Lord Terumasa kicked the
progenitor of the house, Ban Daizen, at that time plain Dansuké, under
the circumstances above related, at the ever memorable battle of Komaki
Hill.
* * * * *
Though all was peaceful between the heads of the erstwhile belligerent
parties, Terumasa cherished an intense feeling of hatred towards
Tokugawa Iyeyasu, and resolved never to exchange greetings with the man
whom he deemed had indirectly been the cause of the death of his father
and elder brother. It was inevitable that the two should meet sometimes
at the palace of the Regent, and Iyeyasu was not so obtuse as not to
notice the stiff attitude of the young man, and shrewd enough to guess
what was passing in his mind. Having no ill will on his side, however,
Iyeyasu did his best to make friends. Whenever they came across each
other the older man would bow courteously and make a pleasant remark
about the weather, such as “Lord Ikeda, what a fine day it is!” or
“Lord Ikeda, the wind is very cold to-day!”. But Terumasa was blind
and deaf to all his overtures and would pass on quickly, with no
acknowledgment other than a savage stare.
And thus eight years rolled on.
The Regent was well aware of the estrangement between the two great
nobles, and it troubled him. He gave much thought to a plan that should
alter the relations between them.
“It grieves me much,” he said, one day to Iyeyasu, “to see that you and
Terumasa are not on good terms. I should be glad if you were friends.”
“Your Highness,” replied Iyeyasu, “it is what I should like myself. The
animosity is not on my side, I assure you. For what happened all those
years ago at the battle of Komaki he blames me still and ever harbours
thoughts of revenge. I know it from his manner, but what can I do?”
“If you will allow me, my friend, I will see what I can do for you.
Let me see, you have many daughters who are, as I have been told, fair
to look upon—what do you say to giving one of them in marriage to
Terumasa. His wife died some time ago and he has one little son. Would
you have any objection to the alliance?”
“None at all, Your Highness, but how think you? Is it likely Terumasa
will listen to such a proposal? If I have any knowledge of his
character he will but give a contemptuous refusal.”
“Not he! Do not concern yourself on that score. I will act
circumspectly, and if I am not very much mistaken, all will fall out as
we desire. Will you entrust the matter to my discretion?”
“Entirely, Your Highness; and if you succeed you will have my hearty
thanks.”
So far, so good. Hideyoshi’s next step was to summon Terumasa to
his presence, and when the young man appeared, he spoke to him as
follows:—
“My young friend, I hear that the sad death of your father and brother
at the battle of Komaki Hill is still rankling in your heart, and that
in consequence you refuse to be friends with Lord Tokugawa Iyeyasu.
The occurrence was indeed lamentable but it was the fortune of war and
to keep up a grudge so long against an innocent man is unreasonable.
The battle was between the Tokugawas and the Toyotomis, it was no
private conflict between the Tokugawas and the Ikedas. Peace has long
been restored—in these days it does not become a warrior to harbour
revengeful feelings against would-be friends—there are enough real foes
to fight. As a personal favour to me, if for no other reason, I ask you
to be reconciled to Iyeyasu and to forget the past. Or if my wish has
no weight with you, for love of the Emperor and of your native land,
throw off this evil feeling and be friends.”
The gentle pleading of his loved chief touched Terumasa’s stubborn
heart. He could not say him nay.
“Your Highness,” he said with his usual frank impetuosity, without
giving himself time to think. “It shall be as you desire. From this
moment I bid farewell to all ideas of revenge.”
“Your ready compliance augurs well for your sincerity,” said the great
statesman, much pleased. “I thank you, dear Terumasa, and I am sure you
will never regret your magnanimity.”
Some more talk passed between them on indifferent subjects, but as
Terumasa was about to retire the Regent seemed struck with a sudden
idea.
“Terumasa,” he said, “if I mistake not you are still a widower and
your little son has no one to take care of him;—it is time you married
again.”
“Some day, Your Highness, I may think about it, but I am in no haste.”
“It has just come into my head that it would be good to seal your
reconciliation with Tokugawa by marrying one of his daughters. That
would proclaim the fact to every one. If you permit me I will broach
the matter to him.”
This was going further than Terumasa altogether liked, but seeing no
help for it he gave his assent, secretly hoping the negotiations would
fail.
“I leave everything to your discretion, Your Highness,” he said. “I am
ready to do all you wish.”
“Then farewell for the present, Terumasa. I will let you know later on
what success I have.”
Congratulating himself on the result of his diplomacy the Regent lost
no time in telling Iyeyasu. It was agreed between them that Lady
Toku, the second daughter should be the bride; and Terumasa offering
no objection, preparations were speedily set on foot for the formal
betrothal.
But before this was celebrated, Terumasa presented himself before
Hideyoshi and proffered a request.
“Since things have progressed so far by your kind mediation, Your
Highness, it is of course a matter on which there can be no two
opinions that my retainers become Tokugawa’s and Tokugawa’s retainers
become mine. In a word we are reconciled and become as one family.
But there is one little point that must be clearly understood. It is
this. It is well known that one of Lord Tokugawa’s retainers, a man
named Nagai Naokatsu killed my father at the battle of Komaki. It is
impossible that I should ever feel anything but enmity against this
fellow. As I said before, this must be clearly understood.”
The Regent was nonplussed. It were unreasonable to condemn Terumasa’s
sentiments on this matter, and should he do so he felt convinced
that the young man would be only too glad to seize an excuse to back
out of the engagement and things would go back to their old footing.
Therefore, he saw nothing for it but to put a good face on the matter
and to answer cordially.
“There need be no disagreement about that, my dear Terumasa. Of course
you are at perfect liberty to indulge whatever feeling you like.”
So the daughter of Iyeyasu was betrothed to Terumasa and it was
arranged that the wedding should take place at the earliest possible
date.
* * * * *
Towards the end of February of the next year it became necessary that
Iyeyasu should go to his home in Yedo on some private business. The
war with Korea was at its height and the highest military authorities
had for some months been sitting in grave conclave at the Regent’s
headquarters at Nagoya in Hizen. Iyeyasu’s presence in Yedo offered
the first favourable opportunity for celebrating the nuptials of his
daughter, and it was settled that Terumasa should follow his intended
father-in-law to Yedo Castle as soon as possible.
Iyeyasu’s thoughts as he awaited his whilom foe were not all as joyful
as befitted a wedding. Anxious furrows lined his broad brow. Hideyoshi
had told him what the bridegroom had said about the man who had slain
those so near and dear to him, and Iyeyasu dreaded what those words
might portend. The idea crossed his mind that Terumasa might even
demand the head of Naokatsu as a wedding gift from the bride’s father.
“See that you pay his lordship the utmost respect and honour,” said he
to the four chief retainers whose place it was to receive the expected
guest. “It weighs heavy on my mind that he has an unconquerable
animosity against poor Nagai Naokatsu. Be careful never so much as to
mention his name and it may be Lord Ikeda will forget. I trust you will
not fail me in this important and delicate matter.”
“You may rely on our caution, my lord,” answered one of those he
addressed. “We will do all in our power to interest Lord Ikeda and to
divert his thoughts from dangerous subjects. And for fear of accidents
Nagai shall be warned to keep out of the way. Do not be anxious, my
lord, we will take every precaution.”
“That is well; I count on your fidelity.”
* * * * *
In due time Terumasa arrived at the castle. Iyeyasu’s four chief
retainers received him with the greatest courtesy and ushering him into
the spacious guest-room conducted him to the seat of honour. They then
retreated backwards to the other end of the apartment, whence, with
both hands on the mats, they bowed repeatedly the while they uttered
words of welcome.
“Lord Ikeda, we rejoice to see you and congratulate you on your safe
arrival after the dangers of your long journey. We beg to offer you our
humble felicitations on the happy event that has brought you hither,
and pray that all good fortune may ever attend you and your bride.”
“I am glad to find myself under this roof on so agreeable a mission,”
replied Terumasa genially. “There is no need for me to introduce myself
for you know who I am. It had been my design never to come to speaking
terms with Lord Tokugawa, but through the kindly mediation of His
Highness the Regent, all unfriendly thoughts have been banished and to
seal our alliance I have come here this day to wed his daughter.
Since the two families are to be thus united you are all my retainers,
and mine are all Lord Tokugawa’s. The old enmity is wiped out. We
start afresh on a new and better footing. I am delighted to make your
acquaintance.”
“My lord, it is very condescending of you to show us so much favour.
Permit us to profit by this opportunity to recommend ourselves to your
good graces.”
“May I enquire your names?”
“Ah, we have been remiss! I, who speak, am Ii Naomasa, at your service.”
“And I am Sakai Saemon, your lordship.”
“Can it be! I know your names well and I recall seeing you both at a
distance now and again before your camp at the time of the battle of
Komaki Hill. Yes, you fought valiantly.”
“Your lordship flatters us. We do not deserve such praise.”
“And who may you be, my friend?”
“My name, your lordship, is Nakatsukasa Tadakatsu, formerly Honda
Heihachiro.”
“I know, I know! It was a misty morning when I saw you fighting
bravely on the bank of the river near Ryūsenji Temple in Kasugai. Yes,
yes, you, too, acquitted yourself splendidly.”
“My lord, I do not merit such commendation; I am but a plain soldier.”
“There is one more—may I ask your name also?”
“Sakakibara Yasumasa, my lord.”
“Do I behold the countenance of the renowned Sakakibara?—Sakakibara,
who by himself gave chase to Lord Hideyoshi when he was forced to
retreat near Hosonigaki? Your temerity on that occasion is still
vividly remembered by His Highness. He admits, of an evening when in a
talkative mood, that he was never so terrified in his life! Ha, ha, ha!
You were a bold man.”
“The past is past and forgotten, my lord. I am now one of the most
faithful and obedient servants of His Highness. We whose trade is that
of arms, fight and make peace as the god of war casts his dice—we have
no choice in the matter.”
“The presence of so many brave soldiers who took part in the battle of
Komaki Hill gives me much pleasure. My thoughts are carried back to the
past and—that reminds me—my brave sirs, will you answer me one
question?”
“As many as it is your pleasure to put, your lordship.”
“I have heard of one Nagai Naokatsu who was also at the battle; what
has become of him?”
This was a bolt from the blue! The four veterans, brave men though they
were, looked from one to the other in consternation and dismay, quite
at a loss how to reply. That which their lord had warned them against
had befallen in the very first hour. Terumasa seeing, and it must be
confessed, enjoying, their discomfiture, pressed for his answer.
“What has become of Nagai? Where is he now?” he repeated, impatiently.
Another exchange of glances. Not one of them dared to take upon himself
the onus of the answer.
“Have you suddenly lost your hearing, sirs? I ask again, What has
become of Nagai?”
It was plain that Terumasa was losing his temper.
“Begging your lordship’s pardon,” faltered Sakai Saemon, behind whom
the others were gradually insinuating themselves as they pushed him
forward to fulfil his usual office of spokesman, “I believe he is
in good health, and still in our lord’s service.”
“Still in your lord’s service? I am glad of that; it removes a great
weight from my mind. It is to see this same Nagai, the murderer of
my father, that I have covered so many miles. You will oblige me by
bringing him before me without delay.”
“My lord, I venture to suggest that you send for him after your
interview with Lord Tokugawa.”
“That can wait. I desire to see this Nagai first. If you refuse, it
only remains for me to leave Yedo at once without paying my respects to
his lordship. I have spoken.”
There was no doubting that Terumasa meant what he said. There was
nothing for it but to apprise their master of what had happened in
spite of their precautions, and to leave the matter to his judgment.
Sakai Saemon bowed low as he said:—
“My lord, deign to wait a few minutes. I will oblige you with all
speed.”
“No equivocation, mind. Beware how you play with me!”
Sakai withdrew, his three friends having already disappeared. Terumasa
smiled grimly to himself. Nothing was lost upon him.
The four retainers hastened to their lord’s chamber. He looked up as
they entered and asked pleasantly:—
“Well, he has arrived?”
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Is all well?”
“No, your lordship; we fear the worst has happened.”
“How! What do you mean?”
“He demands to be at once confronted with Nagai.”
“Did I not warn you....” began Iyeyasu, angrily; then he checked
himself, and with arms folded and head sunk on his breast, considered
the situation.
“You say that Lord Ikeda insists on seeing Nagai Naokatsu at once?” he
queried presently, looking up.
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Then by all means, let him see Nagai. Lord Ikeda is not a madman. He
has come here to marry my daughter. It is not likely, unless he is out
of his mind, that he will upset all our plans and imperil the favour of
the Regent just to satisfy an old grudge.”
“Judging from his words and manner there is no saying what he may or
may not do, your lordship.”
“Humph!”
“Should he put his hand on his sword when he finds Nagai before him,
we shall not be able to stop him from wreaking his vengeance. Or
should he demand Nagai’s head for a wedding present, how can we refuse?”
“Will he go so far as that?”
“Nothing more likely, your lordship.”
“I was afraid of this. Let me think what can be done.”
Iyeyasu pondered awhile, a deep frown of perplexity and trouble on
his forehead. Then as if a solution had suddenly come to him his eyes
sparkled, and he spoke firmly.
“Take Nagai Naokatsu into the presence of Lord Ikeda as he desires, and
if he demands his head as a wedding gift deny him resolutely. Those are
my orders.”
“Your lordship, it is easy to obey, but if we act like that there will
be an end to the proposed marriage, and you will incur the displeasure
of His Highness, the Regent. Dare you run such a risk?”
“Do not trouble yourselves about results, only do as I tell you. If
Lord Ikeda asks for the head of Nagai as a wedding gift, remind him
that the battle of Komaki was fought between the Tokugawas and the
Toyotomis—it was no private affair of the Ikedas. Nagai served
under his chief and killed General Ikeda Nobuteru by the fortune of
war. It was one of the chances of battle and in a fair field. Nagai did
but do his duty. If Terumasa feels any animosity for the death of his
relatives it should be directed against me, the principal, not against
Nagai who was only fighting under my orders. Therefore, tell him, he
is welcome to wreak all his vengeance upon my daughter, Lady Toku,
his bride. Let him cut her in strips if so he wills and I shall not
interfere, but let him understand explicitly that Iyeyasu will never
sacrifice his loyal retainer on any consideration whatever.”
“My lord, your words impress us deeply. We will return and try to
adjust the matter to the satisfaction of all parties!”
Nagai Naokatsu was sent for. The four retainers told him how things
stood, and further instructed him to be on his guard, ready to fly
should the young nobleman’s hand move towards his sword-hilt.
Then the four went back to the guest-room where Terumasa fuming and
chafing had been waiting all this time.
And now it was Sakakibara Yasumasa who spoke first.
“My lord, we apologize for the long delay,” he began.
“Have you brought Nagai—where is he?” Terumasa interrupted him.
“Yes, my lord, he is without.”
“That is well. Show him instantly into my presence.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The sliding screens were pushed aside and there, in the ante-chamber,
at a very respectful distance calculated for the convenience of making
his escape in case of need, sat Nagai, his bent head hiding his face.
“Are you Nagai?”
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Come here, Nagai.”
“My lord, I am unworthy to approach your honourable lordship.”
“Away with excuses! Come here, I say.”
“My lord, I cannot venture so far.”
“You try my patience beyond its limit, sirrah!”
Terumasa rose to his feet precipitately and crossed the intervening
space to where Nagai crouched. The sweat burst out on the four men who
were witnesses of the scene; they trembled for what would come.
“Why do you not come when I call?” thundered Terumasa, seizing the
other’s wrists and dragging him over the floor, “I’ll teach you to obey
at once!”
Terumasa being a big man and possessed of great strength, Nagai was as
a sparrow in the talons of a hawk and entirely at his mercy. Before he
had time to think, much less to struggle, he found himself landed by
the cushion where Terumasa had been sitting since his arrival and on
which he again seated himself.
“Look at me, sirrah!” commanded Terumasa.
“My lord,” said the frightened wretch, “I cannot do that.”
