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THE SHOGUN’S DAUGHTER




_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_


  A VOLUNTEER WITH PIKE: The True Narrative of One Dr. John Robinson
      and his Love for the Fair Señorita Vallois. Illustrated in color
      by Charlotte Weber-Ditzler.

      Crown 8vo                         $1.50

  INTO THE PRIMITIVE. Illustrated in color by Allen T. True.

      _Third edition._ Crown 8vo         $150

    A.  C. McCLURG & CO.
    CHICAGO


[Illustration: THE PRINCESS AZAI]




    THE SHOGUN’S
    DAUGHTER

    BY
    ROBERT AMES BENNET

    Author of “_For the White Christ_,”
    “_Into the Primitive_,” etc.

    _WITH 5 PICTURES IN COLOR
    BY W. D. GOLDBECK_

    [Illustration]


    CHICAGO
    A. C. McCLURG & CO.
    1910




    COPYRIGHT
    A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
    1910

    Published October 1, 1910

    Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England


    THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
    [W·D·O]
    NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A




    To
    MY WIFE




CONTENTS


   CHAPTER                                                        PAGE
         I  EASTERN SEAS                                             1
        II  IN KAGOSHIMA BAY                                         9
       III  THE GENTLEMAN WITH TWO SWORDS                           22
        IV  YORITOMO’S BETROTHED                                    38
         V  THE COASTS OF NIPPON                                    44
        VI  A WILD NIGHT                                            55
       VII  ON THE TOKAIDO                                          71
      VIII  THE GEISHA                                              86
        IX  NIPPON’S GREETINGS                                     102
         X  THE PRINCESS AZAI                                      117
        XI  ROUT OF THE RONINS                                     129
       XII  ESCORT TO THE PRINCESS                                 143
      XIII  THE PRINCE OF OWARI                                    154
       XIV  BEFORE THE SHOGUN                                      168
        XV  REQUITAL                                               182
       XVI  MITO STRIKES                                           194
      XVII  IN THE PIT OF TORMENT                                  204
     XVIII  THE SHADOW OF DEATH                                    220
       XIX  THE GARDEN OF AZAI                                     235
        XX  LOVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS                              250
       XXI  JARRING COUNSELLORS                                    262
      XXII  TEA WITH THE TYCOON                                    280
     XXIII  LESSONS AND LOVE                                       296
      XXIV  ENSNARED                                               310
       XXV  HARA-KIRI                                              320
      XXVI  HOVERING HAWKS                                         330
     XXVII  SON BY ADOPTION                                        344
    XXVIII  HIGH TREASON                                           352
      XXIX  INTRIGUE                                               366
       XXX  MY WEDDING EVE                                         373
      XXXI  IN THE POWER OF MITO                                   387
     XXXII  LED OUT TO EXECUTION                                   398
    XXXIII  BARED BLADES                                           407
     XXXIV  CONCLUSION                                             418




ILLUSTRATIONS


    The Princess Azai                                   _Frontispiece_
                                                                  Page
    She dropped her blue robe from her graceful shoulders           98
    A row of little pearls gleamed between her smiling red lips    126
    “Is this loyal service?” she asked                             246
    Gengo struck with deadly aim                                   360




THE SHOGUN’S DAUGHTER




CHAPTER I--EASTERN SEAS


My first cruise as a midshipman in the navy of the United States began
a short month too late for me to share in the honors of the Mexican
War. In other words, I came in at the foot of the service, with all the
grades above me fresh-stocked with comparatively young and vigorous
officers. As a consequence, the rate of promotion was so slow that the
Summer of 1851 found me, at the age of twenty-four, still a middie,
with my lieutenancy ever receding, like a will-o’-the-wisp, into the
future.

Had I chosen a naval career through necessity, I might have continued
to endure. But to the equal though younger heir of one of the largest
plantations in South Carolina, the pay of even a post captain would
have been of small concern. It is, therefore, hardly necessary to add
that I had been lured into the service by the hope of winning fame and
glory.

That my choice should have fallen upon the navy rather than the army
may have been due to the impulse of heredity. According to family
traditions and records, one of my ancestors was the famous English
seaman Will Adams, who served Queen Elizabeth in the glorious fight
against the Spanish Armada and afterwards piloted a Dutch ship through
the dangerous Straits of Magellan and across the vast unchartered
expanse of the Pacific to the mysterious island empire, then known as
Cipango or Zipangu.

History itself verifies that wonderful voyage and the still more
wonderful fact of my ancestor’s life among the Japanese as one of the
nobles and chief counsellors of the great Emperor Iyeyasu. So highly
was the advice of the bold Englishman esteemed by the Emperor that he
was never permitted to return home. For many years he dwelt honorably
among that most peculiar of Oriental peoples, aiding freely the few
English and Dutch who ventured into the remote Eastern seas. He had
aided even the fanatical Portuguese and Spaniards, who, upon his
arrival, had sought to have him and his handful of sick and starving
shipmates executed as pirates. So it was he lived and died a Japanese
noble, and was buried with all honor.

With the blood of such a man in my veins, it is not strange that I
turned to the sea. Yet it is no less strange that three years in
the service should bring me to an utter weariness of the dull naval
routine. Notable as were the achievements of our navy throughout the
world in respect to exploration and other peaceful triumphs, it has
ever surprised me that in the absence of war and promotion I should
have lingered so long in my inferior position.

In war the humiliation of servitude to seniority may be thrust from
thought by the hope of winning superior rank through merit. Deprived of
this opportunity, I could not but chafe under my galling subjection to
the commands of men never more than my equals in social rank and far
too often my inferiors.

The climax came after a year on the China Station, to which I had
obtained an assignment in the hope of renewed action against the
arrogant Celestials. Disappointed in this, and depressed by a severe
spell of fever contracted at Honkong, I resigned the service at
Shanghai, and took passage for New York, by way of San Francisco and
the Horn, on the American clipper _Sea Flight_.

We cleared for the Sandwich Islands August the twenty-first, 1851.
The second noon found us safe across the treacherous bars of the
Yangtse-Kiang and headed out across the Eastern Sea, the southwest
monsoon bowling us along at a round twelve knots.

The double lassitude of my convalescence and the season had rendered
me too indifferent to inquire about my fellow-passengers. We were well
under way before I learned that, aside from the officers and crew, I
was the only person aboard ship. In view of the voyage of from five
to six months’ duration which lay before me, this discovery roused
me to the point of observing the characters of the skipper and his
mates. Much to my chagrin, I found that all were Yankees of the most
pronounced nasal type.

As a late naval officer no less than as a Southern gentleman, I could
not humble myself to social intercourse with the _bucko_ mates.
Fortunately Captain Downing was somewhat less unbearable, and had the
good taste to share my interest in the mysterious islands of Japan,
as well as my detestation of China. Even as the low, dreary coast of
Kiangsu faded from view in our wake, we attained to a cordial exchange
of congratulations over the fact that we were at last quit of the filth
and fantasies of the Celestial Empire.

As we wheeled about from the last glance astern, Downing pointed over
the side with a jerk of his thumb. “Look at that dirty flood, Mr.
Adams. Just like a China river to try to turn the whole sea China
yellow! Conceited as John Chinaman himself!”