“Look at me. You were not such a craven when you killed my father
Nobuteru in cold blood, on the ninth day of the fourth month in the
twelfth year of Tensho.”
“All the more reason why I should quail now, your lordship.”
“You are a most obstinate fellow! Why will you never do as I tell you?”
Terumasa took hold of the man’s collar and twisted his face upwards.
Looking calmly and critically at it for a moment or two he observed
complacently.
[Illustration: Terumasa took hold of the man’s collar and twisted his
face upwards]
“Well, Nagai Naokatsu, it affords me much gratification to look at
you. I have been told that you have the best appearance of all
the men in the service of Lord Tokugawa. My informant was right—you
are undoubtedly a very handsome man, though at the present moment you
do not appear to the best advantage.... It is a satisfaction to know
that my father met his death at the hands of so creditable a soldier.
Without doubt he went the less reluctantly to the spirit world. So far,
well, Nagai.”
Naokatsu gave himself up for lost. Though far from being a coward at
ordinary times, the stern aspect and speech of Terumasa whom he had so
greatly, though inadvertently, wronged, awed and intimidated him.
The four retainers stood prepared to interfere at the last moment
should it be necessary, and they too thought Nagai’s doom was sealed.
Still keeping his grip on the collar of his victim’s garment, Terumasa
continued to gaze at him thoughtfully. Then turning to the other men he
asked abruptly:—
“What annual stipend does he receive at the present time?”
“One thousand _koku_ of rice from his fief near Kawagoé.”
“And how much did he get at the time of the battle of Komaki?”
“Two hundred _koku_, your lordship.”
Terumasa flung the man from him and clapped both hands on his knees.
Tears of mortification stood in his eyes.
“Can I credit my ears? At the time of the battle his stipend was two
hundred _koku_; now after the lapse of well-nigh ten years it has risen
to only one thousand _koku_, and that derived from an out-of-the-way
hole like Kawagoé! Ah, what a worthless fellow he must be! To think
that my revered father perished by the hand of such an insignificant
creature! It is too humiliating! Father, I fear you can never forgive
yourself for allowing such a disgraceful thing to happen. You must
everlastingly be bemoaning your untoward fate in the land of the
shades. I, Terumasa, your son, sympathise with you from the bottom of
my heart!”
His emotion was so genuine that tears trickled down his dark cheeks and
he seemed to forget that there were witnesses of his unusual weakness.
Not for long, however. Recovering his composure, he turned his eyes on
the men before him.
“Sirs,” he said, “I told you a short time since, that my main
object in coming to Yedo was to behold the countenance of this man,
the slayer of my father and brother. I have seen him and am not
disappointed. But there is one request that I desire you will kindly
submit to my future father-in-law. It concerns this same Nagai
Naokatsu. If, according to custom, his lordship intends giving me a
wedding present....”
Here it was at last! The four chief retainers could not restrain a
shudder, and the face of Nagai grew livid. It was Ii who first found
his voice.
“My lord,” he stammered, “what you say is reasonable and we expected
as much. But will you not let bygones be bygones? The Komaki affair
happened nearly ten years ago and it is too late to rake it up.
Moreover, this is a day highly blessed by the god of peace—a day on
which two noble families are to be joined. Let not such an occasion
be marred by a deed of revenge and blood. I entreat your lordship to
reconsider your words and mercifully to let Nagai live!”
“My lord, we all unite in humbly pleading for the life of this
unfortunate man!” chorused the other three, as all threw themselves
down with heads touching the mats before him.
“What are you all talking about?” said Terumasa, unceremoniously. “Who
said I wanted the life of Nagai? Nothing is further from my thoughts.
This is what I wish you to ask Lord Tokugawa—that he will use his
influence with His Highness, the Regent, to have this fellow created
a daimio, as soon as possible, with an annual income of, say, ten
thousand _koku_.”
Amazement was depicted on the faces of the five men—amazement and
relief. Iyeyasu, who behind a sliding screen had heard all that had
passed, now pushed it aside and ran into the room. Clasping Terumasa’s
hands in his he raised them to his head while he gave vent to his
feelings as follows:—
“Terumasa, you have acquitted yourself nobly! I am unworthy of so
magnanimous a son-in-law. What can I say but that I will do all in my
power to further your truly chivalrous request.”
* * * * *
After the wedding Terumasa returned with his bride to the city of
Nagoya, where Iyeyasu soon followed him. He told the whole story to
the Regent and proffered his request. Hideyoshi slapped his knee in
approval.
“Terumasa is a true samurai,” he said. “Rest assured his petition shall
meet with immediate attention.”
* * * * *
Accordingly, Nagai Naokatsu, a minor vassal, of one thousand _koku_,
from a place near Kawagoé, was at a bound promoted to the dignity of a
daimio worth ten thousand _koku_ yearly.
So you see that Ikeda Nobuteru did not fall by the sword of a nameless
samurai!
THE HEROISM OF TORII KATSUTAKA
The little garrison besieged in the Castle of Nagashino, in the
province of Mikawa, was in desperate straits.
Okudaira Sadayoshi, Governor of the castle, was away at a distance on
business of importance, and his son, Sadamasa, was left in command with
a small company of but eight hundred men. These fought with the courage
of despair; but having been taken at unawares, the castle was ill
provided with ammunition and provisions, and at the end of a fortnight
death, from starvation, or the alternative of surrender, stared them in
the face.
It was at the close of April in the third year of Tensho (1575). Takeda
Katsuyori, Lord of Kai, knowing his feudal enemy, Sadayoshi, to be
absent, deemed it a good opportunity to attack his stronghold; and,
therefore, at the head of 28,000, suddenly swooped down and surrounded
the castle. Stationing his head-quarters on a hill opposite the main
entrance, he invested it on all sides, day and night continuing
the assaults on the walls, so that, if possible, it might fall into his
hands before either Sadayoshi’s liege lord, Tokugawa Iyeyasu, or the
latter’s powerful ally, Oda Nobunaga, could come to the rescue.
By the end of two weeks some three hundred of the defenders had been
killed, or so seriously wounded as to be incapable of rendering further
aid; and sparing though they had been of it, food remained for barely
two days more. In this sore strait Sadamasa summoned all his men and
with calm courage and determination addressed them as follows:—
“My men,” he said, “I cannot speak too highly of your bravery and
devotion, and I thank you. But the odds against us are too great and
the castle must be given up. Our ammunition has almost run out and we
have food for but two days more. To send for help is impossible, so
closely does the enemy watch every outlet. I will send an envoy to
Takeda requesting that you may all depart unmolested, while I myself
will commit _seppuku_. It may be in your hearts to fight to the end
rather than surrender the castle, but of what avail would it be for you
thus to sacrifice your lives. It would do no good to me nor to anyone
else. It is my wish that you should all live to join my father and
hereafter fight again for him and it may be recover the castle that we
are now forced by wholly unforeseen and unavoidable circumstances to
yield. There is nothing else to be done. Save yourselves and allow me
to commit _seppuku_.”
Sadamasa ceased speaking, but before the sound of his grave tones had
died away, a ringing voice from the rear took up his words.
“Commit _seppuku_, my lord! It is too soon to talk of such a desperate
measure! With your permission I will steal my way through the enemy’s
lines and summon reinforcements before it is too late.”
“Is it Katsutaka who speaks? My brave fellow, I appreciate your desire,
but the idea is quite impracticable. How could a rat, much less a giant
like you over six feet, get through the enemy’s lines unobserved, and
supposing such a miracle accomplished, how could an army reach us
in time to avert our dying from starvation? It is not without deep
consideration that I have come to the conclusion that I have just made
known to you. Your project is impossible.”
“Not so, my lord,” Katsutaka spoke quietly like a man who has fully
made up his mind and knows what he is about. “As you know, I am a
good swimmer, and I am strong. I will cross the river in the dark and
hurrying at utmost speed to His Excellency Lord Tokugawa lay before him
our need and request the instant despatch of troops to disperse the
besiegers. I have thought the matter over; I can do it.”
“Bravely conceived and bravely spoken, Katsutaka! Well, desperate
diseases call for desperate remedies. You can but fail and we shall be
no worse off than before. Go, my friend, and may luck attend you!” He
paused, for emotion made it difficult to speak; then recovering his
voice, he went on:—“Should you effect your escape, as you hope, it is
necessary that we should know of it that we may hold out to the last
minute. How can you inform us of the fact!”
“Easily, my lord. I will climb to the summit of Mt. Funatsuki and
cause smoke to rise by way of a signal. From thence to Okazaki where
Lord Tokugawa is in residence is a distance of only twenty-three miles
or so. I shall arrive at his castle by noon to-morrow, and having
delivered my message shall return without delay.”
“And how can you tell us of the coming of reinforcements?”
“At midnight, the day after to-morrow, I shall be back on the mountain,
and again I will signal to you by smoke. One column of smoke will
mean that His Excellency Lord Tokugawa’s troops are coming alone; two
will mean that they are accompanied by those of Lord Oda; and three
will signify that His Excellency’s army has been joined by both Lords
Oda,—an allied army of three divisions.”
“Can you by any possibility inform us of the number of troops?”
“Nothing easier, my lord. One shot will tell you that 10,000 troops are
on their way; two shots, 20,000; three shots 30,000. Have no fears, my
lord. I am confident that I shall succeed.”
“Heaven aid your heroic spirit, Katsutaka! When do you propose to
start?”
“With your permission, as soon as it is dark, my lord. There is no time
to be lost. Farewell!”
“Stay, my friend. I will give you something before you go. See here.”
Katsutaka approached nearer and his master gave into his hands a case
of costly incense and a valuable sword.
“This incense is a family treasure, having been handed down from
our ancestor, Prince Tomohira, the seventh son of the Emperor Murakami;
and this sword is another heirloom—a noted blade by Sadamuné. Take
these articles as some small recognition of your bravery and loyalty.”
With deep reverence the soldier received the precious gifts.
“Your lordship is too good to his humble servant. I accept your
generosity with profound gratitude.”
“Stay yet again, Katsutaka! I must pledge you in a parting cup.”
Two cups were brought and a bottle of _saké_. Katsutaka then executed a
war-dance singing a martial strain the while. Then he departed to make
the few preparations necessary for his perilous undertaking, leaving
all those assembled, both officers and men, full of admiration for his
heroism.
Clad in the lightest attire and with a small packet wrapped in
waterproof oil-paper in his hand, in the stillness of night, Katsutaka
stole out of a postern gate and crept to the bank of the River Iwashiro
which flowed at no great distance past the castle. The rainy season
having already set in, the stream was much swollen and the swift
current in its windings dashed furiously against either bank in
turn. Katsutaka hid himself among the tall reeds growing on the edge
and cast a searching eye in every direction. The full moon, breaking
out of a heavy bank of clouds, made the night almost as bright as day;
and to his dismay the adventurer saw that a web of large and small
ropes to which were fastened innumerable clappers was extended over the
stream, and that a close line of sentinels was on guard on the opposite
shore. When anything happened to touch the ropes the clappers would
rattle loudly “gara-gara, gara-gara,” and at each rattle the sentinels
were on the alert with torches to discover the cause of the noise.
At this unexpected difficulty Katsutaka was greatly taken aback.
How could he swim across the river in the face of such vigilant
precautions? To add to his dismay he saw waving lazily in the gentle
night breeze an _umajirushi_ or “horse-badge” and a flag, both bearing
a coat of arms that he knew belonged to Baba Nobufusa who was esteemed
the ablest of all the veteran generals of the opposing army.
“I am certainly under an unlucky star,” groaned Katsutaka. “With Baba
Nobufusa in charge of this side it is well-nigh impossible for me to
cross the river and effect a landing. But I will not give up
without doing my best, and it may be I shall yet find a way to elude
their vigilance.”
He tore up a reed and was about to hurl it into the river when it
struck him that if the root had earth on it the sagacious Nobufusa
would conclude that some one was hiding in the vicinity and order
his soldiers to make a strict search. That would be fatal to his
enterprise. He, therefore, washed the mud off the reed and then threw
it into the stream. Immediately it got entangled in the network
of ropes and set all the clappers clattering loudly, “gara-gara,
gara-gara.”
On the instant two sentinels leapt into the water and drew the reed to
land. It was taken to Nobufusa who carefully examined the root by the
light of a torch.
“There is nothing suspicious about this reed,” said the general. “It is
of no consequence.”
Katsutaka, peering intently from his hiding place on the other side,
felt his heart sink.
“It is hopeless to think of crossing,” he said to himself.
After a few moments of despondency he once more uprooted a reed and
washing off the mud as before cast it into the river. Again the
clappers were set a-going and again some of the men plunged into
the water to seek the cause.
“Another reed, my lord,” said the man who handed it to the general.
“The reeds are being washed off the bank by the flood,” he remarked
after examining the reed. “It is nothing; but nevertheless do not relax
your vigilance, my men.”
Katsutaka now picked up a dead branch that had been washed ashore, and
threw it at the ropes, and after that another reed. So he went on,
throwing now one thing, now another, keeping the clappers rattling
so unintermittingly that in time Nobufusa’s soldiers ceased to take
notice of the sound and no longer dashed into the river at every fresh
repetition. Still, however, Katsutaka could not venture to enter the
river himself, for watchful eyes never left off scanning the dark
waters. Time was passing. What could he do? Katsutaka was well-nigh in
despair. To return and confess he had failed at the very outset was
insupportable—unthinkable even!
Just then he heard the roll of a drum—the guard was being relieved.
Nobufusa’s men retired and Atobé Ōinosuké’s took their place.
Katsutaka’s spirits rose. Ōinosuké was noted for his subtlety, he knew,
but could not be compared with Nobufusa in patient strategy. Once more
Katsutaka began throwing things into the river, but the fresh sentinels
were very much on the alert and examined everything that set the
clappers rattling. Poor Katsutaka was feeling indeed hopeless when the
heavy clouds that had been coming up unobserved, obscured the moon and
there was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Then with appalling
swiftness the storm was upon them. The noise was terrific. The heavy
rush of the rain that came down in sheets, the roar of the wind and the
roll and rattle of thunder made a pandemonium of the erstwhile peaceful
night.
Katsutaka had no fear of the elements; he only thought that now his
course was clear. He danced and shouted for joy, knowing that he could
be neither seen nor heard through the tumult and pitchy darkness. But
no time was to be lost. The storm might pass over as rapidly as it had
come. Stripping himself bare and tying his oil-paper package round his
neck he slipped into the turbid waters and with his dagger cut some
of the ropes that crossed it. The noisy clappers sounded faintly to
the watchers on the opposite bank, but as some men were about to
investigate their general stopped them.
“It is unnecessary, my men,” he said. “The clappers are moved by fish
coming down the flood from the upper reaches of the river. None of the
garrison opposite would be so mad as to attempt to cross in such a
storm—it would mean instant death. Therefore be reassured.”
“You speak truly, my lord,” assented one of the men. “It can only be
fish as your honour says.”
Tossed and whirled about by the current, Katsutaka struggled to the
opposite bank at a point about half a mile from where he had started.
He found this part also well guarded, but hoped that under cover of the
darkness and noise he might get through. Stealthily he was making his
way when suddenly his foot slipped on the wet ground and he fell with a
slight thud.
“Who goes there?” rang out the quick challenge in his ear.
Startled, Katsutaka scrambled to his feet and laid his hand on the hilt
of his dagger.
“One of the patrol, sir,” he answered readily.
“Is that all? I pity you out in the storm. Pass on!”
“Thank you, Captain. Good-night, sir.”
“Good-night. Do not relax your care. The enemy may take advantage of
the storm.”
“I will take care, sir.”
Thus his presence of mind saved the situation when all seemed lost, and
the first and most difficult part of his enterprise was accomplished.
* * * * *
By the time Katsutaka had ascended to the summit of the mountain from
whence he intended to signal, the rain had almost ceased and the rumble
of thunder was barely audible in the growing distance. As he paused
to take breath the moon shone out again and bathed the landscape
in silvery loveliness. With material brought in his little package
he managed to make a small blaze, trusting it would be seen by the
watchers at the castle who would be anxious to know of his escape. Then
once more resuming his journey he hastened down the declivity and with
no further adventure arrived at the town of Okazaki about 10 o’clock
the following morning.
As he drew near the castle he met an officer on horseback attended by
a few men on foot. To his great joy he recognized his own chief,
Lord Okudaira Sadayoshi. Placing himself in the way and bowing with due
reverence:—
“I am Torii Katsutaka, my lord,” he said, “and I have come on an urgent
errand from your honourable son at present beleaguered in the Castle of
Nagashino.”
“Beleaguered! My son beleaguered! What mean you by such strange
tidings? Follow me; I will return to the castle instantly.”
Turning his horse and followed closely by his retinue and Katsutaka,
Sadayoshi cantered quickly back the way he had come and dismounting in
the courtyard demanded of the messenger a more explicit and detailed
account of how matters stood. He was indignant beyond measure at what
he heard.
“This is wholly unexpected and unwelcome news,” he exclaimed. “My brave
fellow, your daring deed is beyond all praise. I came here two days ago
with Lord Tokugawa, on my way home intending to stay a short time. Now
I must proceed instantly. Wait here while I go to tell His Excellency;
it may be he will wish to question you himself.”
In a very short time an attendant summoned Katsutaka to the presence of
the famous statesman.
“Torii Katsutaka,” said he kindly, “you are a brave man, and have done
a wonderful thing. Let me know exactly how matters stand at the Castle
of Nagashino. You have my permission to speak to me directly.”
Expressing his sense of the honour shown him, Katsutaka, in the simple
words of a plain soldier, gave a detailed account of the state of
affairs within and without the castle when he had left it.
“If reinforcements be not instantly despatched, Your Excellency,”
he concluded, “the garrison will starve to death. I entreat, Your
Excellency, let no time be lost.”
“Reinforcements shall be sent with all possible speed,” said Iyeyasu.
“By a happy chance both Lords Oda are now in this province with their
troops, and they can reach the besieged castle in two, or at the most,
three days. But for you we should have known nothing till too late. You
are a hero indeed. Now go and get food and rest before you start on
your return journey.”
* * * * *
The afternoon of the same day, Iyeyasu, at the head of 20,000 men
proceeded to the castle of Ushikubo, where he was joined by the two
Lords Oda with their combined forces of 50,000 men. Arrangements were
set on foot for an early start the next morning.
Iyeyasu then spoke to Katsutaka again:—
“As you see, our allied armies will be able to reach Nagashino in two
days at the latest. So rest assured that the relief will be in time.
You must be greatly fatigued. Remain here a few days till you are fully
rested.”
“Your Excellency is too considerate, but I cannot take advantage of
your kindness. I must return at once and tell the garrison of the
success of my mission and that help is coming. Allow me to set out
without delay.”
“By your own showing it would be quite impossible for you to re-enter
the castle in the manner in which you came out. Do not be rash, but
stay here as I advise you.”
“A thousand pardons, Your Excellency,” said Katsutaka, respectfully,
but firmly. “At the risk of my life I undertook this errand; I will
carry it through to the end. It is an honour more than my poor life is
worth to have been granted speech with Your Excellency and favoured
with words of commendation from your august lips. Life can offer me
no higher grace. Even should I be captured by the enemy and put
to an ignominious death I should have nothing to regret. The garrison
is starving; to know that help is on the way will give them new life.
Permit me to go, Your Excellency.”
“If you are so set upon it,” replied Lord Tokugawa, “I will say no
more. You shall take a letter from me to Sadamasa.”
“That would be dangerous, Your Excellency. If the letter were found on
my person notice would be given of your approach and the enemy would
take steps accordingly.”
“Right,” said Iyeyasu with a smile. “You are wise as well as brave, my
Katsutaka!”
Then Katsutaka bade farewell to Lord Tokugawa and Lord Okudaira
Sadayoshi, and shouldering his gun set out once more on his perilous
journey.
* * * * *
Anxiously did the diminishing and weakened garrison at the besieged
castle wait for the signal that should tell them help was coming.
Cheered by the knowledge that Katsutaka, contrary to expectation, had
succeeded in eluding the sentinels they now had some hope that he would
have the same good fortune in his further quest. In turn watchmen
went up to the high tower and strained their eyes in the direction
whence the promised signal would appear. At midnight of the second day,
to their boundless joy, they descried a light as of a bonfire on Mt.
Funatsuki; and soon three columns of dark smoke rose in the still air
plainly seen against the sky that was lighted up by a great round moon.
Help was coming! But would it be sufficient? How many troops were on
their way? Hark! a sharp report, and then another and yet another till
seven shots gave the glad assurance of the approach of 70,000 men. The
starving men took heart again, and forgetting hunger and wounds looked
forward with joy to their speedy relief.
But the sound of the shots reached other ears as well as those for
which it was intended. The company on guard at the foot of the mountain
heard it too, and a detachment went up to investigate. General Naito
Masatoyo himself led the little band. With no thought of danger
Katsutaka, triumphant, was gaily running down when he found himself
surrounded by the very men he wished to avoid.
“Halt! Who are you?” demanded the general. Katsutaka’s ready wit did
not desert him.
“Hearing shots, I have been with my comrades to find out what they
meant. We have searched everywhere but can find no one. I am coming
down to report our failure.”
“Come nearer and let me see your face. Who is your captain?”
“I belong to the company of riflemen under the command of Captain
Anayama.”
“Your name!”
“My name—my name is....”
“Men, take this fellow prisoner.”
More easily said than done. At the command four or five soldiers sprang
forward to obey, but Katsutaka made such a vigorous defence that they
found it impossible to hold him; and freeing himself from their grasp
he ran down towards the foot of the hill. More soldiers were coming up,
however, so he turned back, hoping under cover of some bushes to slip
past and thus escape. But he was seen and caught as in a trap. Dealing
heavy blows right and left he made a good fight, but the odds were too
overwhelming and he was at last forced to yield. His gun was taken from
him and handed to the general who found thereon an inscription in red
lacquer, “One of 3,000 guns belonging to the Castle of Okazaki.”
The truth flashed upon him. He guessed that the man they had captured
had been to Okazaki to ask for reinforcements. Late though it was he
must be taken before the Commander-in-chief, General Katsuyori, at once.
Bloodstained and travel-worn Katsutaka presented a pitiable sight when,
roused from his slumbers, the general surveyed him by the imperfect
light of a lantern. Yet there was something in the bearing of the man
that called forth a feeling of admiration for his courage rather than
compassion for his condition and circumstances.
“Your name?” said the general.
Having no motive now for concealment Katsutaka spoke out boldly.
“Torii Katsutaka, retainer of Lord Okudaira Sadamasa, Governor of the
Castle of Nagashino.”
“You have been to Okazaki, for reinforcements, and fired these shots
from the top of Mt. Funatsuki by a prearranged plan. Is it not so?”
“It is so, Your Excellency.”
“It was a hazardous errand. You must tell me later how you managed
to creep through our lines. I know how to appreciate and reward
bravery, and would like to number you among my men. If you will come
over to us I will give you a yearly stipend of 1,000 _koku_[4] of rice.
If you refuse you die.”
Pretending to be pleased with the offer Katsutaka accepted it with many
expressions of gratitude. He was thinking that by doing this he might
put his captors off their guard and be able to escape, or in some way
render a service to those shut up in the castle.
“You do me too much honour, Your Excellency,” he said. “I am but a
humble private but I will use all diligence to serve you faithfully.”
“I am glad you are troubled by no foolish scruples as to desertion,”
said the general, who nevertheless was somewhat surprised at the ready
acceptance of his proposal. “There is something I desire you to do at
once to prove your sincerity.”
In a low voice General Katsuyori gave an order to an _aide-de-camp_,
who retired and after a little time came back with a written paper
which he handed to his chief. It purported to be a letter from
Sadayoshi to his son, informing him that, on account of a sudden
outbreak of insurrection, Lord Tokugawa was unable to despatch troops
to the relief of the Castle of Nagashino and that there was nothing to
be done but to give it up on the best terms available. The letter was
a skilful imitation of Sadayoshi’s hand, for it had been written by an
officer who had once served under him and who was well acquainted with
his style.
Showing the forgery to Katsutaka with no little pride, Katsuyori said:—
“Now, my man, you must write another letter to confirm the intelligence
contained in this one, and both letters shall be at once shot over the
walls. What! do you hesitate?”
Seeing no course open to him but to obey, Katsutaka did as required.
The two missives were then fastened to an arrow and shot into the
castle by a skilled archer.
The consternation and disappointment of the expectant garrison can be
better imagined than described. All the more bitter was this news from
the hope that had preceded it. Strong men wept.
But Okudaira Jiyemon, chief Councillor, having closely examined the
letters, burst out laughing.
“It is hardly an occasion for mirth, Jiyemon,” said Sadamasa, much
displeased at this untimely merriment. “May I inquire the nature of the
joke?”
“Ha, ha, ha! I beg your lordship’s pardon, but Katsuyori is a dull
fellow to imagine we could be taken in so easily. Be so good as to look
at this paper—it is not the kind manufactured in this province such as
our lord always uses, but in theirs. That one fact gives them away.
Never fear, my lord! Take my word for it, Katsutaka’s signals told the
truth. This is but a plot to deceive us into surrendering before help
comes.”
It was now plain to all that the letters were not genuine and their
spirits again rose. Going up to the high tower Sadamasa called so that
the sentinels on the other side could hear him.
“Soldiers of Kai, approach! I have something to say in answer to the
letters sent me but now. Request an officer to come near enough to hear
my words.”
[Illustration: He raised his voice so that every word rang clear and
distinct]
Nothing doubting but that Sadamasa wished to make terms of surrender,
Katsuyori himself came forth, attended by his suite.
“Accept my best thanks for your arrow-letters,” began Sadamasa
politely. “It was good of you to pass on my father’s communication
and I am much obliged to you.” Then suddenly changing his tone, “Do you
think,” he thundered, “that such a clumsy trick could deceive us or
induce me to give up the stronghold of my ancestors? Fools! The laugh
is on our side! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared the men behind him greatly enjoying the
discomfiture of the men below.
Katsuyori was furious.
“Go, Katsutaka,” he shouted. “Go to the edge of the moat and tell them
that no reinforcements are coming—that they must surrender!”
Guarded by two men, for he had not yet been set at liberty, Katsutaka
stepped forward to the edge of the moat, and raising his voice so that
every word rang clear and distinct:—
“Listen, my lord, and comrades,” he said. “What I tell you is the
truth. Lord Tokugawa and the two Lords Oda, with an allied army of
70,000 men are hastening to your rescue. They will be here to-morrow
without fail. The arrow-letters are utterly false. Rest assured!”
So wholly unexpected was this bold speech that no one thought of
stopping it till the mischief was done. As a mighty cheer
went up from the besieged, however, the infuriated soldiers of the
investing army seized Katsutaka and in mad fury kicked and cuffed
him mercilessly. Then at Katsuyori’s command they crucified him just
opposite the main gate of the castle he had given his life to save.
* * * * *
Early the next morning the allied forces came and the Kai army being
utterly routed, the siege was raised.
[4] A koku is about four bushels; in feudal days it was customary to
pay the samurai in rice.
THE WRESTLING OF A DAIMIO
In the second month of the fifteenth year of Tenshō (A.D. 1587),
Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who had brought the greater part of Japan under his
sway, crossed over to the Island of Kyūshiū with a large army, in order
to subjugate Shimazu Yoshihisa, an independent daimio governing eight
of the nine provinces that form the island. The following month Gamō
Ujisato, a renowned general in Hideyoshi’s army, advanced to the Castle
of Ganshaku in the province of Buzen, and attacked it fiercely for
three successive days. The garrison, however, offered such a stubborn
resistance that little impression was made; and it seemed unlikely
that the fortress would fall into the hands of the besiegers for some
time. Ujisato, being a man of impetuous and fiery disposition, lost all
patience, and rated his men soundly.
“Cowards!” he shouted. “How is it you are so long in taking such an
insignificant place? Have you all turned women? I will take the castle
single-handed!”
He dashed to the front, spurring his steed recklessly forward in the
very teeth of a volley of arrows and bullets that was directed at him.
But as he neared the ramparts a shot struck his horse in the abdomen
causing it, with a scream of agony, to rear itself up on its hind legs
and throw its rider backwards off the saddle. At the instant, the gate
of the castle was flung open, and a number of men rushed out. The
fallen warrior encompassed by the foe thought his end had come, when
a giant clad in black armour and mounted on a great chestnut horse
dashed to the rescue. With mighty strokes he cut and hewed right and
left, scattering the enemy like leaves before the wind of autumn. Some
fell dead beneath the hoofs of his horse, others took to their heels
and regained the shelter of the walls. Nishimura Gonshirō did not
trouble himself to follow the fugitives, but leaping from his charger
hastened to raise his chief. Ujisato was but slightly wounded, and with
Gonshirō’s help was able to mount the latter’s horse.
“A thousand thanks, my gallant fellow,” he said, gathering up the
reins. “But for you I should by this time have been a dead man. I shall
never forget you have saved my life this day, and it will be my
great pleasure after the war to express my gratitude in some tangible
form.”
The example of Gonshirō’s heroic deed seemed to put new spirit into
Ujisato’s men, and with greater determination and bravery they stormed
the castle. As a result in the course of a few hours the garrison was
obliged to surrender, and before many days had elapsed all Kyūshiū had
submitted to Hideyoshi’s rule.
When quiet was restored Hideyoshi bestowed rewards on all the daimios
who had fought for him, and Ujisato was promoted to the Governorship
of Matsuzaka Castle in the province of Isé with an annual income of
300,000 _koku_ of rice.
All in their turns, and according to their degrees, Ujisato rewarded
those of his vassals who had distinguished themselves under his
leadership. Some were given handsome gifts; others had their stipends
raised. Gonshirō who considered he had done a greater deed than any of
the others, seeing that he had saved his master’s life at the risk of
his own, naturally expected to receive some special favour. But greatly
to his surprise and chagrin no acknowledgment was made. What could be
the reason?
At first he felt no little resentment and brooded over this
neglect. But after a time, being a man who cared little for gain, he
let the affair fade from his mind though he still felt sore when he
happened to think of it.
Meanwhile the summer had come and gone, and now the 15th of September
was here. The night of all the year on which the atmosphere in Japan is
most translucent and the moon shines with the greatest brilliancy. The
night when men of a poetic turn sit up into the small hours composing
verses on the beauty of the scene, the while they sip _saké_ from
delicate porcelain cups to aid the fickle muse. On this night therefore
Ujisato gave a “moon-viewing party,” inviting a large number of his
retainers to a banquet in the main hall of his castle.
The witching light of the full moon wrapt the stern old pile; the tiny
ripples on the moat glistened like liquid gold; the crickets shrilled
musically among the tall grasses. The sliding screens had been removed
and the calm beauty without softened and impressed the hearts of the
sturdy warriors inured to scenes so different of bloodshed and the din
of battle. Now it was that charmed by the loveliness around them many
began to compose verses in adoration of the scene, and Ujisato’s
were among the best. But after a time the _saké_ of which they partook,
not sparingly, went to their heads, and it is not surprising that some
of the would-be poets became a little elevated. The talk turned to
tales of war and one and another recounted deeds of prowess performed
by himself in the face of danger and difficulty. Nor was the host, Lord
Ujisato himself, above a little boasting in his cups and it was thus he
spoke:—
“Listen, my friends,” he began. “Do you remember the fierce assault
of the Castle of Ganshaku at the beginning of this year? The mere
mention of it makes my blood boil! We attacked the castle three days
without a break yet could make no headway. You men lost heart. To rouse
you to a final effort I rode up to the gate alone—alone, in the face
of the enemy amid a perfect hailstorm of missiles. A bullet struck
my horse and he fell—I under him. Seizing the opportunity the enemy
poured out and surrounded me nine or ten deep—I determined to sell my
life dear” ... here the narrator paused to wipe his face from which
the perspiration was streaming from the energy with which he spoke.