“Give the devil his due,” I drawled. “Biggest nation on earth, and
close upon the biggest river.”

“Aye, and thank Providence, every last one of their three hundred
million pigtails lie abaft my taffrail, and every drop of that foul
flood soon to lose itself in clean blue water!” He stared ahead,
combing his fingers through his bushy whiskers, his shrewd eyes
twinkling with satisfaction. “Aye! blue water--the whole breadth of the
Pacific before us, and Asia astern.”

“Not all Asia,” I corrected. “We have yet to clear the Loo Choos.”

“The Loo Choos,” he repeated. “Queer people, I guess. They are said to
be a kind of Chinamen.”

“It’s hard to tell,” I replied. “They may be Chinese. Yet some say the
islands are subject to Japan.”

“To Japan? Then they’ve got good reason to be queer!” He paced across
the deck and back, his jaw set and eyes keen with sudden resolve. “By
ginger, I’ll do it this passage, sir, danged if I won’t! I’ve been
wanting to see something of the Japanese islands ever since I came out
to the China seas as a cabin-boy, and that’s fifty years gone.”

“You’d run out of your course for a glimpse of the Japanese coast?” I
exclaimed, no less incredulous than delighted.

“More than a glimpse, Mr. Adams. Van Diemen Strait is a shorter course
than the Loo Choo passage, and with this weather--”

“Midst of the typhoon season,” I cut in with purposeful
superciliousness of tone.

The captain of a clipper is as sensitive to any aspersions on his
seamanship as the grayest master of navigation in the navy. Downing bit
snappily. “Typhoon be damned! I navigated a whaler through uncharted
seas twenty odd years, and never lost my ship. I’ll take the _Sea
Flight_ through Van Diemen Strait, blow or calm, sir.”

“No doubt,” I murmured with ambiguous suavity.

He scowled, puzzled at my smile. “You naval officers! Commanded my
first ship before you were born--before I had need of a razor. What’s
more, I’m third owner in this clipper, and I’ve discretion over my
course. The skipper who carries the first cargo out of a Japanese port
is going to get the cream, and I’ve an idee the <DW61>s are loosening up
a bit. I’m going to put into Kagoshima Bay, where the old _Morrison_
tried to land the castaway <DW61>s in ’thirty-seven.”

“She was fired upon most savagely by the soldiers of the Prince of
Satsuma,” I replied. “Why not try Nagasaki?”

“Nagasaki?--Deshima!” he rumbled. “I’m no Dutchman or yellow Chinee,
to be treated like a dog. What’s more, it’s too far up the west coast.
No! I’ll chance Kagoshima. That Satsuma king or mandarin, whatever he
is, may have changed his mind since the _Morrison_, or there may be a
new one now, with more liberal idees.”

“Since you’re resolved upon it, skipper, I must confess I have reasons
of my own to be pleased with your plan,” I said, and at his interested
glance, I told him somewhat in detail of my daring ancestor Will Adams,
the first Englishman ever to reach the Land of the Rising Sun and the
only European ever made a Japanese noble.

“H’m. Married a Japanese wife, and left children by her,” commented
Downing, and he grinned broadly. “I must ask leave for you to land and
look up your heathen kin.”

“You forget yourself, sir,” I caught him up. “Be kind enough hereafter
to refrain from impertinence when speaking of persons related to me.”

He stared in astonishment. “Well, I’ll be durned! Two hundred years and
more since your forefather died, you said--”

“None the less,” I insisted sharply, “my cousins are my cousins, sir.
If there are any of my ancestor’s Japanese descendants now living, they
are related to me, however remote may be the degree. Therefore they
are entitled to be spoken of with respect.”

“Well, I’ll swan!” he muttered. “No offence, Mr. Adams.”

I bowed my acceptance of his uncouth apology, but maintained my
dignity. “As I have said, sir, my ancestor was ennobled by the great
Emperor Iyeyasu. Heathen or not, rest assured that his Japanese
descendants, if any survive, are at the least gentlefolk.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” he grunted. “You’ll soon have a chance to
inquire. I’m going to take my ship up Kagoshima Bay, fog, shine, or
blow.”

He turned on his heel, and ordered the helmsman to put the ship’s head
due east. I went below in a glow of pleasant anticipation. There was
no mistaking the look in Downing’s face. Nothing could now shake his
stubborn resolve. I was to see the mysterious Cipango of Marco Polo and
Mendez Pinto, the Iappan of my ancestor,--the land that for almost two
and a half centuries had shut itself in from all communication with the
wide world other than through the severely restricted trade with the
Dutch and Chinese at Nagasaki.




CHAPTER II--IN KAGOSHIMA BAY


Dawn of the third day found us ten miles off the north shore of the
small volcanic island that stands second in the entrance to Van Diemen
Strait. The lurid glare reflected from its crater into the ascending
clouds of smoke had served as a beacon during the last hours of
darkness. Daylight confirmed the calculations of our position by the
sight of the beautiful smoking cone of Horner’s Peak, lying twenty-five
or thirty miles to the northeast on the southern extremity of Satsuma,
and the rugged peninsula of Osumi, ending in the sharp point of Cape
Satanomi, a like distance to the eastward.

The moment our landfall was clear in the growing light, the _Sea
Flight_ came around and headed straight between the two peninsulas. A
run of three hours before the monsoon, over the bluest of white-capped
seas, brought us well up into the entrance of Kagoshima Bay, with
Horner’s Peak a few miles off on the port beam, and the bold, verdant
hills of Osumi to starboard. Close along each shore the sea broke on
half-submerged rocks, but the broad channel showed no signs of reefs
or shoals, and Downing stood boldly in, without shortening sail.

Having none of the responsibility of navigating the ship, I was able
to loll upon the rail and enjoy to the utmost the magnificent scenery
of the bay. On either shore the mountainous coast trended off to the
northward, an emerald setting to the sapphire bay, with the lofty
broken peak of a smoking volcano towering precipitously at the head of
the thirty-mile stretch of land-girded waters. Far inland still loftier
peaks cast dim outlines through the summery haze.

Every valley and sheltered mountain-side along the bay showed heavy
growths of pines and other trees, among which were scattered groups of
straw-thatched, high-peaked cottages. Many of the <DW72>s were under
cultivation and terraced far up towards the crests, while every cove
was fringed with the straggling hovels of a fishing village.

In every direction the bay was dotted with the square white sails of
fishing smacks and small junks,--vessels that differed from Chinese
craft in the absence of bamboo ribs to the sails and still more in the
presence of the yawning port which gaped in their sterns. I concluded
that this extraordinary build was due to the Japanese policy of keeping
the population at home, for certainly none but a madman could have
dreamed of undertaking any other than a coastwise cruise in one of
these unseaworthy vessels. Another peculiarity was that not one of the
craft showed a trace of paint.

The majestic apparition of the _Sea Flight_ in their secluded haven
seemed to fill the Japanese sailors with wildest panic. One and all,
their craft scattered before her like flocks of startled waterfowl, for
the most part running inshore for shelter at the nearest villages or
behind the verdant islets that rose here and there above the rippling
blue waters. A few stood up the bay, probably to spread the alarm, but
the clipper easily overhauled and passed the swiftest.

By noon, though the wind had fallen to a light breeze, we had sailed
some thirty miles up the bay and were within three miles of the
volcano, which stood out, apparently on an island, with a deep inlet
running in on either side. On the Satsuma shore, across the mouth of
the western inlet, our glasses had long since brought to view the
gray expanse of Kagoshima, rising to a walled hill crowned with large
buildings, whose quaint, curved roofs and many-storied pagoda towers
recalled China.

All along the bay shores, great bells were booming the alarm, and
crowds of people rushed about the villages in wild disorder, while the
junks and smacks continued to fly before us as if we were pirates.
Smiling grimly at the commotion raised by his daring venture, Downing
shortened sail and stood into the opening of the western inlet until we
could make out clearly with the naked eye the general features of the
city and its citadel.

So far the lead had given us from forty to eighty fathoms. When we
found thirty fathoms with good holding ground, Downing decided that
caution was the better part of curiosity, and gave orders to let go
anchor. Hardly had we swung about to our cable when a large half-decked
clipper-built boat bore down upon us from the city with the boldness of
a hawk swooping upon a swan. The little craft was driven by the long
sculls of a number of naked brown oarsmen in the stern. Amidships and
forward swarmed twenty or thirty soldiers, clad in fantastic armor of
brass and lacquered leather, and bearing antique muskets and matchlocks.

In the stern of the guard-boat fluttered a small flag with the design
of a circled white cross, while from the staff on the prow a great
tassel of silky filaments trailed down almost to the surface of the
water. Beneath the tassel stood two men with robes of gray silk and
mushroom-shaped hats tied to their chins with bows of ribbon. I should
have taken them for priests had not each carried a brace of swords
thrust horizontally through his sash-like belt.

At a sign from the older of these officers, the boat drove in alongside
the starboard quarter. As Downing and I stepped to the rail and gazed
down upon them, the younger officer flung aboard a bamboo stick that
had been cleft at one end to hold a piece of folded paper. Downing
spun about to pick up the message. But I, calling to mind the reputed
courtesy of the Japanese, was seized with a whim to test their
reputation in this respect, and bowed profoundly to the officers,
addressing them with Oriental gravity: “Gentlemen, permit me to request
you to come aboard and favor me with your company at dinner.”

Together the two swordsmen returned my bow, slipping their hands
down their thighs to their knees and bending until their backs were
horizontal. After a marked pause they straightened, their olive faces
aglow with polite smiles, and the younger man astonished me by replying
in distinct though oddly accented English: “Honorable sir, thangs, no.
To-morrow, yes. You wait to-morrow?”

Before I could answer, his companion muttered what seemed to be a grave
remonstrance. He was replying in tones as liquid and musical as Italian
when Downing swung back beside me.

“Look here, Mr. Adams,” he grumbled, thrusting out a sheet of crinkly
yellow paper. “Just like their heathen impudence!”

I hastened to read the message, which was written, in the Chinese
manner, with an ink-brush instead of a quill, but the words were in
English, as legible and brief as they were to the point:

  “You bring our people shipwrecked? Yes? Take them Nagasaki. You
  come trade? Yes? Go. Cannon fire.”

Downing scowled upon the bizarre soldiers and their commanders with
contemptuous disapproval, and pointing to the message, bawled roughly:
“Ahoy, there, you yellow heathen, this ain’t any way to treat a
peaceful merchantman. Must take us for pirates.”

The younger officer looked up, with his polite smile, and asked in a
placid tone: “You come why?”

“Trade, of course. What else d’ you reckon?”

“Trade? You go Nagasaki. Thangs.”

“Nagasaki!” growled Downing. “Take me for a Dutchman? You put back,
fast as you can paddle, and tell your mandarin, or whatever he calls
himself, that here’s an American clipper lying in his harbor, ready to
buy or barter for tea, chinaware, or silks.”

“Thangs. You go Nagasaki--you go Nagasaki,” reiterated the officer,
smiling more politely than ever, and signing us down the bay with a
graceful wave of his small fan. “No get things aboard. You go Nagasaki.
Ships no can load.”

“That’s easy cured,” replied Downing. “Tell your mandarin I’ll get
under way first thing to-morrow and run in close as our draught will
let us. If we can’t come ’longside his bund, we can lighter cargo in
sampans.”

The officers exchanged quick glances, and the younger one repeated his
affable order with unshaken placidity: “You go Nagasaki. Thangs.”

Without waiting for further words, both bowed, and the older one signed
to the scullers with his fan. The men thrust off and brought their
graceful craft about with admirable dexterity. Again their officers
bent low in response to my parting bow, and the long sculls sent the
boat skimming cityward, across the sparkling water, at racing speed.

Downing nodded after them and permitted his hard mouth to relax in a
half grin. “That’s the way to talk to heathen, Mr. Adams. No begging
favors; just straight-for’a’d offer to trade. You’ll see to-morrow,
sir.”

At this moment the impatient steward announced dinner, and we hastened
below with appetites sharpened by pleasant anticipations. The more we
discussed the courteous speech and manners of our visitors the more we
became convinced that they had meant nothing by their notice to leave,
but would soon return with a cordial assent to our proposals.

To our surprise, the afternoon wore away without a second visit either
from the guard-boat or any other craft. Junk after junk and scores of
fishing smacks sailed past us cityward, but all alike held off beyond
hail. Still more noteworthy was the fact that no vessel came out of the
inlet or across from the city.

At last, shortly before sunset, we sighted four guard-boats, armed with
swivels, bearing down upon us from the nearest point of the city. Our
first thought was that we were to be attacked as wantonly as had been
the _Morrison_ and other ships that had sought to open communication
with the Japanese. But at half a cable’s length they veered to
starboard and began to circle around the _Sea Flight_ in line ahead,
forming a cordon. It was not difficult to divine that their purpose was
to prevent us from making any attempt at landing.

That they intended to maintain their patrol throughout the night
became evident to me when, after lingering over two bottles of my
choice Madeira with the skipper, I withdrew from the supper-table to
my stateroom. The cabin air being close and sweltering and my blood
somewhat heated from the wine, I turned down my reading lamp and
leaned out one of my stern windows. Refreshed by the cool puffs of the
night breeze that came eddying around the ship’s quarters as she rocked
gently on a slight swell, I soon began to heed my surroundings with all
the alertness of a sailor in a hostile port.

The night was moonless and partly overcast, but the pitch darkness
served only to make clearer the beacon fires which blazed along the
coast so far as my circle of vision extended. No beacons had been
fired immediately about Kagoshima, but the city was aglow with a soft
illumination of sufficient radiance to bring out the black outlines
of the guard-boats whenever they passed between me and the shore in
their slow circling of the ship. The booming of the bells, however, had
ceased, and the only sounds that broke the hot, damp stillness of the
night were the lapping of ripples alongside and the low creaking of the
ship’s rigging.

An hour passed and I still lolled half out of my window, puffing a
Manila cheroot, when I heard a slight splash directly below me. It was
a sound such as might be made by a leaping fish, but in Eastern waters
life often depends on instant vigilance against treachery. I drew back
on the second to grasp a revolver and extinguish the lamp. Within half
a minute I was back again at my window, peering warily down into the
blackness under the ship’s stern. There seemed to be a blot on the
phosphorescent water.