Gonshirō’s heart leapt, he bent forward his face eager—now, at last his
lord was about to reward his patient waiting and acknowledge his
service before all men.
“To sell my life dear,” repeated Ujisato with gleaming eyes. “So I
fought as I had never done before with the courage of despair. Some I
cut down, others I put to flight, finally I succeeded in remounting my
horse and rode into the castle before the enemy could close the gates
against me. Seeing my intrepid action you were inspired by my spirit,
and following closely on my heels, you all did your best and the
fortress was taken.”
Thus did Ujisato omit all mention of Gonshirō and overlook his gallant
deed. This base ingratitude was more than the faithful retainer could
bear!
“Gonshirō begs permission to speak a word, your lordship,” he said
brusquely.
“By all means,” assented Ujisato. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, your lordship, but what you said just now is hardly
correct.”
“What! You imply I spoke an untruth!”
“Yes, your lordship. You talk as if you had ridden into the castle
unaided. That is not true. When you fell from your horse and were
surrounded by the enemy’s men I hastened to your rescue and it was
my horse on which I assisted you to mount. By my timely help you
were enabled to ride into the castle. It is but bare justice that you
should amend your statement and acknowledge that you were saved from
certain death by Gonshirō, your lordship.”
This bold speech caused no little stir amongst the guests. Many of
those present could bear witness to the truth of the rough soldier’s
words. They waited with bated breath for what would follow.
Ujisato was moved to make a frank avowal. It had long been in his
mind to requite Gonshirō’s great service by a suitable reward, and it
was his intention to appoint him governor of the castle of Tagé which
was a small fortress attached to the large castle of Matsuzaka where
he himself resided. But Tagé Castle occupied a naturally strong site
and stood in relation to the greater castle in such a situation that
if a rebellion broke out in it, or if it were taken by an enemy, the
safety of Matsuzaka would be immediately threatened. It was of the
first importance, therefore, that it should be placed in the hands
of an absolutely trustworthy man, and the cautious Ujisato wished
to be quite sure of the loyalty of Gonshirō and to test him to the
utmost before putting him in a position of so much importance and
responsibility.
“Silence, Gonshirō!” thundered the daimio, keeping up the part he had
decided to play a little longer. “How dare you say such a thing of your
lord! Liar! I have no recollection of being saved by you or by any one
else.”
“Strange, my lord! Your words at the time were, ‘A thousand thanks,
Gonshirō! But for you I should have been dead by now. I shall never
forget what you have done and after the war I will give you a reward.’
I want no reward—I am a plain soldier with neither wife nor child—but
it is unbearable that you should thus ignore my service. It is an
undoubted fact, my lord, that I did save your life and thus opened the
way for our troops to take the castle of Ganshaku.”
“It is a lie! You did not save my life.”
“It is the truth! I did save you!”
“You are drunk; you do not know what you are saying. I repeat, you did
not save my life!”
Gonshirō’s blood was up. He threw discretion to the winds.
“Ingrate and liar! I did save your life!”
“A lie!”
Ujisato frowned darkly and seemed about to have the daring offender
punished as he deserved, but apparently changing his mind, he laughed
good-humouredly and:—
“Look here, Gonshirō,” he said, “you insist that you saved me; I deny
it. At this rate there can be no end of the matter for each holds to
his own opinion. But to settle the question once for all let us have a
wrestling bout, you and I. If I am beaten I will admit that you saved
me as you aver, and prostrating myself before you with both hands on
the ground I will humbly beg your pardon for what I have said. That
will be as great an humiliation as removing one’s helmet on the field
of battle and surrendering to the foe. On the other hand, should you
be thrown you will be branded as a liar and ordered to commit
_seppuku._ Will you wrestle with me on those conditions?”
The guests were amazed. One whispered to another.
“What a proposal!”
“Monstrously unfair!”
“One contestant risks his life, the other a mere apology!”
“What are the chances?”
“Gonshirō is the better man.”
“There I disagree with you—our lord has the greater skill. I wager his
lordship will win.”
“Gonshirō will never accept such conditions—they are too unequal!”
While these whispers were going round Gonshirō with head bent took an
instant’s thought. Then he looked up, stern defiance in his eye.
“My lord,” he said, “I take up your challenge! I accept your conditions
unfair though they be. I am a samurai and as such shrink from no
danger. Strong in the truth of my cause I will wrestle with you.”
“Good! At once. Prepare!”
“Your lordship, I am ready.”
[Illustration: Gonshirō threw him by a supreme effort down on to the
mats]
A space was cleared in the centre of the hall whilst the two champions
divested themselves of all unnecessary clothing. Then the struggle
began, and being well-nigh equally matched for some time neither
gained any advantage over his opponent. At last, however, with a loud
shout Gonshirō managed to twist his body, and by a dexterous movement
raised his adversary on his shoulders, to throw him by a supreme effort
down on to the mats at a distance of eight or nine feet. Ujisato
swooned, and great was the consternation with which all rushed to his
assistance. Restoratives were administered and to the relief
of the company consciousness soon returned. The defeated combatant
was able, leaning on the arm of an attendant, to retire to his own
private apartments. The banquet, of course, was abandoned, most of the
guests returning home. Gonshirō left the castle in great dejection and
exasperation.
“What a fool my lord has shown himself,” were his thoughts. “I could
never have conceived it of him. I will remain in his service no longer.
It is not on this place alone that the sun shines. A man of my prowess
can find a billet anywhere. Heigh ho! I will go and seek service with
some other daimio—some one I can respect more than I can my Lord
Ujisato.”
Having made up his mind it did not take Gonshirō long to get ready. At
midnight he stole secretly away intending never to return.
The next morning all the samurai made their appearance at the castle to
enquire after the health of their lord—all that is, but Gonshirō. The
daimio who had quite recovered himself noticed his absence and calling
Gamō Gonzaemon, one of his _karō_, or chief councillors, he asked what
had become of him.
“I beg to inform, your lordship,” replied the _karō_, “I have just
heard a report that he has not been seen this morning and it
is surmised that he has run away in consequence of the unfortunate
occurrence of last evening.”
“If that is true,” exclaimed Ujisato, “I am indeed sorry. I did but
dissimulate in order to test his fidelity, and if my words have lost me
a good retainer I shall be much grieved. Order a search to be made and
when he is found bring him instantly before me. Tell him I did but jest
and that he shall have a liberal reward for the service he did me. Go
at once, Gonzaemon; he cannot have gone far.”
So the missing samurai was sought for in every likely and unlikely
place, but without success. Nothing was seen or heard of him for many a
long day.
* * * * *
An emaciated, shabbily dressed _rōnin_[5] carrying two swords with worn
and ragged hilt-strings and rusty scabbards, and having on his dusty
feet well-worn straw sandals, walked up, with the swagger peculiar to
his caste, to the front door of Gonzaemon’s residence.
“Insolent fellow!” cried the attendant whose business it was to answer
the door. “This is not the place for you. If you would ask alms go
to the back.”
“I am no beggar to crave for alms,” replied the stranger proudly. “I
am one Nishimura Gonshirō, till three years ago in the service of Lord
Ujisato. I have come to speak a word with your master. Kindly inform
his honour of my visit.”
Gonzaemon was delighted to hear of the return of the long vainly sought
absentee. To the disgust of the usher who looked with disdain on the
dirty and travel-worn appearance of the guest, he was admitted into the
inner guest chamber. After a cordial greeting Gonzaemon asked:—
“And how have you been getting along since you left us so suddenly,
Gonshirō?”
“But badly, your honour. They say ‘a faithful servant never serves
two masters,’ but my case has been different. You see, I forsook my
lord and of my own will became a _rōnin_. Hoping to enter the service
of a more honourable chief I travelled from one province to another.
But I was always unfortunate. Those whom I would have chosen to serve
would have none of me—a deserter from another clan; those who would
have accepted me were not good enough to suit my taste. After long and
bitter experiences I have come to the conclusion that there is no
daimio so worthy of allegiance as my former master, Lord Gamō. So I
have come back to see if he will overlook my bad conduct in the past
and let me re-enter his ranks. Of course, I do not expect to receive
my former pay. I shall be grateful and more than satisfied if he will
let me wait upon him as a humble attendant. Will you be so kind as to
intercede for me?”
“You have done right to come back,” answered the _karō_, kindly. “Sooth
to say, our lord has greatly regretted his foolish jest and has caused
strict search to be made to discover your whereabouts and if possible
get you to return. He will rejoice to hear my news. Wait here and
refresh yourself while I go and tell him.”
Gonzaemon did not keep his visitor waiting long. He told Gonshirō that
his lordship was pleased that he had come back and desired to see him
at once.
“Excuse my mentioning such a thing,” continued, the _karō_, “but your
garments are worn and travel-stained. May I not accommodate you with a
change of apparel before you present yourself before his lordship?”
“On no account,” returned the samurai. “You are very kind, but
allow me to go as I am. My shabby condition will give my lord some idea
of the hardships I have undergone as a _rōnin_.”
“As you please, my independent fellow!”
The two men so different in aspect went up to the castle and waited in
an ante-room till summoned to Lord Gamō’s presence.
“Ah, Gonshirō!” he called out genially. “I am mightily glad to see you
again. You were too hasty in running away. I was but teasing you and
you took my words in bitter earnest. I hope you will take your old
place and serve me as faithfully as before.”
“Your kind words overwhelm me, your lordship,” said Gonshirō humbly.
“I have no words in which to express my sense of your clemency. I will
henceforth serve you to the uttermost of my ability.”
The good-natured Gonzaemon was delighted to witness this reconciliation
between chief and vassal. The daimio ordered a feast to be prepared in
honour of the occasion, and presently, over the good cheer, they all
became very merry. It was not long before Ujisato began, as on a former
occasion, to talk rather boastfully of his exploits and his prowess on
the field.
“Gonshirō, when I wrestled with you that time, we all remember,
I was beaten because I was half intoxicated,” he said. “Since then
my health has much improved and I am much heavier and stronger than
before. On the other hand, your many hardships have greatly reduced you
and you are a mere shadow of your former self. Should we try a bout
now, you would have no chance at all.”
It might have been thought that learning wisdom from bitter experience
Gonshirō would have had the sense to agree with his lord’s words, and
to have said “That is very true, your lordship. It was but by a fluke
that I won before; I should have not the slightest chance now.” But
foolish fellow that he was, he forgot everything but the supposed
aspersion on his strength and skill which he could not allow to pass
unchallenged.
“I am very thin as your lordship truly observes,” he said bluntly,
“but my strength is unabated. It is fitting that a samurai should be
stronger than his chief. My muscles were hardened in many a field of
battle and in friendly contests—they are like wires. Excuse me, but I
could not be thrown though five—nay ten—men of your weight should set
upon me at the same time.”
“What, braggart! You still boast of your strength! Well, if you
are so sure of yourself you shall wrestle with me again.”
“With pleasure, your lordship!” said the undaunted samurai.
“Get ready!”
“I am ready, your lordship.”
With these words the two men rose and prepared for the struggle.
Gonzaemon wondered at their infatuation. For years Ujisato had
regretted the act that had cost him a faithful retainer. For years
Gonshirō had wandered a _rōnin_, homeless, and often without food.
Chief and vassal had become reconciled and all was going well, when,
for the sake of a little paltry pride, this happy state of things was
again endangered and a permanent estrangement might be the result. He
strove to remonstrate but neither would listen. All he could do was
to advise Gonshirō, by dumb signs, to allow himself to be beaten; and
Gonshirō coming too late to a better understanding of his rash conduct
answered in the same manner, “I will.”
Satisfied that he had averted a catastrophe, the _karō_ offered to
act as umpire, standing up with an open fan in his hand. After the
preliminary moves the combatants grappled, and a hard tussle it was.
Gonshirō honestly intended to let his master have the satisfaction
of winning. “But,” thought he, “if I let myself be thrown too easily
my lord will suspect something; besides I cannot let him think me
quite such a weakling as he would make out.” Warming to the fight he
again thought, “If I allow myself to be beaten, having strength to
win, I should be a contemptible creature selling himself for the sake
of his place and pay. Nothing disgraces a samurai so much as to be a
flatterer. ‘A man lives for but one generation, but a good name lives
forever.’ A good name is above all material rewards. I cannot pretend
defeat. I must do my best at all costs and come what may, throw my lord
again.”
Hereupon he braced his feet and bent his body, and with a loud shout
shouldered his opponent, and threw him down three mats off just as he
had done before.
The umpire never doubting that Gonshirō had followed his counsel and
that it was he who was thrown, ran forward, exclaiming:—
“Well done, my lord! I never saw a better throw!”
He had no time to say more before he found out his mistake. What was
his dismay to find that Gonshirō was again the victor and that it was
his lord who had thus a second time suffered a humiliating defeat. It
was too exasperating! The same story over again.
Now that his excitement had cooled down somewhat, Gonshirō was covered
with shame and mortification at what he had done.
Ujisato rose without assistance and stamping his foot as though in rage
stalked off to an inner apartment.
“Fool that I am, I have done it again!” cried Gonshirō in despair. “In
spite of your advice, in spite of my own determination, my vanity got
the upper hand and forgetting all else I committed this unpardonable
offence a second time. I will disembowel myself and I beg you to do me
the honour to witness the act!”
So saying the unhappy man took up the short sword he had laid aside and
was on the point of plunging it into his body, when the sliding door
was hastily pushed open and Ujisato ran forward just in time to arrest
his arm.
“Hold, hold! Gonshirō,” he cried. “You are always too impetuous. I do
not blame you for this—it is the true samurai spirit—the same spirit
that in spite of want, of hunger and rags, disdains to flatter for the
sake of gain. My brave fellow, I honour you for this! It might have
been that the hardships of the last three years had changed your
character—that you might now have been willing to sell your honour
for my favour and worldly prosperity—so I feigned drunkenness and a
boastful spirit that once more I might challenge you to fight and thus
test you to the full. You have stood the test nobly. You disdained to
flatter even at such a cost. You are indeed the pattern of all that a
samurai should be! In recognition of your signal service to me at the
storming of the Castle of Ganshaku I appoint you Governor of the Castle
of Tagé with a stipend of 10,000 _koku_. As a reward for throwing me
to-day in the face of every temptation to do otherwise I give you a
further stipend of 1,000 _koku_; and in acknowledgment of the defeat
I sustained at your hands three years ago you shall have yet another
1,000. Here is your writ of appointment.”
At this unexpected magnanimity on the part of his lord even Gonshirō,
hardened warrior though he was, could not restrain his tears.
* * * * *
In the years following, Gonshirō served his chief, Lord Gamō,
faithfully and with devotion. When Ujisato was poisoned through the
wiles of an adversary his loyal vassal killed himself in order to
accompany his dearly loved master to Hades.
[5] A samurai who had renounced his clan and become a wanderer.
THE STORY OF KIMURA SHIGENARI
I.
In the eighteenth year of Keichō (A.D. 1613) Toyotomi Hideyoshi had
been dead fourteen years and his son, Hideyori, now two and twenty
should have been ruling over Japan as Regent in his stead. But his
adherents had sustained a crushing defeat at the hands of the troops
of his rival, Tokugawa Iyeyasu, at the battle of Sekigahara, and the
tide of fortune had turned from him. All the daimios had given in their
allegiance to Iyeyasu, and he was appointed Shogun by the Emperor. A
few years later he abdicated in favour of his son Hidetada, though
in reality he still steered the ship of state. On the other hand
Hideyori’s star had been fast declining. He was now merely the Lord of
Settsu and Kawachi, comparatively, small provinces, with the honorary
title of “Minister of the Right.” Nevertheless, in his stronghold,
the “impregnable” Castle of Osaka, built by his father, Hideyoshi,
at an enormous cost, there were still, it is said, some 100,000
men, among whom were many brave and loyal officers such as Katagiri
Katsumoto, Sanada Yukimura, Suzukida Hayato and Kimura Shigenari, the
last of whom is the hero of this story.