“Whoever you are,” I said in a low tone, “sheer off until daylight, or
I will fire.”

The response was an unmistakable sigh of relief, followed by an eager
whisper: “_Tojin sama_--honorable foreigner, only one man come.”

Almost at the first word I knew that my visitor was the younger officer
of the guard-boat.

“You come alone?” I demanded. “What for?”

“Make still, honorable foreigner!” he cautioned. “_Ometsuke_ hear.”

“_Ometsuke?_”

“Watchers--spies.”

“You’ve slipped through the guard-boats on a secret visit!” I
whispered, curiosity fast overcoming my caution. “Why do you come?”

“To go in ship, honorable sir,--England, ’Merica, five continents
go--no stop. In boat to pay, gold is.”

For a moment astonishment held me mute. Who had ever before heard of a
Japanese voluntarily leaving his own shores? Many as had been picked up
by whalers and clippers in the neighboring seas, I knew of no instance
where the rescued men had not been either wrecked or blown too far out
to sea to be able to navigate their miserable junks into a home port.
The thought flashed upon me that the man might be a criminal. Only
the strongest of motives could have impelled him to seek to break the
inflexible law of his country against foreign travel. But the memory of
his smiling, high-bred face was against the supposition of guilt.

He broke in upon my hesitancy with an irresistible appeal: “_Tojin
sama_, you no take me? One year I wait to board a black ship and go the
five continents.”

“Stand by,” I answered. “I’ll drop you a line. But bear in mind, no
treachery, or I’ll blow you to kingdom come!”

“Honorable sir!” he murmured, in a tone of such surprise and reproach
as to sweep away my last doubt.

Having no line handy, I whipped the bedclothes from my berth and
knotted the silken coverlet to one of the stout linen sheets. The
latter I made fast to a handle of my sea-chest, and lowered the
coverlet through the cabin window, exposing outboard as little as
possible of the white sheet.

“Stand by,” I whispered downward. “Here’s your line.”

In a moment I felt a gentle tugging at the end of the line, followed by
a soft murmur: “Honorable sir, pleased to haul.”

Though puzzled, I hauled in on the line, to which something of light
weight had been made fast. The mystery was soon solved. The end of the
line brought into my grasp two longish objects. A touch told me they
were sheathed swords. My visitor had proved his faith by first sending
up his weapons.

I cleared the line and dropped it down again, with a cordial word of
invitation: “Come aboard! Can you climb?”

“I climb, _tojin sama_,” he whispered back.

There was a short pause, and then the line taughtened. He came up with
seamanlike quickness and agility. His form appeared dimly below me as
he swung up, hand over hand. I reached out and helped him draw himself
in through the window. Pushing him aside, I sought to jerk in my line.
It taughtened with a heavy tug.

“What’s this?” I exclaimed. “You made fast to your boat. It should have
been cast adrift.”

“Boat loose is,” he replied, with unfailing suavity.

“The line is fast,” I retorted.

I felt his hands on the sheet, and he leaned past me out of the window.

“Your dunnage, of course!” I muttered, and, regretful of my impatience,
I fell to hauling with him.

One good heave cleared our load from the boat, which was left free to
drift up the harbor with wind and tide. The thought that it might be
sighted and overhauled by the guard-boat patrol quickened my pull at
the line. A few more heaves brought up to the window a cylindrical
bundle or bale, which the Japanese grasped and drew inboard before I
could lend a hand.

My visitor was aboard, dunnage and all, and, so far as I could tell, he
had not been detected either by the men of the guard-boats or the watch
above us on the poop.




CHAPTER III--THE GENTLEMAN WITH TWO SWORDS


For a full half-minute I leaned out, listening intently. No alarm broke
the peaceful stillness of the night. I closed the window and drew the
curtains. Having carefully covered the panes, I struck a lucifer match
and crossed over to light my large swinging lamp. Three more steps
brought me to the stateroom door, which I locked and bolted. Turning
about as the lamp flamed up to full brightness, I saw my guest standing
well to one side of the window, his narrow oblique eyes glancing about
the room with intense yet well-bred curiosity.

His dress was far different from what it had been aboard the
guard-boat. In place of the baggy trousers and flowing robes of silk,
his body was now scantily covered with a smock-like garment of coarse
blue cotton, and his legs were wound about with black leggings of still
coarser stuff. On his feet were straw sandals, secured only with a
leather thong that passed between the great and second toes. His bare
head gave me my first chance to view at close quarters the curious
fashion in which, after the manner of his country, his hair was shaved
off from brow to nape, and the side locks twisted together and laid
forward on the crown in a small gun hammer cue.

All this I took in at a glance as I turned back towards him. Meeting
my gaze, he beamed upon me with a grateful smile and bowed far over,
sliding his hands down his thighs to his knees in the peculiar manner I
had observed when he was aboard the guard-boat.

Not to be outdone in politeness, I bowed in response. “Welcome aboard
the _Sea Flight_, sir. Pray be seated.”

At the word, he dropped to what seemed to be a most uncomfortable
posture on his knees and heels.

“Not that,” I protested, and I pointed to a cushioned locker. “Have a
seat.”

He shook his head smilingly, and replied in an odd Dutch dialect,
as inverted as his English but far more fluent, that he was quite
comfortable.

“Very well,” I said in the same language. “Let us become acquainted. I
am Worth Adams of South Carolina, lately resigned from the navy of the
United States.”

“’Merica?” he questioned.

I bowed, and catching up from under the window his curved long
sword and straight short sword, or dirk, I presented them to him
by the sheaths. He waved them aside, bowing and smiling in evident
gratification at my offer. I insisted. He clasped his hands before him,
palm to palm, in a gesture of polite protest. I drew back and hung the
weapons on the wall rack that held my service sword. He flung himself
across, beside his bale of dunnage, and plucked at the lashings.

As I turned to him he unrolled the oiled paper in which the bundles
were wrapped. The contents opened out in a veritable curio shop of
Oriental articles. There were three or four pairs of straw sandals, two
pairs of lacquered clogs, a folding fan, a bundle of cream-,
crinkly paper, a tiny silver-bowled pipe, two or three small
red-lacquered cases, a black mushroom hat of lacquered paper, and a
number of robes, toed socks and other garments, all of silk and some
exquisitely embroidered in gold thread and colors.

From the midst of one of the silken heaps he uncovered a sword whose
silk-corded hilt and shark-skin scabbard were alike decorated with gold
dragons. Straightening on his knees, he held the weapon out to me,
his face beaming with grateful friendship. “_Wo--Wort--Woroto Sama_,
honorable gift take.”

“Gift!” I exclaimed. “I cannot accept so splendid a gift from you.”

“Exkoos!” he murmured in an apologetic tone, and holding the sword
with the edge towards himself and the hilt to his left, he slowly
drew it out until two or three inches of the mirror-like blade showed
between the twisted dragon of the guard and the lip of the scabbard.
Pointing first to the shark-tooth mark running down the length of
the blade and then to a Chinese letter near the guard, he explained
persuasively, “Good, Masamune him make.”

“The more reason why I should refuse such a gift,” I insisted.

He rose to his feet and bowed with utmost dignity. “You him take. Low
down Yoritomo me, honorable son high honorable Owari _dono_, same
Shogun brother.”

“What! Your father a brother of the Shogun--of your Emperor?”

He stood a moment pondering. “Shogun cousin,” he replied.

“You mean, your father and the Shogun are cousins?”

He nodded, and again held out the sword. “You him take.”

“With pleasure!” I responded, and I accepted the gift as freely as it
was offered. A cousin of the Emperor of Japan should be well able to
afford even such extravagant gifts as this beautiful weapon.

“My thanks!” I cried, and I half turned to bare the sword in the full
light of the lamp. Though of a shape entirely novel to me, the thick
narrow blade balanced perfectly in my grasp. Being neither tall nor
robust, I found it rather heavy, and the length of the hilt convinced
me that it was intended to be used as a two-handed sword by the
slightly built Japanese. I presented it, hilt foremost, to Yoritomo.
“Pray show me, sir, how you hold it.”

He stared at me in a bewildered manner. I repeated my request, and
thrust the hilt into his hand. After a moment’s hesitancy, which I
mistook for confusion, he reached for the scabbard as well, sheathed
the sword, and thrust it into his narrow cotton sash. When he turned to
kneel beside his dunnage, I flushed with anger at what I took to be a
deliberate refusal of my request.

He rose with a wooden chopstick in his hand. Politely waving me to
one side, he stepped out into the clear centre of the stateroom and
bent to set the chopstick upright on the floor. Even had the ship been
motionless, I doubt if he could have made the little six-inch piece of
wood stand on end for more than a fraction of a second. Yet, having
placed it in position, he suddenly freed it and sprang back to strike
a two-handed blow with the sword, direct from the sheath, with amazing
swiftness. The chopstick, caught by the razor-edged blade before
it could topple over, was clipped in two across the middle. In a
twinkling the blade was back in its sheath.

“_Mon Dieu!_” I gasped. “That is swordsmanship!”

I held out my hand to him impulsively. He bowed and placed the sword on
my palm. The splendid fellow did not know the meaning of a handshake.
Much to his astonishment I caught his hand and gave it a cordial grip.
I addressed him in my best Dutch, inverting it as best I could to
resemble his own dialect: “My dear sir! You wish to see the world? You
shall travel as my guest.”

He caught up one of his lacquer cases and opened it to my view. Within
it lay a few dozen oval gold coins, hardly more than enough to have
paid his passage to New York. There could be no doubt that he had
vastly underestimated the purchasing value of his coins in foreign
lands. He explained in his quaint Dutch: “The punishment for exchanging
money with foreigners is death. So also it is death to leave Dai
Nippon. I can die but once.”

“They will never kill a cousin of their Emperor!”

He smiled. “Death will be welcome if I can first bring to my country a
better knowledge of the _tojin_ peoples and their ways.”

Even an Adams of South Carolina might well be proud to act as cicerone
to an Oriental prince. Yet I believe I was actuated more by the subtle
sympathy and instinctive understanding that was already drawing me to
him, despite the barriers of alien blood and thought and language which
lay between us.

“Put up your gold,” I said. “You will have no need for it. I am wealthy
and free from all ties. You shall travel with me and see the world as
my guest.”

He caught my meaning with the intuition of a thorough gentleman, and
his black eyes flashed me a glance of perfect comprehension. He laid
down the box of coins and took up one of the silken garments, with an
apologetic gesture at the coarse dress he was wearing. I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “There’s been no outcry from the guard-boats, so I’m sure
I can stow you away until we are clear of your country. But it will be
best to disguise you, to guard against any chance glimpse. What’s more,
the sooner you don Occidental clothes the better, if you wish to avoid
annoyance from the rudeness of our shipmates. You’re perhaps an inch
the shorter; otherwise we are about of a build, and I’ve a well-stocked
wardrobe.”

While speaking I proceeded to haul out three or four suits from
my lockers, and signed him to take his pick. The gesture was more
intelligible to him than my words. He bowed, smiled, and chose
the least foppish of the suits. I laid out my lightest slippers, a
tasselled smoking-cap, linen, et cetera, and drew his attention to the
conveniences of a well-furnished washstand.

He took up and smelled the small cake of perfumed soap and was about to
try his flashing teeth upon it, when I showed him its use by washing my
hands. At this his smile brightened into delight, and, casting loose
his girdle, he dropped his short robe from him as one would fling off a
cloak. The leggings and sandals followed the robe, and he stood before
me nude yet unabashed, his lithe figure like a statue of gold bronze.

Fortunately I was too well acquainted with the peculiar variations of
etiquette and manners exhibited by the different peoples of the East
and West to betray my astonishment at this exposure. I poured him the
bath for which he seemed so eager, and politely excused myself with the
explanation that I must provide him with refreshments.

As I had my own private larder in the second stateroom, I had no need
to call upon the steward for a luncheon, having on hand various sweets,
potted meats, English biscuits, and Chinese conserves, in addition to
my wines. When I returned with a well-stocked tray, I found my guest
struggling to don his linen over his coat. His relief was unmistakable
when I signed him to lay aside everything and slip on a loose
lounging-robe.

Following my example, he seated himself at the little folding table.
When served, he waited, seemingly reluctant to eat alone. Accordingly I
served myself, and fell to without delay. At my first mouthful he also
caught up knife and fork and began to eat with undisguised heartiness
yet with a nicety and correctness of manners that astonished me. When I
expressed my surprise that our table etiquette should be so similar, he
explained with charming candor that he was but copying my actions.

I could not repress my admiration. “Here’s to our friendship!” I said,
raising my glass to him. “May it soon ripen to the mellowness of this
wine.”

I doubt if he sensed the meaning of the words, but he raised his glass,
and his face glowed with responsive pleasure as together we drank the
toast. The act of good-fellowship seemed to bring him still nearer to
me, and as I gazed across into his glowing face I could almost forget
our differences of race. In my robe and smoking-cap his color and the
obliqueness of his eyes appeared less pronounced, and I realized that
in all other respects his features differed little from my own. True,
my eyes were dark blue and his jet black, and though my nose was rather
low between the eyes, his was still flatter. But below their bridges
our noses rose in the same softly aristocratic curve. The outlines of
our faces were of a like oval contour, there was a close similarity
about our mouths and chins, and even our eyebrows curved with an
identical high and even arch.

“My friend,” I said, “do not answer unless you feel free to
explain,--but I wonder that you, a relative of the Emperor, should be
compelled to start your travels in this secret manner.”

“Shogun, not Emperor,” he corrected. “Law over Shogun, too. I travel
_naibun_--incognito. Shimadzu Satsuma-no-kami my friend. I teach
_Raugaku_--the Dutch learning,--war ways, history, engineering. No man
know real me at Kagoshima. Daimio of Satsuma gone Yedo. I steal aboard.
No man know. Shogunate no punish _daimio_, my friend.”

“They would punish even the Prince of Satsuma if they found you had
escaped from his province?”

My guest nodded. “Very old law.”

“Yet you would leave the country at the risk of death?”

His smile deepened into a look of solemn joy. I give his broken Dutch a
fair translation.