A few powerful daimios, remembering with gratitude the great favours
they had received from Hideyoshi, in secret still adhered to the cause
of his son and watched for an opportunity to strike for the restoration
of the Toyotomis’ power and prestige. Iyeyasu, with his accustomed keen
insight, perceived the situation and determined by one stroke to settle
matters once for all. This was the state of affairs between the two
great families, and it was felt that hostilities might break out again
at any moment.
* * * * *
Shigenari now twenty years of age had served Hideyori as page and
attendant since his childhood. His intelligence and loyalty, above all,
his prowess in arms and knowledge of tactics had just led Hideyori’s
Prime Councillor, Katagiri Katsumoto, to promote him over the heads
of some older men to a high rank in the army, with the title of
Nagato-no-Kami, or Lord of Nagato province, and an annual allowance of
7,000 _koku_ of rice. Mano Yorikané, one of Hideyori’s veteran
generals, admiring his courage and sterling character, gave tangible
proof of his admiration by bestowing his beautiful and accomplished
daughter, Aoyagi, on him for a wife.
With all his manly attributes and physical strength, Shigenari was
exceptionally handsome, of a slender build, and possessed of a gentle
graceful manner. At first glance it was his beauty and refinement that
struck the beholder, not his strength and ability. For this reason
those of the warriors who had not had opportunity to witness his skill
as a soldier were inclined to regard his sudden promotion with wonder
and some suspicion, one or two even going so far as to say—behind
his back—“Shigenari is esteemed above his merits. He is effeminate
and gentle; in war he will show cowardice and fly from the sounds of
strife.” Among the backbiters was a _chabōzu_ or “tea-priest”[6] called
Yamazoé Ryōkwan, a notorious bully and drunkard. Possessing undoubted
skill in military arts and great muscular strength, he was apt to be
boastful; and the idea seized him to pick a quarrel with Shigenari
and thereby to provoke a contest between them and humiliate the courtly
hero.
With this object Ryōkwan one day hid himself behind a screen; and as
Shigenari passed hurriedly along the matted corridor on his way to the
audience chamber, the tea-priest suddenly thrust his sheathed sword in
his way. The surprised warrior leapt lightly over it, but the skirt of
his _hakama_ touched it as he did so. Ryōkwan sprang out of ambush.
“Kimura Dono, you go too fast!” he shouted angrily. Shigenari turned
back.
“Excuse my rudeness,” he said courteously.
“Your apology is too late! It came only after my demand.”
“Forgive my double rudeness, Yamazoé, I was in such haste that I did
not consider. Excuse me!”
“You speak like a fool! If you are late it is your own fault, and do
you think you may tread on my sword with impunity? It is true that I
am a tea-priest and your inferior in rank, yet I also am a samurai! A
samurai’s sword is his soul. You have trodden on my soul, and such an
insult is inexcusable! Out of malice you did it. I challenge you to a
duel!”
“You speak wildly; why should I bear malice towards you, or wish
to insult you?”
“Then why did you tread on my sword?”
“I have already explained;—because I am in haste to present myself to
my lord.”
“Then allow me to do to you what I choose and I will accept your
apology.”
“By all means; do to me as you wish.”
“I will take that!” and he struck a blow at Shigenari’s cheek with all
the force of his bare hand.
Shigenari smiled.
“Thank you for your chastisement!” he said, and went on his way.
Ryōkwan now strutted arrogantly about the castle, giving every one
he met a highly-coloured account of what had occurred, and calling
Shigenari “a white-livered samurai.” Those who were jealous of
Shigenari’s promotion repeated the story in still more exaggerated
terms, in consequence of which many samurai who had no real knowledge
of the young officer’s character believed the tale and laughed to scorn
his supposed pusillanimity. Shigenari knew all about this, but did not
let it disturb him at all.
Not so his father-in-law, Yorikané. Being fiery-tempered and extremely
punctilious concerning points of honour, he no sooner heard of the
incident than he hurried to Shigenari’s residence and demanded to see
him.
“Welcome, father-in-law,” said the young man composedly. “Pray sit
down.”
“Sit down? No, I cannot sit down, and never again call me ‘father.’ I
have come to tell you that you must divorce my daughter at once.”
“This is very sudden! What reason can you give for your strange
request?”
“Fool that I was to give my daughter to a white-livered samurai such as
you!”
“Ha! Do you use such a term of me!”
“You feign ignorance! Well, then, I will tell you why men call you a
coward. Listen! It is said you let your cheek be struck by that low
tea-priest a day or two ago and he still lives to tell the tale! Has it
passed from your mind so soon? Ah, I see you recollect it!”
“Surely, I remember that Ryōkwan struck my cheek with his hand, but
what of it!”
“What of it? What of it? Can a samurai receive a deadly insult like
that and suffer it to pass unnoticed! Coward! How came you to
permit him to do it in the first instance?”
“Ryōkwan put his sword in my way as I was hurrying to the presence of
my lord; the hem of my _hakama_ just touched it as I passed over but
the man insisted that I had trodden on it and by design. It is evident
he meant to pick a quarrel with me in any case. I apologised, but he
refused to listen. Deeming it waste of time to argue with a bully,
to end the matter as speedily as possible, I let him strike me as he
wished. That is the whole affair.”
“Indolent coward!” exclaimed Yorikané, more incensed now that he
heard Shigenari’s account than he had been before. “Ryōkwan is a mere
tea-priest, and you are a samurai of high rank in close attendance on
our lord. There can be no comparison as to your respective standing—you
should have killed him on the spot. Your conduct is totally
inexplicable!”
“You are mistaken, father, when you say I should have killed him.”
“How? There can be no two opinions on the matter. Where is your sense
of honour? I will waste no more words on you. Let my daughter return
home at once. I am ashamed to be called your father-in-law.”
“Calm yourself, father, and hear me for but a moment. Do you imagine I
overlooked Ryōkwan’s insolent behaviour because I was afraid of him?”
“What else can I think?”
“Then listen. Recollect, father, that a samurai’s life is not his
own—it belongs to his liege lord. Judging from the strained relations
between our clan and the Tokugawas hostilities may break out at any
time....” here Shigenari’s brow clouded and he sighed deeply; “Yes,
war may break out at any moment now, and on the result hangs the
future destiny of our lord and his clan. It is my intention to fight
to the utmost of my strength and ability to requite if it be but the
thousandth part of the many and great favours I have received from our
gracious master. I shall sell my blood dear for his cause. And this is
the bounden duty of every one of us, high and low alike. Our lives have
never been more precious—not one can be spared except for the cause.
If I had killed Ryōkwan out of resentment for a purely personal insult
what good would it have done? Though his rank is inferior to mine, he
is still a samurai; and as a samurai his death could not have been
passed over unnoticed. Besides, Ryōkwan, though in human form, is but
an insect in my estimation. It would be derogatory for a samurai
to unsheathe his sword in anger against a mere insect! Therefore....”
“Enough, enough!” interposed the impulsive Yorikané. “I understand; you
are right and I in my haste misjudged you entirely. Forgive me, and
forget my thoughtless words.”
Shigenari smiled, well pleased at the reconciliation.
“We are father and son again,” went on the older man. “I am proud of
the connection—you are a true samurai. But, tell me,” he added with a
chuckle. “You call Ryōkwan an insect; to what insect do you compare
him?”
“To a fly,” answered Shigenari. “A fly alights on filth or on an
Emperor’s crown—it makes no distinction between good and bad, high
or low. But no one would call a fly an impolite insect. Looking on
Ryōkwan as a man one feels anger and disgust; consider he is but a fly
and it is unreasonable to have any such feelings, he is beneath them.
Therefore I take no notice of anything he can do or say.”
“Well argued, Shigenari! What a noble-minded man you are! I admire
your wisdom and forbearance. As you say, the war cloud is fast
darkening over us and it behoves all loyal samurai to be on their
guard and not waste their energies on petty quarrels of their
own. Again I ask your pardon for misconstruing your conduct. Though
younger in years, dear Shigenari, you are older than I in judgment and
forethought. Though old I am still as rash and impetuous as a boy.”
More than satisfied with the explanation he had received, Yorikané
returned home, and thenceforth did his best to clear his son-in-law
from the imputation of cowardice. He spoke in glowing terms of
Shigenari’s real motive in his behaviour to the tea-priest, and
told in what light he regarded him. Public opinion is ever quick
to change; and those who had scoffed were soon loud in praise of
Shigenari’s self-repression and loyalty. Ryōkwan, on the other hand,
was universally laughed at and nicknamed the “Fly-priest.” As a natural
consequence, instead of repenting of his misdeed, Ryōkwan’s envy and
hatred of his superior increased, and he was ever on the watch for a
chance to vent his spite.
There was a large bath-room in the castle which was used in common by
all. It was usual for the samurai on night duty to bathe several at the
same time. One evening Ryōkwan happened to see Shigenari going into the
bath-room, and thinking the time to satisfy his grudge had come, he
followed him unobserved. The room was misty with the dense vapour
rising from the hot water, and four or five samurai were already in the
large square bath. Taking one of them to be Shigenari the tea-priest
approached, and mustering all his strength, struck his head a heavy
blow. The naked man sprang out of the water, and seizing Ryōkwan by
the collar, threw him on the floor where he returned the blow he had
received with compound interest.
“I will teach you to strike a defenceless man without provocation!” he
roared. “Do you know who I am? Suzukida Hayato! Prepare for instant
death!” Then seeing who it was he was belabouring, he exclaimed in
astonishment:—
“Why, it’s Ryōkwan, the contemptible Fly-priest! What is your object in
striking my head as you did? You will find that though you are only a
fly you cannot insult Suzukida with impunity!”
Frightened almost out of his wits at the mention of the name Suzukida,
that of a hero renowned far and wide for his muscular strength, Ryōkwan
stammered out:—
“I humbly beg your pardon, Suzukida Sama; it was a mistake. I should
never think of striking you, the blow was intended for Kimura
Shigenari. Spare my life, I implore you!”
But this speech only incensed Suzukida still further.
“What?” he cried. “Would you strike your benefactor?—the man who
generously pardoned your outrageous conduct to him? Miscreant, I will
deal a blow for my friend Kimura. Die!”
With these words Suzukida raised his iron fist and assuredly Ryōkwan’s
last hour had come had it not been that some one caught the hand before
it fell. Mad with rage Suzukida struggled to free himself but in
vain—he was held as in a vice. Twisting round he saw to his surprise
that his captor was none other than Shigenari himself.
“Excuse my rudeness, Suzukida Dono. Without doubt it is as the coward
says—he mistook you for me, a circumstance for which I am extremely
sorry. It is natural you should resent such an insult, but if you
strike him with your fist you will kill him on the spot. He is my
enemy; may I request you to leave his chastisement to me?”
“Of course,” replied Suzukida with a laugh and nod of assent as
Shigenari released him. “It is for you to deal with him as you think
best. I am told the fellow grows more arrogant and behaves with
increasing rudeness to our comrades every day. I trust you will
see that he has cause to repent.”
As soon as Suzukida had left the room, Shigenari helped Ryōkwan to get
up, and very kindly assisted him to his own chamber where he attended
to his bruises with great solicitude. When the tea-priest had recovered
somewhat, Shigenari said to him, gently remonstrant:—
“How foolish it is of you, Ryōkwan, to be so proud of your strength
and in consequence to behave so arrogantly to your comrades and
superiors. A samurai should use his gifts for his lord’s service only.
You should exert yourself solely for the benefit of His Highness
Lord Hideyori. It is regrettable that you should waste your powers
in causeless quarrels and fights. It was fortunate for you that it
was I you insulted the other day; had it been some one else you would
undoubtedly have paid for it with your life on the instant. You have
superior muscular power and no little skill in the use of arms; now
that war is so imminent the life of every samurai is precious; that is
why I spared you—that you might live to serve in time of need. But you
did not understand my motive and sought occasion to insult me again.
How undiscriminating! If I had not interceded for you just now you
would have died a useless death at the hands of Suzukida Dono. Is not
a purposeless death like that dishonour for a samurai? If you repent
your past mistakes I will ask Suzukida Dono to overlook and pardon your
rudeness, and I am sure he will not refuse. Will you not amend your
conduct and from henceforth direct all your energies to doing your very
best for our lord and his cause, Ryōkwan?”
To this long speech delivered with a winning earnestness that pierced
him to the heart, Ryōkwan listened with bent head and averted eyes. A
few hot tears stole down his rough cheeks; he brushed them away with
his sleeve before he answered in a broken voice.
“Every word you have uttered has cut me to the heart, Kimura Sama,”
he said. “Your kindness overwhelms me. I am deeply ashamed of myself,
and I now see how blind I was not to perceive your noble and unselfish
motives in the way you acted. Oh, that I might commit _seppuku_ in
atonement! But to take my life would be in opposition to your kind
instruction: as you have pointed out it is the duty of us all to
live till we die in our lord’s cause.... If you can forgive me it is
my earnest desire that you will take me for your own retainer.
Unworthy though I am, I entreat you will not deny my request.”
Touched and pleased at the success of his remonstrance, Shigenari
gladly agreed to do as Ryōkwan asked. Having obtained permission from
Lord Hideyori, they exchanged vows as master and retainer; and thus the
brawling, overbearing drunkard of a tea-priest became a changed man,
and with all the strength of a strong nature devoted himself to the
service of the master he adored.
II.
The year following the events just narrated, the strained relations
between the rivals, the Toyotomis and Tokugawas snapped, and as had
been foreseen war was declared. The Ex-Shogun Iyeyasu and the reigning
Shogun Hidetada with an army of 200,000 men lay siege to the Castle of
Osaka, though as yet they did not venture on very close quarters. The
besieged troops, though outnumbered by the enemy, were well commanded
by numerous veteran generals and defended themselves with courage
and skill. In several small engagements which took place without the
castle, Iyeyasu’s men, ensnared with artfully constructed stratagems,
suffered severe defeat. Above all they sustained signal reverses
at the hands of Shigenari who manœuvered adroitly and fought bravely
with his company.
The siege lasted several months and still the brave little garrison
held the enemy at bay. With each success their spirits rose. The shrewd
Iyeyasu, seeing the impossibility of taking the stronghold by force
and hopeless of starving it out, deemed it would be the best policy
to patch up peace in some way, and trust to the pride and arrogance
of the opposing faction to bring about their own downfall. Therefore,
most cunningly, through the Emperor’s mediation as it seemed, he
proposed, nay, almost dictated peace to Hideyori. Most of his generals,
including Sanada Yukimura, Chief of the General Staff, and Shigenari,
considering the present situation favourable to the triumph of their
side, emphatically opposed such a fatal act; but Hideyori’s infamous
and beautiful mother Madame Yodogimi who had great influence over her
son, being persuaded to that effect by her licentious and thoughtless
favourites who were weary of the confinement necessitated by the siege,
threw all the weight of her maternal authority on the acceptance of the
terms. Furthermore, the proposal coming from the highest quarter
could hardly be slighted; therefore the defenders were almost without
option compelled to agree to the humiliating terms proposed, which were
that Hideyori should destroy the outer moat of his castle—to show the
sincerity of his peaceful intentions—while Iyeyasu, in return, should
cede to him the provinces of Kii and Yamato.
A day was appointed for the formal signing of the treaty; and Shigenari
was nominated special envoy for the occasion, with Kōri Shumenosuké for
vice-envoy.
Iyeyasu had the entrance to his camp strictly guarded; and with a
view to displaying his authority before all the daimios assembled to
witness the ceremony, he secretly instructed his most trusted generals
to humiliate the expected envoys as much as possible. These officers
who felt much chagrin at their frequent defeats were only too glad to
have opportunity to wreck vengeance on the enemy by affronting their
representatives.
Shigenari and Shumenosuké arrived on horseback, escorted by a little
band of some eighty men. On their appearance before the camp of Tōdō
Takatora, the sentinels one after the other called out:—
“Halt, sirs! As His Highness’s camp is so near you must dismount.”
Shumenosuké hurriedly pulled up and was about to get off his horse; but
his superior stopped him with a gesture, and looked haughtily at the
men in front. He cried loudly:—
“We are Kimura Shigenari and Kōri Shumenosuké, the representatives of
Lord Toyotomi, Minister of the Right. No code of etiquette requires
anyone to dismount before his equal in rank. You are insolent! We
proceed.”
Then Shigenari rode calmly forward followed by his suite.
When the envoys came to General Ii’s camp his sentinels likewise
demanded that they should dismount.
Giving the same reply as before, Shigenari, disregarding their attempts
to stop him, put spurs to his horse and rode on.
At the camp of Lord Echigo more strenuous efforts were made to force
the strangers to proceed on foot. In great wrath Shigenari protested
against such unwarranted discourtesy.
“What mean you by such conduct?” he cried. “Judging from our reception
I conclude it is the intention of Iyeyasu to disregard the
Imperial mandate to make peace. Well, then, it is useless to go
further. We will return at once to the castle and report to our lord
the shameful treatment we have received!”
So saying he turned his horse and was about to go back, when Lord
Echigo’s men seeing, they had gone too far, apologised profusely and
begged him to pass on to fulfil his mission.
At length the envoys came to the entrance of the building where they
were to meet the great Ex-Shogun. Here they dismounted and carrying
their swords were about to enter when two ushers intercepted them,
crying:—
“Your weapons must be left without!”
In no wise discomposed Shigenari said sternly:—
“It is a rule with a samurai never to leave his sword behind when he
goes into an enemy’s camp, on any pretext whatever.”
This being an indisputable fact, the ushers could say no more, but
led them armed as they were to the spacious apartment which had been
prepared for the ceremony. A large number of daimios already occupied
their places on two sides of the room. With a manner composed and
dignified, Shigenari strode into the assembly in no wit daunted by
the many hostile looks cast upon him, and took the seat to which he was
directed in the centre, facing at a short distance the dais prepared
for Iyeyasu when he should make his appearance.
Shumenosuké closely followed the deportment of his chief, and took his
seat beside him.
Two Masters of the Ceremonies informed them that His Highness would be
there presently. “And,” they added, “as it is disrespectful to carry
swords in his august presence you will kindly take them to the ante
chamber and leave them there.”
“Disrespectful!” thundered Shigenari in tones that reverberated through
the hall. “To whom do you address such a word. Recollect that we are
the honourable representatives of the Minister of the Right! The
disrespect is on your side and if you repeat your insolence you will
have to answer for it!”
And he glared so fiercely on the two officials that they withdrew in
consternation.
In a short time Iyeyasu, accompanied by many attendants, made his
appearance and with impressive solemnity took his seat. All the daimios
bowed reverently, and awed by his majestic demeanor and the
example of others, Shumenosuké did the same. But Shigenari deigned to
give the great statesman but the slightest acknowledgment and calmly
looked him straight in the face.
“I am glad to see you, Shigenari,” said Iyeyasu mildly. “Thank you for
coming on this important mission. Your father Hitachi-no-suké and I
were intimate friends and I am much indebted to him.”
“Pardon me, your Highness,” replied Shigenari, “but to-day I am the
messenger of the Minister of the Right and private matters are out of
place.”
The tactful Iyeyasu, though put in the wrong, showed not the slightest
trace of embarrassment. Producing a document from a receptacle in his
hand, he passed it to Shigenari by an attendant and said quietly:—
“Kindly see that this is correct, Shigenari.”
Shigenari carefully read over the paper which ran as follows:—
“In compliance with an Imperial Edict, Iyeyasu and Hideyori agree to
make peace, on the sole condition that Hideyori fill up the outer moat
of his castle as a token of his peaceful intentions. Either of the
parties concerned who first appeals to arms henceforth, shall
be guilty of disobeying the Imperial Mandate and shall be treated
accordingly.
“Keichō 19, 12th month, 27th day.”
As he read Shigenari’s face grew darker and darker, and when he came
to the end he started to his feet and exclaimed indignantly:—
“Are these your terms of peace, Your Highness? If so you have already
disobeyed the Imperial command! Prepare!”
Sword in hand it seemed as if he were about to attack the old
statesman. All present started up and sought to intercept the thrust.
Iyeyasu, alarmed, raised both hands in deprecation and bade the young
man resume his seat.
“Calm yourself, I pray you,” he said hastily. “Old age makes me
forgetful. By mistake I have shown you the wrong paper—here is the
right one.”
The crafty statesman produced another document from the case he held
and handed it to Shigenari. It is hardly necessary to explain that this
was an artifice. Iyeyasu had caused to be prepared two documents in
different terms. Should the envoys accept the first in which all the
advantage was on his side his intention was to keep back the other in
which were stated the real conditions of the treaty. Shigenari had
been too astute for him. He now examined the new document which read
thus:—
“VOWS OF PEACE
“Article I.—In compliance with an Imperial Command, Iyeyasu and
Hideyori vow to make peace and to enter into friendly
relations.
“Article II.—Hideyori shall destroy the outer moat of his Castle, and
Iyeyasu shall in return cede to him the provinces of Kii and
Yamato by January next.
“Article III.—Immediately on the signing of the Vows of Peace, Iyeyasu
shall disband his army and depart for Yamato.
“Article IV.—Either of the parties who violates the above vows and
resorts to arms shall be found guilty of disobedience to the
Imperial Command and shall be punished by the gods.
“Keichō 19, 12th month, 27th day.”
Shigenari read the paper carefully several times.
“This is correct, Your Highness. Be pleased to put your signature and
seal.”
Iyeyasu complied. The envoy receiving it back put it into a bag
made of rich brocade. Then bowing courteously, he said gravely though
not without a touch of sarcasm:—
“I beg to congratulate Your Highness.”
Then turning to the assembled daimios he bowed to them also saying:—
“I thank you for your attendance.”
Receiving their salutations in return, he once more made an obeisance
to Iyeyasu.
“Allow me to take my leave, Your Highness. Farewell, Your Highness and
your Excellencies.”
With graceful courtesy he bowed once more and with his subordinate left
the audience-chamber. All were constrained to admire his noble bearing
and courage.
III.
Hideyori faithfully observed his part of the “Vows of Peace,” and
the outer moat which had constituted the greatest element in the
“impregnability” of his castle was filled up and levelled with the
ground. But Iyeyasu who had never had the least intention of fulfilling
his part of the treaty held back the stipulated provinces in spite of
all the demands of Hideyori. Hence in the spring of the following year
hostilities were resumed, and a great army commanded by Iyeyasu
once more invested the Castle of Osaka.
The garrison made a stubborn resistance for some weeks but the fortress
was now shorn of its main protection, and most unfortunately the
discord between Madame Yodogimi’s favourite generals and the other
officers assumed formidable dimensions. In consequence, the defenders
were severely defeated in more than one engagement, and their numbers
were so greatly reduced that it was impossible for them to hold the
castle much longer.
One night Sanada Yukimura, the Chief of the General Staff, met
Shigenari in secret.
“It is not possible for us to hold out,” he said gloomily. “We must
effect the escape of our lord out of the castle and convey him to a
place of security—he can take refuge in the province of Lord Shimazu.
Through him we may be able to do something to retrieve our losses and
restore the power of our clan. Some of us must go with our chief, but
in order the more easily to get away the enemy must be deluded with
the idea that Hideyori and his bravest warriors have fallen; therefore
we must leave substitutes behind us who resemble us in some degree.
Their bodies will be found, and the enemy will think we are dead and
not try to pursue us as they most certainly would do if they thought
we had fled. I have found my substitute; do you find yours. I must
regret that it is necessary for these men to sacrifice their lives for
ours, but we must all act for the future good of the clan to which we
owe allegiance—all personal considerations must give way. Do you not
approve of my plan?”
“It is an excellent idea,” replied Shigenari, after some reflection.
“And I heartily approve of it. But if every experienced general leaves
the castle even though substitutes are left, the shrewd Iyeyasu
will soon suspect the truth. I at any rate must remain. I was seen
by Iyeyasu and his staff only a short time ago; they will not have
forgotten my features and cannot be deceived by another man clad in my
armour. Therefore, I leave the escort of our lord and the restoration
of the clan to you and the other generals. I will stay alone with the
garrison and fight to the last. My death and your life are equally
necessary for the sake of our lord. So do not seek to dissuade me. I am
resolved.”
“A truly noble resolve, my friend,” said Yukimura with admiration.
“Would that I could remain with you! I am reluctant to leave you alone
and we shall miss your help, but if you are determined to do
this thing far be it from me to dissuade you. It must be well-known
to the enemy that you are a favourite of our lord and always in close
attendance on his person; so when they find your dead body on the field
they will never suspect he has escaped. Your death in this way will be
the means of restoring the power of the Toyotomis. I could find it in
my heart to envy you, good comrade!”
“Then that is settled. To-morrow I will charge the enemy’s line with my
men and divert his attention while the rest of you steal out from the
rear.”
After a few words of affectionate farewell, the two men parted knowing
they would never meet again.
* * * * *
On retiring to his room for a brief rest, Shigenari spoke to his young
wife in his usual cheerful manner.
“To-morrow our troops are going to make a sally that will effectually
dispose of the enemy,” he said. “On such a notable occasion I wish to
wear the armour my lord graciously gave me last year; pray bring it to
me.”
When his wife brought it he took the helmet; and burning some very
precious incense called _Ranjatai_, held the helmet so that the smoke
ascended into it. Aoyagi, divining from his manner that he had some
solemn motive for this action, felt her heart sink.
“You intend to die fighting in to-morrow’s engagement:—is it not so, my
husband?”
“Die fighting?” said Shigenari. “Why do you ask? Does not a soldier
always take his life in his hand when he goes to the field of battle?”
“Yes, but there is some special reason why I think you will fall
to-morrow. I have often heard that a warrior burns incense into his
helmet when he is determined to die on the field. I know the castle
will fall before long and I am sure you mean to give up your life in
to-morrow’s battle. Do not seek to deceive me. I am the daughter of a
samurai. I will not let you die alone.”
“My brave wife! Forgive my hesitation in disclosing to you my resolve.
I forebore to take you into my confidence fearing just this thing.”
He then gave his wife an account of his conversation with Sanada
Yukimura and of their decision.
“Though I give up my life for my lord,” he concluded. “Do not be so
rash as to die with me. It is my wish that you should live and
pray for the prosperity of our lord. Live for his sake. It is my last
request.”
“Your wish is my law,” answered his wife. “I will obey you. I know you
will die a glorious death and leave undying fame behind you!”
Then Aoyagi brought _saké_ and two tiny cups in which they drank
to their long farewell. That ceremony over, Aoyagi excused herself
and retired to her own apartment. As she did not return, Shigenari,
wondering at her long absence, went to seek her; and to his horror and
amazement found that she had committed suicide with a short sword that
lay beside the lifeless body. A written paper explained her rash act.
“Husband,” it ran, “forgive my dying before you. I meant to obey you,
but I cannot do so. Kō-u of China, though a brave warrior overcome with
grief at parting with wife, hesitated shamefully before going to his
last battle. In our country Kiso Yoshinaka showed the same weakness.
Not for a moment do I compare you to those men, but still I think that
I, who losing you will have no further hope in this world, had better
die now before you fight your last fight and go to wait for you in
Hades. Do your best against the foe! We shall meet again in the
Spirit World—till then farewell! Aoyagi.”
* * * * *
The morning of the next day broke clear and cloudless. It was the first
day of the fifth month in the twentieth year of Keichō (1615).
A large force under the command of Ii Naotaka advanced from the enemy’s
camp and rushed to the attack. Shigenari met them at the head of seven
hundred cavalry, and a fierce struggle took place. With the strength of
desperation Shigenari’s company, though so inferior in numbers, beat
back the foe. But as one regiment was beaten, another and yet another
dashed forward to take its place, and it was impossible that the castle
party could win in the end.
“We must cut our way into the main regiment,” said Shigenari during
a short breathing space to his faithful retainer Ryōkwan—once known
as the “Tea-priest”—“If we can only manage to kill Ii Naotaka, the
Commander in Chief, the enemy will be disheartened and we may have some
chance.”
Then inspired by the example of their leader, the little band
hurled themselves on the foe; and unable to stand against such
fury, the fourth and fifth companies fell back in disorder, and it
seemed that a general rout would be the result.
Ii alone stood his ground. Brandishing his _saihai_ or baton he roared
in stentorian tones:—
“Cowards! Do you fly before such a handful? Back, back, and the day is
ours!”
His words took instant effect. His flying troops rallied, maintained
their position and fought bravely. Seeing this, Shigenari smiled grimly
to himself.
“Now is my time to break through the lines, kill Ii and then die!”
Putting spurs to his horse he darted forward swift as a flash of
lightning, his brilliant helmet and shining armour gleaming in the
sun. Ryōkwan followed close with his heavy iron rod, and the rest
of the devoted band strove to keep up, cutting and hewing their way
through the ranks. So violent was their onset that again Ii’s men
wavered. At this critical juncture Seki Jūrozaemon, a samurai noted
for his huge strength, suddenly appeared and struck at Shigenari with
a great halberd; but Shigenari’s spear point pierced clean through his
breastplate of mail and he fell dead from his horse. Ii’s soldiers were
panic-stricken and none ventured to oppose Shigenari who continued
his onward rush and attacked Ii before he had time to escape. Being
no match for his assailant, Ii must have fallen had it not been for
one Fujita Noto-no-Kami who came to his rescue. Furious at this check
Shigenari turned to throw him from the saddle with a single thrust, and
in that moment Ii managed to escape.
Looking back, Shigenari could see but few of his men; nearly all had
fallen in the mêlée. Severely wounded, and faint with loss of blood,
Shigenari realised that he could do no more. Unnoticed he alighted from
his spent horse and retired to a small grove on some elevated ground.
His approach was observed by a low fellow belonging to Ii’s camp who
was hiding behind the trees. Such was the estimation in which Shigenari
was held that even in his weakness he inspired awe and dread. The
skulking coward did not dare to attack him openly, but as the wounded
hero lay gasping on the ground stole softly up behind him and aimed a
blow at his head. Shigenari heard the slight rustle of his approach and
turned, whereupon the wretch made off. Shigenari called him back.
“Fellow,” he said, “whoever you are, come here and take my head.”
But the man fearing some trick hesitated to obey.
“Coward,” cried the dying warrior, “you have nothing to fear from me.
Cut off my head, but I conjure you not to remove the helmet till you
present it to your master, Iyeyasu. I am impatient—cut off my head as I
bid you.”
As he spoke Shigenari lifted the lower plates of his helmet and
stretched out his neck for the blow. As in a trance the craven crept up
and severed the head from the body. Then gaining courage he raised the
dripping trophy high in the air and shouted at the top of his voice:—
“I, Andō Chōzaburō, single-handed, have taken the head of
Nagato-no-Kami Shigenari, the most renowned warrior in the Osaka Army!”
The boast reached the ears of a man covered with blood who was still in
the thick of the fray. It was Ryōkwan.
“My Lord, Nagato-no-Kami, was not the man to be killed by such a
weakling as Andō,” he cried, as loudly as his failing strength would
permit. “He had some reason for allowing his head to be cut off.
Remember that, my enemies.”
With that he stabbed himself in his abdomen and expired.
* * * * *
After the battle the head of Shigenari, enclosed in its helmet, was
taken to Iyeyasu for inspection. It had been the desire of all that
day to get the head of the hero, and Ieyasu had the helmet removed
for verification. As this was done the sweet odour of incense floated
through the air.
The old statesman surveyed the noble features with something of
reverent admiration.
“Never was a more loyal or courageous samurai than Nagato-no-Kami!” he
said slowly. “Would that I had many like him!”
* * * * *
The attempted escape from the castle proved a failure. On May 8th, the
besiegers once more attacked the castle on all sides, and there ensued
one of the bloodiest struggles in the history of Japan. It resulted in
the complete overthrow of Hideyori’s faction and the destruction of the
castle by fire. The unfortunate nobleman, his mother and all the
maids of honour perished in the flames.