“My soul is in the eyes of Woroto Sama. There is trust between us. I
speak without concealment. The _tojin_ peoples of the west have dealt
harshly with the Chinese. The black ships have destroyed many forts and
bombarded great cities. I fear the black ships may come to devastate
Dai Nippon; yet my people know even less of your people than did
the Chinese. The Dutch of Deshima warn us to heed the demands of the
_tojin_ to open our ports. The officials in control of the Shogunate
shut their ears.”

My lip curled. “The English are a nation of shopkeepers, and our
Yankees are no less keen for bargains. They will never rest until they
have found a market for their wares in every country on earth. If they
cannot get into your ports peacefully, sooner or later they will break
in by force.”

“Such, then, is the truth,” he murmured. “_Namu Amida Butsu!_ I ask
only that I may live to bring back to Dai Nippon a clear report of the
power and ways of the _tojin_ peoples.”

“Nothing could please them more,” I replied. “Count on me to help you
fulfil your noble mission!”

He thanked me with almost effusive gratitude, yet with a nobility
of look that dignified the Oriental obsequiousness of his words and
manner. To cut short his thanks, I went out for a second bottle of
wine. He had drunk his share of the first with gusto. Returning
briskly, I caught sight of my guest’s face for the first time without
its pleasant smile. It was drawn and haggard with fatigue. Putting
aside the wine, I asked him if he did not wish to turn in. He signed
that he would lie down upon the floor. But I explained the use of a
bed, which seemed an absolute novelty to him, and bundled him into my
berth before he could protest. He fell asleep almost as his head sank
upon the pillow.

I stowed his dunnage in a locker, and hastened to extinguish the
lamp and open the window, for the room was suffocatingly hot. As I
leaned out of the window I caught a glimpse of one of the guard-boats
sculling leisurely across the belt of light between the _Sea Flight_
and Kagoshima. Yoritomo’s boat had evidently drifted away through their
cordon undetected. Five minutes later I was outstretched on a locker,
as fast asleep as my guest.

I awoke with what I took to be a crash of thunder dinning in my ears.
But the bright glare of sunshine that poured in through the stern
windows told of a clear sky. No less unmistakable was the loud shouting
of commands on the deck above me and the sharp heeling of the ship to
port. The _Sea Flight_ was already under way and her crew piling on
more sail as swiftly as Downing and his bucko mates could drive them
with volleying oaths and orders.

As I sprang to my feet the explanation of the situation quickly came in
the barking roar of an old-style twelve-pounder carronade. This was my
supposed thunder. During the night the Satsuma men had either brought
up a gun-boat or placed a battery on the nearest point of land, and now
they had at last opened fire on the _tojin_ ship that refused to leave
after due warning.

I stared out the nearest window, and sighted our guard-boats of the
night, sculling along in our wake, not a biscuit’s throw distant.
Their gunners stood by the little swivels, slow-match in hand, and the
soldiers held their antique muskets trained upon us. But the firing was
all from the shore. A puff of smoke showed me where the carronade was
concealed behind a long stretch of canvas upon a point near the lower
end of Kagoshima. The ball plunged into the water half a cable’s length
short of us.

Before the gunners could reload, the _Sea Flight_ drew off on the
starboard tack with swiftly gathering headway, and drew out of range.
The crews of the guard-boats were for a time able to keep their swift
clipper-built craft close astern, but the ship, once under full sail,
soon began to outdistance her pursuers.

The purpose of the Japanese became clear to me when I saw them lay
down their arms without giving over the pursuit. They had no desire to
harm us, but were inflexibly determined to drive us out of their port.
And follow us they did, though long before we had tacked down into the
mouth of the great bay they were visible only through a glass, as
little black dots bobbing among the whitecaps.

Yoritomo had roused from his profound sleep as we came about for
the first time to tack off the Osumi shore. When I had returned his
smiling salute, he listened to my account of our flight with quiet
satisfaction, and explained that, since we had not left peaceably,
the Satsuma men were compelled to resort to these forceful measures.
Otherwise their lord, though in Yedo, would be punished for permitting
our ship to remain in his harbor.

While my guest then took a morning bath, I closed the door between my
staterooms, and ordered the steward to serve me a hearty breakfast in
the vacant room. When he had gone, I locked the door and called in
Yoritomo, whom I had assisted to dress in his Occidental garments. Thus
attired, and with my smoking-cap over his cue, he might easily have
passed for an Italian or Spanish gentleman had it not been for the
slant of his eyes.

After we had breakfasted, we found seats beside one of the sternports,
and spent the morning viewing the receding scenery of the bay and
conversing in our inverted Dutch. Eager as I was to make inquiries
about my friend and his country, he showed still greater curiosity
regarding myself and the wide world from which his people had been
cut off for so long a period. The result was that by midday I had told
him a vast deal, and gathered in turn a mere handful of vaguely stated
facts.

Meantime the _Sea Flight_, having tacked clear of the mouth of the
bay, raced down to Cape Satanomi with the full sweep of the monsoon
abeam. No less to my gratification than my surprise, Yoritomo proved
to be a good sailor, and watched our swift flight along the coast with
wondering delight. The heavy rolling of the ship in the trough of the
sea affected him no more than myself.

Before long we cleared the outjutting point of Cape Satanomi and,
veering to port until upon an easy bowline, drove due east into the
vast expanse of the Pacific. I pointed to the craggy tip of the cape
where the breakers foamed high on the dark rocks, and rose, with a wave
of my hand. “Farewell to Dai Nippon! Come--Downing will be tumbling
below for dinner, now that we are clear of land--come and meet the
hairy _tojin_.”

Yoritomo bowed and, with a last glance at the fast-receding cape,
followed me out into the passage. We found Downing already at his pork
and beans. But he paused, with knife in air, to stare at my companion,
gaping as widely as did the steward.

“Good-day, skipper,” I said. “Allow me to introduce to you my Japanese
cousin Lord Yoritomo.”

“Cousin?--lord?” he spluttered. “Danged if he’s not the first danged
stowaway I ever--”

“You mistake,” I corrected, “I invited the gentleman aboard as my guest
for the passage. He will share my staterooms, and you are to look to me
for his passage money.”

“Well, that’s a different matter, Mr. Adams,” grunted Downing. “If
you’re fool enough to--”

“Mason,” I called sharply to the steward, “lay a plate for His
Lordship.”




CHAPTER IV--YORITOMO’S BETROTHED


As this is not an account of the travels incognito of my friend
Yoritomo, I do not propose to give even a _résumé_ of our trip to
America and our European experiences. Nor shall I give the particulars
of the family dissension that estranged me from home and, to a degree,
from my country.

Enough to say that, despite our incongruous and mutually
incomprehensible mental worlds, the Autumn of 1852 found me bound to
my Japanese _protégé_ and friend by indissoluble ties of sympathy
and love. Strange and inverted as seemed many of his ideas to our
western ways of thinking, he had proved himself worthy of the warmest
friendship and esteem.

Considering this, together with my longing for adventure, and my
freedom from all the ties of family, acquaintance, and habit that bind
a man to his country, it will not be thought extraordinary that I at
last determined to accompany my friend on his return to Japan. My
decision was made at the time when he was spurred to redoubled effort
in his studies of the Occident by the news that the proposed American
expedition to his country was at last approaching a consummation under
the vigorous superintendence of Commodore Perry.