[6] A samurai of lower rank whose business it was to serve his lord
with tea, and who was often master of the tea ceremonies. He had his
head shaven like a priest—hence the name “tea-priest.”
HONEST KYŪSUKÉ
Gonzaemon, the head-man of the village of Tamamura in the province
of Kōdzuké, whose family had from generation to generation enjoyed a
large fortune, employed a number of servants. Among them was one named
Kyūsuké who had been added to the household on the recommendation of a
peasant of the same village as being exceedingly honest. Though he was
very young, unlike other servants, he worked very hard and performed
all his duties as well when no one observed him as under the eye of
his master. Gonzaemon, therefore, began to look upon him as a great
acquisition and took a keen interest in him.
One day he summoned Kyūsuké to his room and said:—
“Kyūsuké, I am pleased to see that you always work faithfully, but I
think I should be more pleased if you would leave off working at an
earlier hour in the evening and go to bed at the same time as your
fellow-servants. If you continue to be so much more industrious
than they there will be complaints among them.”
“My good master,” answered the young man, “though I do not like to
disobey you, I regret to say that I can never get to sleep before nine
o’clock at night.”
“You surprise me,” said Gonzaemon, “but at least you can oblige me by
remaining in bed until the usual hour for getting up in the morning.”
“My good master,” replied Kyūsuké again, “I am very sorry to displease
you so often, but mine is a hopeless case, for to be frank with you I
cannot for the life of me stay abed after seven in the morning.”
Now, you must know, that according to our old way of counting time,
nine at night was midnight, and seven in the morning answered to 4
o’clock. Kyūsuké, therefore, never slept more than four hours every
night, and his master on learning this was surprised beyond measure.
“What a wonder you are!” he exclaimed. “It is seldom one finds
gentlemen in service such passionate lovers of work! How gratified
I am to find such a notable exception in you. I trust you will not
take my suggestion amiss; it was necessary in order that your
fellow-servants should not suffer in consequence of your zeal for work.”
“I humbly beg your forgiveness for venturing to disobey your kind
orders,” said the young man respectfully.
“Don’t beg my forgiveness,” said his master, “for by so doing you put
me in an awkward position.”
After considering for a few moments while the servant waited silently
for further orders, Gonzaemon resumed:—
“Well, Kyūsuké, I have another suggestion to offer you. You know that
you are your own master while your fellow-servants are asleep. I do not
wish you to work for me in those hours, so if you do not wish to rest,
employ that time in making sandals for your own profit. I will see that
you are provided with plenty of straw.”
“My good master, you are very kind, but I fear it is not right that a
servant should use any of his time in work for his own profit.”
Thus Kyūsuké once more baffled the kind intentions of his master.
Gonzaemon was struck with his faithfulness.
“If you persist in refusing all my proposals I shall be at a loss
what to do with you,” he said. “So be pleased to do as I request you
only this once.”
Kyūsuké could not refuse his master’s kindness so delicately offered,
and he consented to use his spare time for his own profit. Henceforth
the early morning and late evening hours were devoted to the task of
making _waraji_ or straw sandals, which he sold to a kitchen-ware
dealer in the village, thereby making a small but regular income, every
_sen_ of which he intrusted to his kind master for safe keeping. Soon
the young servant’s diligence became known, and the country people
encouraged his industry by always asking for the “Kyūsuké _waraji_”
in preference to any other. This naturally pleased the dealer who
continually pressed Kyūsuké for further supplies. Gonzaemon, likewise
pleased at the success of his plan, determined to lend out the money
in his charge so as to increase the amount by good interest. In this
he found no difficulty for people had the idea that some luck attached
itself to anything connected with the honest servant, and were only too
glad to be accommodated with loans out of his savings.
Thus eight years passed away and Kyūsuké was still a servant in the
household of Gonzaemon. One day the latter called the young man
into his apartment and addressed him as follows:—
“My dear Kyūsuké, time indeed flies like an arrow, as the proverb says.
Eight years have elapsed since I was so fortunate as to take you into
my service. You have never squandered your wages as other servants do;
setting apart a certain amount for small personal expenses you have
regularly committed to my care all that you earned. I should certainly
have proved but a poor banker, had I not sought some profitable
investment for your deposits. All these years I have been lending out
your money at a moderate rate, and it is astonishing to find how much
your capital now amounts to. Behold! Your savings with interest and
compound interest now reach the sum of one hundred _ryō_! Now, what do
you propose to do with all this money?”
“My good master,” said Kyūsuké, quite taken aback at the idea of such
wealth, “you must be joking!”
“Not at all; it is as I say. Will you continue to lend it out, or would
you prefer to dispose of it in some other way? It is for you to decide.”
“A hundred _ryō_!” gasped Kyūsuké. “Did you really say ‘one hundred
_ryō_’?”
“A hundred _ryō_!” replied his master smiling.
“It is unbelievable!” said Kyūsuké.
“Your own industry is responsible for it,” said Gonzaemon. “Now tell me
what you are going to do with it.”
Kyūsuké pondered long and deeply. At length he spoke.
“Kind master, if you would not think it taking an unpardonable liberty,
I should much like to take the money and pay a short visit to my native
place next spring.”
“By all means” said Gonzaemon. “Do you know of a good investment in
your native place?”
“No,” answered Kyūsuké, readily enough now. “But you will understand
better if I tell you a little of my family history. Excuse the liberty
I take in troubling you with my affairs. I am the second son of a
peasant, Kyūzaemon by name, living in the village of Shimo-Ogita-mura
near Nanao, in the province of Noto. My elder brother, after leading a
dissipated life and causing his parents much grief, suddenly left home
and has never been heard of since. My mother died soon after, and my
father married a widow with one daughter. Before long my step-mother
took it into her head to adopt a son to marry her daughter and
succeed my father as head of the family. Me she hated, and consequently
treated me so unkindly, that I was soon convinced it would be for the
happiness of all parties that I should leave home and go right away. So
one day, leaving a letter of apology behind me, I secretly came away.
At first I had rather a hard time of it, but since I was so lucky as
to become your servant I have had nothing to complain of. I cannot
sufficiently thank you for all your kindness to me.” Here Kyūsuké
paused, and bowed low, while tears filled his eyes. Conquering his
emotion he resumed:—
“One hundred _ryō_, the largest sum of money I have ever set eyes
on, I owe entirely to your goodness—how can I thank you? That I may
make a proper use of your gift—for so I consider it—I shall return to
my father and with this money buy him some rice-fields. In addition,
should my step-sister still remain single I shall try to find her a
suitable husband. Having done this and established my family so that it
will be in no danger of extinction, I shall make all haste to return
to you and beg to offer you my lifelong service as some small way of
requiting all you have done for me.”
Gonzaemon was greatly touched.
“Kyūsuké,” he said, “you are a noble fellow! A dutiful son as well as
a faithful servant. I admire your laudable intention. ‘To your old
home return in splendour’ says an old proverb, so Kyūsuké, return in
splendour indeed! I will make it my business to provide the clothes you
shall wear, and I will also see that you have suitable presents to take
to all your relations.”
Thus the conversation ended and Kyūsuké retired to pursue his usual
avocations.
* * * * *
Early the following year, in spite of his servant’s remonstrances,
Gonzaemon, as good as his word, prepared all the necessary garments
for Kyūsuké to wear in order to make a good impression on his visit
home, and presents for each member of his family. Further, he pressed
upon Kyūsuké’s acceptance a short sword for protection on his journey,
ten _ryō_ for travelling expenses, and five _ryō_ as a parting gift.
Producing Kyūsuké’s own hundred _ryō_ he said:—
“Now, my dear Kyūsuké, you had better not carry this large sum in cash
for fear you might get robbed on the way; I advise you to send it by
bill of exchange.”
“Indeed, no, good master,” replied Kyūsuké. “That is quite unnecessary;
who would suspect that a fellow of my sort had any money about him and
attempt to rob me? It will be quite safe in the bosom of my dress.”
“But you might lose it in some other way,” persisted Gonzaemon. “You
had better do as I say,—one cannot be too much on one’s guard while
travelling.”
Kyūsuké laughed.
“Do not be uneasy on my account,” he said. “I will be careful.”
“As you please, Kyūsuké; but at least listen to me in one thing; while
on your journey always make it a rule to start late in the morning,
and to put up early in the evening. Above all never make a travelling
companion, and do not speak of your affairs.”
“I will bear in mind what you say, and most certainly follow your
advice,” said Kyūsuké. “A thousand thanks for all your favours, kind
master. I can never forget all I owe to you.”
With affectionate words on both sides Kyūsuké and his master parted
and the young man set out on his journey homewards. But once upon the
road the dutiful son, too eager to set his eyes once more on the
village of his forefathers, was indiscreet enough to travel from the
earliest hour of the day till late at night. So it was, that when he
was in the neighbourhood of Oiwaké in the province of Shinano he one
night lost his way in the darkness, and after a long march of five or
six _ri_ found himself in the middle of an extensive moor without a
trace of human habitation.
“What shall I do?” he asked himself. “I fear I have been too rash. Had
I followed my master’s advice I should not be in this plight. It is
only what I deserve.”
Plodding on Kyūsuké was overjoyed after a time to observe a glimmer
of light in the distance. Taking heart at this sign of a dwelling of
some kind, he bent his weary steps toward it, and by and by came to a
tumble-down cottage which appeared to be the only habitation for miles
around. Kyūsuké went up to the door and called for admittance.
“Be good enough to show favour to a stranger! I am very sorry to
disturb you at this late hour, but have lost my way and cannot find the
road. Please let me in and tell me how to get to the nearest inn.”
The door opened and a woman appeared. She was about thirty and poorly
dressed and her coiffure was of a mean style, but there was
something in her person that seemed to contradict the idea that her
birth was as low as her surroundings.
“Come in,” she said. “But you must not stay. I am indeed sorry for you,
for you stand in the middle of one of Shinano’s many moors. Whichever
way you turn you must walk about five _ri_ before you come to another
house.”
Kyūsuké being very tired requested the woman to give him a night’s
lodging, but she shook her head.
“Why did you come here?”
“I have told you; I lost my way and I saw a light. You cannot be so
inhuman as to refuse me shelter for a few hours,—I ask no more.”
“You will not want to stay when I tell you that this is the house of a
robber—a highwayman.”
“A robber!” Kyūsuké thinking of his treasure was alarmed. “Excuse me, I
must go on at once.”
“Will you not rest a few moments?”
“By no means. How can I sit down in what I have learned is the
residence of a highway-gentleman? Allow me to say Good-night; I am much
obliged to you.”
Kyūsuké was for going at once but the woman stopped him.
“Good traveller, I must tell you that you are encompassed by danger in
every direction. After all, I think the safest course for you to pursue
is to remain here for the night and I will hide you from my husband. He
will not be back for some time yet.”
The manner and speech of the woman inspired confidence, so Kyūsuké
deemed it prudent to abide by her advice. Taking off the large bamboo
hat that he wore as a protection from both sun and rain, he sat down on
the boarded floor of the kitchen glad to rest his weary limbs at last.
The woman hurriedly prepared a simple supper for him, which he ate with
relish, though in haste, as he feared the return of the master. The
woman then led him to a wood-shed at the back of the cottage and said:—
“You would be in great danger should my husband discover you. So keep
yourself hidden in this shed and do not mind a little discomfort. As
soon as it is day and my husband goes out, I will let you out and you
can continue your journey in safety.”
Kyūsuké thanked her warmly, and had not long ensconced himself among
the piles of firewood, making himself as comfortable as he could under
the circumstances, when he heard a sound that caused his heart to
leap into his mouth.
“O-Nami, I have returned.”
“Oh, is it you at last?” welcomed the wife.
“How cold it is! Confound those killing winds that blow, down from Mt.
Asama! O-Nami!”
“Yes; what is it?”
“Whose hat is that?”
[Illustration: “Whose hat is that?”]
“Hat? What hat?”
“Come, no equivocations! There is a strange hat on the floor, and you
know whose it is. Out with it! I don’t like this underhand way you have
acquired of hiding things from me. You are concealing someone in the
house!”
“Indeed, no! Why should I want to conceal anyone.”
“Then how did this bamboo hat get here? Do you want me to believe that
the wind blew it in, as ours is the only building to check its course
for miles around? Come, woman, speak up!”
There was the sound of quick movement, and a cry—
“Mercy, mercy....”
“Come, speak up or you are a dead woman!”
Kyūsuké, in his hiding in the wood-shed, could imagine the scene.
“This is terrible!” he thought. “How could I be such a fool as to
forget my hat! It may cost the woman her life!”
The noise in the cottage increased, mingled with the shrieks of the
poor woman and the threats of her enraged husband. Kyūsuké stole out of
his hiding place and peeped cautiously through a crack in the door. To
his horror he found the man was dragging his wife round the room by her
long hair with one hand, while he repeatedly struck her with the other.
At this sight Kyūsuké forgetting his own fears burst in.
“Sir, sir, all the money I have about me I will give you! The woman is
not to blame,—spare her!”
“Who spoke?”
The infuriated man checked his wrath for a moment to stare in
astonishment at the unexpected apparition.
Taking advantage of the lull, Kyūsuké quickly produced his hundred
_ryō_ along with what remained of the money his master had given him
for the journey and the little gift.
“Here, good sir, take all—I have no more—and do not punish your
wife for a kind action. I only am to blame.”
The ruffian took no further notice of his wife whom he left sobbing
on the floor, but turned to take up with greedy hands the rich store
offered by the traveller. Not content with money, however, he coolly
demanded all the clothes he was wearing and possessed himself of the
dagger into the bargain. Poor Kyūsuké! all the earnings of eight
hard-working years had gone to fill the pockets of a villainous
gentleman of the road.
“In pity, give me back my clothes, I cannot go either back or forward
in this naked state,” pleaded Kyūsuké. “And my dagger—I need it to
defend myself from gentlemen such as you—though I have nothing of which
to be robbed now!” he added ruefully.
“Take these,” said the robber, throwing him a wadded garment and a
girdle, both much the worse for wear.
“Thank you very much, but now my dagger....”
“That I shall find useful myself.”
“But without it I shall be at the mercy of any dog on the way....”
“What a troublesome fellow you are! But no one shall say I left
you without the means of defence. Here, take this, and begone!”
With these words the robber produced from a cupboard an old sword
doubtless acquired from some former luckless wayfarer and handed it to
Kyūsuké, adding:—
“After leaving this house go straight on till you come to a broad road,
follow this always turning to the north and in due time you will reach
Oiwaké. Now go!”
“Again my best thanks,” said Kyūsuké bowing low; then turning to the
poor woman he said softly:—
“I am very sorry to have brought all this trouble upon you, forgive me.”
“No, no, it was I who was to blame but, indeed, I did it for the best.”
“A truce to this nonsense!” cried the robber impatiently. “Here is a
torch to light your way; be off before I change my mind about letting
you go.”
“Then, master and mistress, farewell to you,” and with these words
Kyūsuké accepted the torch held out to him and hastened away. But the
fates seemed to be still against him, for no sooner had he set forth
than the rain which had begun to come down in torrents put out
his light so that he was in complete darkness. But this misfortune in
reality saved his life, for the robber had given Kyūsuké a light for
no other purpose than that it would serve his own evil intent, which
was to shoot the traveller as soon as his back was turned. True, he
might have despatched him before he left the cottage, but in that
case his wife would have interfered and been troublesome; besides he
hardly liked to turn upon Kyūsuké and murder him just when he had so
ungrudgingly given up all he had. Wicked man though he was he could not
bring himself to such a dastardly action as that. However, as soon as
Kyūsuké closed the door the robber, weapon in hand, softly opened it
again and crept out, intending to take aim by the light that Kyūsuké
carried. But, alas for him, and fortunately for his intended victim,
the heavy rain had extinguished the light; so muttering “lucky dog!” he
re-entered his home leaving Kyūsuké to continue his way unmolested.