It was then my friend told me, with his ever-ready smile, that, should
the law be rigidly enforced against him upon his return, he would be
bound to a cross and transfixed with spears. Yet under the menace
of so atrocious a martyrdom, he labored night and day to complete
his studies, that he might return to his people and guide them from
disaster upon the coming of the hairy _tojin_--the Western barbarians.

Few could have resisted the inspiration of so lofty a spirit, the
contagion of such utter devotion and self-sacrifice. When my friend was
willing to give all for his country, should not I be willing to do a
little for the constellation whose brightest star was my own sovereign
State, the great Commonwealth of South Carolina?

After all, though President Fillmore and Commodore Perry were Yankees,
the flag was the flag of the South no less than of the North, and I
had served under it. The purpose of the expedition was peaceful. There
flashed upon me a plan by which I might further the success of the
expedition and at the same time aid my friend in his purpose.

“Tomo!” I cried, “you insist that you must sail before the American
expedition,--that you must risk all to reach Yedo and advise your
government to welcome the fleet of my countrymen. Very well! I will no
longer seek to dissuade you. I will go with you and help you persuade
Dai Nippon to enter into friendly relations with America.”

He stared at me, startled and distressed. “Impossible, Worth! They
might regard you as a spy. You would be risking death!”

“In all the world I have one friend, and only one,” I rejoined. “The
thought of parting from him has been for months a constant source of
anxiety and pain. It is pleasant to be rid of such distress. I am going
with you to Yedo.”

His eyes widened almost to Occidental roundness, the pupils purpling
with the intensity of his emotion. “My thanks, brother! But it is
impossible--impossible!”

“At the worst they can only send me packing in a bamboo cage, to be
shipped out of Nagasaki by the Dutch.”

“That is the usual course with wrecked sailors, but should you go with
me, they might torture and execute you as a spy.”

“Not with Perry’s fleet in Eastern waters,” I replied. “I give your
government credit for at least a modicum of statesmanship. Yet even
supposing they lack all wisdom, I choose to take the risk. There is no
room for argument. You are going, so am I. Why, sir, it’s an adventure
such as I have been longing for all my life! You cannot turn me from
it.”

“If not I, others can and will. The _ometsukes_ are everywhere. You
could not so much as effect a landing.”

“And you?” I demanded.

“I am Japanese. There is a chance for me to slip through. But you--”

“Disguised in Japanese dress! Can I not talk good Japanese? Have I not
accustomed myself to your costume? A little more practice with the
chopsticks and clogs--”

“Your eyes! In all Japan there is to be found no one with round eyes of
violet blue.”

“I can learn to squint; and have you not told me of the deep-brimmed
hats worn by your freelances, the _ronins_? You have said that many
high-born Japanese have faces no darker than my own, and that brown
hair is not unknown.”

“You will risk your life to come with me!” he protested.

I laughed lightly. “You have so little to say of your Japanese ladies,
Tomo. Perhaps I wish to see what they are like.”

“That is a jest. I have told you that our women of noble families are
seldom to be seen by strangers.”

“There are those others,” I suggested.

He gazed at me in mild reproach. “Do not jest, Woroto. I have seen that
you have nothing to do with the _joro_ of the Occident. You are not one
to dally with those of the Orient.”

“But the _geishas_--the artists--they must be charming.”

“It is their art to charm.”

“Tomo,” I said, sobering myself, “I know it is a rudeness to ask, but,
pardon me, are you married?”

“No.”

“Is there no maiden of noble family--?”

“None,” he answered. “There was once a _geisha_--But we men of
_samurai_ blood are supposed to despise such weakness. Since then I
have devoted my life to that which you so generously have helped me to
attain.”

“You have no desire ever to marry?” I persisted.

“We hold it a duty to ancestors and families for every young man and
maiden to marry,” he replied. “It is not as we wish, but as our parents
choose. More than ten years ago His Highness the Shogun arranged with
my father that I should marry his daughter Azai.”

“You refused! But of course you were still a boy.”

“You mistake. The arrangement was for the future. The maiden was then
only six years of age.”

“Six? and ten years ago? Then she is now sixteen,--a princess of
sixteen! Tomo, you’re as cold-blooded as a fish! A princess of sixteen,
and you never before so much as hinted at your good fortune! Of course
she is beautiful?”

He gazed at me in patient bewilderment over the inexplicable romantic
emotionalism of the _tojin_.

“She is said to be beautiful,” he replied, calmly indifferent. “I
cannot say. I have never seen her. You know that Japanese ladies do not
mingle with men in your shocking _tojin_ fashion.”




CHAPTER V--THE COASTS OF NIPPON


At once I set about perfecting myself in certain practices which so far
had afforded me little more than idle amusement. The knack of holding
on a Japanese clog or the lighter sandal by gripping the thong that
passes between the great toe and its mate is not acquired at the first
trial or at many to follow. Still more difficult is the ability to sit
for hours, crouched on knees and heels, in the Japanese fashion. I
practised both feats with a patient endurance born of intense desire.
Yoritomo had suffered as great inconvenience while learning to wear
Occidental dress and to sit on chairs.

There were many other accomplishments, hardly less irksome, in which
I had to drill myself, that I might be prepared to play the rôle of
a Japanese gentleman. For recreation between times, I devoted my odd
hours to cutlass fencing with an expert _maître d’armes_ and to pistol
practice. For this last I purchased a brace of Lefaucheux revolvers,
which, though a trifle inferior to the Colt in accuracy, possessed
the advantage of the inventor’s water-proof metallic cartridges. The
convenience and superiority of this cartridge over the old style of
loading with loose charges of powder and ball only need be mentioned to
be realized.

Yoritomo was so desirous of witnessing the outcome of President
Bonaparte’s manipulation of politics that we lingered in Paris until
the _coup d’état_ which marked the fall of the French Republic and
the ascension of Bonaparte to the imperial throne as Napoleon III.
Confirmed by this event in his opinion of the instability, violence,
and chicanery of Occidental statesmanship, my friend announced his
readiness to leave Europe.

The American packets had already brought word of the sailing of
Commodore Perry from Newport News on November the twenty-fourth. As his
route to China lay around the Cape of Good Hope, there had been no need
to hurry away on our shorter passage by the Peninsular and Oriental
route across the Isthmus of Suez and down the Red Sea.

We sailed on January the third, 1853, and, confident of our advantage
of route, stopped twice on our way, that Yoritomo might study the
administration of the British East India Company in Ceylon and India
and the Dutch rule in Java. As a result, we did not reach Shanghai
until the end of April.

It is in point to mention that during the voyage I gave my friend
frequent lessons in Western swordsmanship and in turn received as many
from him in Japanese fence, using heavy, two-handed foils of bamboo.
Though the Japanese art is without thrusts, I was taught by many a
bruise that it possesses clever and powerful cuts.

At Shanghai, we found already assembled three ships of the American
squadron, including the huge steam frigate _Susquehanna_. The Commodore
was expected to arrive soon from Hong-kong in the _Mississippi_.