On arriving at Oiwaké Kyūsuké drew a long breath and congratulated
himself on his narrow escape, though how narrow he did not realise.
There he gave up his cherished idea of visiting his old home, and
determined to retrace his steps to his master’s house, begging his way
as he had now no money to pay for even the poorest fare. Gonzaemon
received him very kindly, though, having heard the details of Kyūsuké’s
adventure, he could not resist saying:—
“Did I not warn you? If you had drawn a draft for the money as I
advised you this would never have happened. But it is too late to
talk of that now. You were lucky to escape with the loss of your
property,—you might have lost your life as well. Do not give way to
despair. Rest for a few days and then set to work again.”
While speaking to Kyūsuké the master happened to take up the old sword
he had got from the robber. The thread round the hilt was frayed and
coming off. He tried to draw the blade but it was so rusty with disuse
that it stuck fast in the sheath. Bending over it his eye was caught by
the decorative stud which he was convinced was not of brass. Thinking
the weapon might be of more value than appeared at first sight, he sent
for a dealer in old wares, Kichibei by name, and requested his opinion
as to its merits, pretending that it belonged to one of his friends who
wished to dispose of it to the best advantage.
The dealer, with the skill acquired by long practice, soon
withdrew the blade from its sheath, and after closely examining it for
some time, said:—
“The sword is a valuable one. The blade is so rusty that I cannot say
anything for certain about it, but the ornamentation is undoubtedly
of solid gold. The pommel and stud are of Gotō’s engraving, and the
guard itself being by Nobuié is worth at least thirty-five _ryō_. I am
willing to give one hundred and thirty _ryō_ for the decorative parts
alone.”
These words quite surpassed the expectations of Gonzaemon. He sent the
dealer away on the pretext that he would consult his friend, and then
told Kyūsuké what he had said.
At this undreamt-of good luck Kyūsuké was struck dumb as well he might
be. Gonzaemon, however, encouraged by Kichibei’s opinion thought that
a Yedo expert might value the sword even more highly and be more able,
as well as willing, to purchase it at a higher rate. A blade in so
elaborate and rich a mounting could hardly fail to prove a good one;
and knowing something of the estimation in which much workmanship was
held, he decided to go up to Yedo himself and do the best he could for
his faithful but simple servant.
In Yedo he submitted the weapon to the examination of Honami, the
ablest connoisseur in matters of this sort, who pronounced the blade
to be the undoubted work of Bizen Nagamitsu, one of the ten clever
disciples of Masamuné, although the name of the maker was not on it.
Further, in proof of his belief he offered to buy it for eight hundred
_ryō_, an offer Gonzaemon was more than glad to accept.
The business that took him to the city so satisfactorily concluded, he
hastened home with all speed and gave the astonished Kyūsuké an account
of the transaction. Laying the money before him he concluded with these
words:—
“My dear Kyūsuké, see how advantageous it is to be honest always! Your
misfortune has proved a blessing in disguise. Heaven approving of your
upright conduct has been pleased to grant you this great favour. How
grateful we should be! Now go home again with all despatch, but this
time take my advice and do not carry such a large sum in cash.”
As soon as Kyūsuké recovered from his surprise he bowed respectfully to
his master, and spoke as follows:—
“My good master, you overwhelm me with obligation! I have no words in
which to express my feelings. But far be it from me to appropriate all
this large sum. I hesitate to displease you, but only one hundred
_ryō_ do I consider is mine,—for I left the robber’s house poorer by
just that amount, and that sum I shall send home by money order as you
advise. As for the rest, after you deduct the expenses of your journey
to Yedo, I shall carry it all to the robber. The sword was his and I
can not make myself rich at the expense of a poor highwayman,—that
would never do!”
Gonzaemon was struck with admiration at this disinterested conduct on
the part of his servant.
“My good fellow,” he said warmly, “your honesty puts me to shame! But
surely you will not unnecessarily risk your life for such a purpose. As
for my journey to Yedo, that is purely my affair and you will dismiss
it from your mind. But consider before you act so rashly as to put
yourself again into the power of a desperate man.”
But Kyūsuké was obstinate as well as honest.
“Far be it from me to go in opposition to your wishes,” he said,
respectfully, “but in this thing only I beg you to let me have my own
way. I am loath to cause you any uneasiness, but villain though he is
he will surely not harm a man who comes to do him a good turn. There
can be no danger.”
Gonzaemon, knowing from experience that further persuasions would be
of no avail, reluctantly permitted his servant to do as he proposed.
After sending one hundred _ryō_ to his father by money order, he tied
up the seven hundred _ryō_ remaining in a little package, which he put
in his bosom and once more set off on his travels. Contrary to his
former experience, he had this time no little difficulty in finding
the cottage of the highwayman; at last, however, he came to the door
which in response to his call was again opened by the kind-hearted
mistress. Kyūsuké bowed, and in polite terms thanked her for the
favours he received at her hands on a former occasion. The woman was
much surprised, but controlling her emotion she said:—
“My good traveller, I do not know how to apologise for what I did to
you the other day. Nevertheless you have come again! I shall be still
more grieved if you are robbed a second time. Fortunately for you,—
though _I_ am sorry—my husband is sick in bed. Please make all haste to
retrace your steps.”
Kyūsuké’s kind heart was moved with compassion for the sick man and his
wife.
“Indeed I sympathise with you both. Allow me To pay my respects to him
and inquire after his health.”
“No, no, sir! He is suffering now but his avarice may be excited at the
sight of you. Should he again demand all you have with you, you may
again be inconvenienced.”
“Be quite easy on that score; I am here to bring him some money.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are naturally surprised. Let me in and you will know. I must see
your husband.”
Reluctantly the woman let him come into the house. Making his way to an
inner room where the sick man was lying groaning, Kyūsuké, saluting him
in the usual manner, inquired:—
“My friend, how are you?”
“This is the traveller you treated so unkindly a short time ago,”
explained the woman, seeing that her husband did not recognize the
visitor.
“Which one?” asked the robber, sourly.
“Sir, it is I. I do not know how to requite you for the kindness you
showed me the other day. But now I must tell you what brings me here
again.”
Thereupon Kyūsuké proceeded to inform the robber of what had happened
about the sword, and laying the packet of money by the bed concluded as
follows:—
“From the price paid for the sword I have deducted one hundred _ryō_
as my due, sending it to my home by money order. All the rest I have
brought with me and it is in that package except a small sum I have
taken the liberty to keep for my travelling expenses. I have not
quite enough to take me to my home in Noto province, and then back to
my master’s house in Tamamura, Kōdzuké province, so I shall be much
obliged if you will kindly allow me a little more. As for the remainder
you are welcome to appropriate it all. Ah, how glad I am to be relieved
of the charge of this money which has been a source of constant anxiety
ever since I set out on this journey.”
The sick man appeared to be much impressed by the simple recital of
Kyūsuké’s tale. After a pause he said:—
“You say your home is in Noto; from what part of the province do you
come?”
“I was born in Ogita-mura near Nanao. My name is Kyūsuké and I am the
son of a peasant called Kyūzaemon.”
“Was your elder brother called Kyūtarō?”
“How do you know that?”
“You may well wonder. Kyūsuké, I have hardly the face to tell you.... I
am Kyūtarō, fallen as you see to the depths of degradation and
misery.”
“My elder brother, Kyūtarō!”
“With shame I say it, yes.”
The two brothers embraced with tears. O-Nami was surprised beyond
measure at the pathetic sight.
“Are you indeed my husband’s brother? Forgive me, I did not guess it,”
and she burst into tears.
Kyūsuké hastened to console her.
“I beg you will not cry; forgive my rudeness in not knowing who you
were, and forgive also the great trouble I have occasioned you.”
Kyūtarō, whose conscience was at last smitten at the thought of all his
misdeeds, now took a hunting knife lying within reach, and planted it
in the side of his abdomen. His wife and brother, too late to stop the
rash act, caught his hands.
“Stop, what madness is this!” cried Kyūsuké.
“My husband, oh what have you done!” exclaimed the wife.
Kyūtarō was almost beyond speaking. In a faint voice he said painfully:—
“Brother, wife, how can I continue to live? Kyūsuké, when I recall
how vile I have been I am stricken with remorse and shame. When you
were here last I would have killed you, little dreaming you were
my brother; O-Nami’s remonstrances were of no avail, only providence
saved you by miraculously putting out the torch you carried. My evil
designs have all turned to your good fortune; the sword I gave you to
encourage you the sooner to leave this house proves a precious gift
and brings you a large sum of money. Instead of profiting by it you
take the trouble to come and give it to me. Kyūsuké, how scrupulous you
are! Your nature is honest and spotless as the snow ... mine black as
charcoal! I have filled up the measure of my wickedness; the disease
from which I am now suffering is the punishment of Heaven. What you
have just told me will serve like the blessing of a holy priest to
enlighten my path to the other world. I am determined to die and join
my dead mother,—to offer her my humble apologies for my bad conduct.
There is only one thing that disturbs me at this last moment,—it is
the thought of O-Nami. It was her misfortune that she married such a
wretched husband as I have been, but her heart is pure and tender. Look
after her when I am gone—be kind to her, Kyūsuké, I entreat you.”
Thus Kyūtarō, unable to bear the stings of an awakened conscience,
succeeded in disengaging himself from the arms of his wife and
brother and died a manly death.
Kyūsuké and O-Nami mingled their tears over the lifeless body, but the
departed spirit was not to be recalled by their lamentations. So they
strove to conquer their grief and buried the dead robber in the best
manner possible under the circumstances.
Kyūsuké then started for home, taking the money he had brought so far
and the hair of the deceased. O-Nami accompanied him. Before leaving
the cottage they set fire to it that no one might ever use it for evil
purposes again.
On reaching home Kyūsuké told his old father, his step-mother and her
daughter, all that had befallen him since he left them so many years
before. The hundred _ryō_ sent in advance had already come to hand, and
he now added to it all the money he had on his person. He also produced
the hair of the dead man. Old Kyūzaemon lamented over the sad fate of
his undutiful son, but at the same time rejoiced in the possession of
so admirable a younger son as Kyūsuké. The step-mother, now repenting
of her selfishness of former days, sought his forgiveness. One and all
took pity on O-Nami in her great misery. It is wonderful how one
man’s goodness works upon the hearts of those about him. It was the
desire of his relations that Kyūsuké should succeed to his father and
carry on the family name; but he firmly declined, and arranged that
his step-sister should get a husband, and that the new couple should
be the heirs of the old man after his demise. As for O-Nami, she was
determined to become a nun and devote her remaining days to religious
services for the soul of her dead husband, her sole concern being
prayer for the blotting out of his sins. It was decided to build a
hermitage for her in order that she might pass her life undisturbed.
This is the origin of the Nanao nunnery.
Having settled his family affairs to the satisfaction of all concerned,
Kyūsuké was happy to accept out of the cash he had brought home
a small sum sufficient to carry him back to his master’s home in
Kōdzuké province. After recounting his adventures and all he had done,
Kyūsuké begged Gonzaemon to re-engage him on the same terms as before.
Gonzaemon was both surprised and pleased. The praiseworthy actions of
Kyūsuké so moved the good-natured village head-man that he proposed to
set the young man up as one of his branch families. Kyūsuké’s modesty
was by no means eager to accept such an honour, but seeing it was
really the wish of his patron he at length yielded. I need not tell you
how industriously he attended to all his duties that he might prove no
discredit to his master’s judgment. His family thrives in Tama-mura
to this day. As for the sword which he got from his robber brother it
was purchased by Lord Matsudaira, Daimio of Awa province. He named
it “Suté-maru” (a foundling blade) in reference to its history, and
treasured it highly. It is still a valued heirloom in the family.
大正九年十二月十五日刷印
大正九年十二月二十日發行
定價金四圓
市外上大崎町三百八十番地
著者 宮森麻太郎
東京市橋區銀度四丁目一番地
發行者 エチ，ダブリユー，ジヨーンス
東京市橋區銀度四丁目一番地
發行所 教文管
東京市橋區南金六町十二番地
刷印者 望月精矣
東京市橋區南金六町十二番地
刷印所 英文通信社刷印所
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text Notes:
1. Italicized text is indicated with leading and trailing
underscores. (_)
2. Five spaced stars are used to indicate a larger gap between
paragraphs in the printed book.
3. In order to facilitate word wrapping, an ellipsis in the middle
of a sentence is replaced by a group of three periods. This group
has a leading and, unless a comma is present, trailing blank
space added. Ellipses at the end of a sentence do not have a
leading blank space, but closing punctuation has been added if
needed.
4. Footnotes have been numbered and moved to the end of each
story.
5. Half-title pages have been removed. The page numbers given in the
table of contents have been adjusted.
6. Illustrations have been placed in a manner to avoid splitting a
paragraph. The page numbers given in the List of Illustrations
have been adjusted as needed. Illustrations are indicated by
“[Illustration:]” with the caption text following the colon.
7. The two short poems in this text have been separated apart from
their containing paragraph to avoid word wrapping. They actually
are each part of a single paragraph with the text blocks above and
below.
8. Changed paragraphs ending in “,” to “:—” to match style of the
rest of the book:
pg 129: with due reverence,
pg 139: clear and distinct,
pg 151: laughed good-humouredly and,
9. Except as mentioned above and in the Change List that follows,
every effort has been made to replicate text as faithfully as
possible, including non-standard or inconsistently applied
punctuation, inconsistently hyphenated words, and other
idiosyncrasies.
Change List (page numbers from original printed book):
Table of Contents
The Royalty of A Boy Samurai
changed to
The Loyalty of a Boy Samurai
Table of Contents
The Wrestling of A Daimio
changed to
The Wrestling of a Daimio
Page 5
Villian
changed to
Villain
Page 7
Assasination
changed to
Assassination
Page 37
Added “I.” section header to match other sections.
Page 42
had quite forgotton to attend
changed to
had quite forgotten to attend
Page 45
remonstrace
changed to
remonstrance
Page 57
Katsuno, till pale and emaciated
changed to
Katsuno, still pale and emaciated
Page 73
adressed to Ōsuga Katsutaka
changed to
addressed to Ōsuga Katsutaka
Page 85
twelth
changed to
twelfth
Page 90
at the inconseqence
changed to
at the inconsequence
Page 94
rankling in yonr heart
changed to
rankling in your heart
Page 95
seal your reconcilation
changed to
seal your reconciliation
Page 108
in the twelth year
changed to
in the twelfth year
Page 108
affords me much gratificaiton
changed to
affords me much gratification
Page 139
behined
changed to
behind
Page 155
Genzaemon
changed to
Gonzaemon
Page 156
May I not accomodate you
changed to
May I not accommodate you
Page 159
tussel
changed to
tussle
Page pg 162
wordly
changed to
worldly
Page 162
stipened
changed to
stipend
Page 173
Ryōkan
changed to
Ryōkwan
Page 178
Kyokwan’s
changed to
Ryōkwan’s
Page 181
remontrance
changed to
remonstrance
Page 188
“Keicho 19, 12th month, 27th day.”
changed to
“Keichō 19, 12th month, 27th day.”
Page 189
PAECE
changed to
PEACE
Page 189
receiving it back pu
changed to
receiving it back put
Page 196
a short breating space
changed to
a short breathing space
Page 197
halbert
changed to
halberd
Page 199
“Coward,” cried the dying warrior,” “you
changed to
“Coward,” cried the dying warrior, “you
Page 199
weaking
changed to
weakling
Page 200
Iyeyrsu
changed to
Ieyasu
Page 205
a keen interst in him.
changed to
a keen interest in him.
Page 217
Added missing illustration caption.
Page 225
but villian though he is
changed to
but villain though he is
Page 227
robbor
changed to
robber
Page 229
cried Kūysuké
changed to
cried Kyūsuké
Page 230
profitting
changed to
profiting
Page 231
ifeless body
changed to
lifeless body
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Tales of the Samurai: Stories illustrating Bushido, the Moral Principles of the Japanese Knighthood" ***
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