My plan had been to charter a small vessel, and run across to the
Japanese coast, where we hoped to be able to smuggle ourselves ashore,
and make our way to Yedo in the disguise of priests. Owing, however, to
the alarm of the foreign settlement over the victories of the Taiping
rebels in the vicinity of Shanghai, there were few vessels in port and
none open to charter.

We were already aware that, under the strict orders of the Navy
Department, we could not join the American expedition without
subjecting ourselves to the fetters of naval discipline. As a last
resort and in the hope of gaining the assent of the Commodore to land
us in disguise, we might have considered even this humiliating course.
But the very object of Yoritomo’s return to his native shores was to
reach Yedo and present his case to the Shogun’s government before the
arrival of the foreigners.

Fearful of delay, we hired a Chinese escort and rode south across
country to Cha-pu, on the Bay of Hang-Chow, the port from which the ten
annual Chinese junks sail to Nagasaki. Though our escort did not always
manage to prevent their bigoted countrymen from making the journey
disagreeable for the “foreign devils,” we reached our destination
without loss of life or limb.

The vile treatment of the Celestials was quickly forgotten in the
graciousness of our welcome by the little colony of Japanese exiles
whom we found located at Cha-pu. Careful as was Yoritomo to conceal his
identity from his countrymen, they at once divined that he was a man of
noble rank, and invariably knelt and bowed their foreheads to the dust
whenever they came into his presence.

The Cha-pu merchants were greatly impressed by such deference on the
part of the proud little men of Nippon, yet neither this nor my gold
enabled us to obtain passage on one of their clumsy junks. The five
vessels of the summer shipment to Nagasaki were not due to sail before
August, and the jabbering heathen refused point-blank to risk the
extinction of their Japanese trade either by advancing the date of
sailing or by chartering a separate junk. Their unvarying reply was
that no one could land anywhere in Japan without being detected by the
spies.

One merchant alone betrayed a slight hesitancy over refusing us
outright, and he, after dallying with my ultimate offer for a
fortnight, at last positively declined the risk. I next proposed to buy
a junk and man it with fishermen from the Japanese colony. But Yoritomo
soon found that not one of the exiles dared return to Dai Nippon, great
as was their longing.

Mid-May had now come and gone. Hopeless of obtaining aid from the
Chinese, we rode back overland to Shanghai, agreed that it would be
better to sail with Perry than after him. To our dismay, we discovered
that the American squadron had sailed for the Loo Choo Islands two days
before our arrival.

In this darkest hour of our enterprise we chanced upon our golden
opportunity. Shortly after our departure for Cha-pu a New Bedford
whaler, the _Nancy Briggs_, had put into Shanghai to replace a sprung
foremast. She was now about to sail for the Straits of Sangar, bound
for the whaling grounds east of the Kurile Islands. I met her skipper
upon the bund, and within the hour had closed a bargain with him to
land us on the Japanese coast within twenty miles of the Bay of Yedo.
For this I was to pay him a thousand dollars in gold, and pilot his
ship through Van Diemen Strait.

By nightfall Yoritomo and I were aboard the _Nancy Briggs_ with our
dunnage and had settled ourselves in the little stateroom vacated by
the first mate. We awoke at sunrise to find the ship under way down the
Whang-po to the Yang-tse-Kiang. Another sunrise found the whaler in
blue water, running before the monsoon out across the Eastern Sea.

Though far from a clipper, the _Nancy Briggs_ was no tub. We sighted
Kuro, the westernmost island of Van Diemen Strait, and its blazing
volcanic neighbor Iwogoshima, on June the second, eight days over a
year and nine months since the _Sea Flight_ bore me up the superb Bay
of Kagoshima. The interval had been crowded with events in our physical
and mental worlds scarcely less momentous to myself than to my friend.

But it was no time for me to indulge in retrospection. I had engaged to
navigate the _Nancy Briggs_ through the narrow waters of an uncharted
strait. The rainy season was well under way, with all the concomitants
of heavy squalls and dense fogs. As already mentioned, a lucky glimpse
of Kuro, soon confirmed as a landfall by the red glare of Iwogoshima,
enabled me to set our course to pass through the strait.

We ran in under reefed topsails, feeling our way blindly by compass
and log in true whaler fashion. The Yankees took the risk as a matter
of course, but I, between the difficulty of calculating the effects of
the capricious squalls on our headway and my ignorance of the set of
the powerful currents around this southern extremity of Japan, found
my responsibilities as pilot no light burden. I was correspondingly
relieved when a rift opened in the smothering masses of vapor which
shrouded all view of sea and land, and I saw looming up abeam the
well-remembered point of bold Cape Satanomi.

Once clear of the strait, out in the open waters of the Pacific, we
packed on all sail to outdrive the heavy following sea, and entered
upon the run of over five hundred miles along the southeast coasts
of Kiushiu, Shikoku, and Hondo, the main island. Though the weather
continued wet and foggy, we were favored by a half gale from the south
and by the drift of the Japan Current, which here flows little less
swiftly than does our Gulf Stream off Hatteras.

Regardless of the whales which we frequently sighted, our skipper, true
to his agreement, held on under full sail, night and day, until we made
a landfall of Cape Idzu, the southernmost point of the great promontory
which lies southwest of Yedo Bay. We could not have desired conditions
more favorable to enable us to approach the coast unobserved. Night
was coming on and the gale freshening, but there was no fog. Our
skipper shortened sail, and stood boldly in between the east coast of
Idzu and the chain of islands trending southward from the mouth of the
outer Bay of Yedo.

Had the gale fallen at sundown, I might have persuaded the skipper to
hold on across and land us on the west coast of Awa, off the mouth of
the inner bay. Unfortunately the wind moderated so little and the sky
became so overcast that he ran in under the lee of the great hulking
volcano laid down on the charts as Vries Island, but by Yoritomo called
Oshima.

We were here in the mouth of the outer bay, and the skipper stated that
he was prepared to fulfil his contract by landing us on the island.
When I protested against being thus marooned, he declared that he would
put us ashore on Vries Island or nowhere. At this I demanded that he
run up the outer bay and set us adrift in his gig. He declared that to
do so would be sheer murder, since no boat could outride the billows
in the open bay. However, an offer of half of Yoritomo’s Japanese gold
coins altered his opinion, and the appearance of the rising moon, which
began to glimmer at intervals through the scurrying clouds, enabled us
to persuade him that he could run up to within the southern point of
Awa and beat out again without endangering his ship.

The moment he ordered the ship brought about, Yoritomo and I hastened
to prepare ourselves for the landing by shifting into our _Yamabushi_,
or mountain-priest robes, which with other articles of costume we had
obtained from the Japanese at Cha-pu. We had been dressing each other’s
hair in the Japanese fashion and shaving clean ever since the passage
of Van Diemen Strait. Our dunnage was already lashed together in two
compact bundles, wrapped about with many thicknesses of waterproof
oiled paper.

To the outside of the bundles, I now tied my revolvers and Yoritomo his
sword and dirk, all alike wrapped in oil paper, together with two pairs
of straw sandals and black leggings and our deep-brimmed basket hats
of coarse-wove rattan. The night was far too wild for us to risk being
flung into the breakers with any unnecessary weight about us. That we
might not be hampered by our loose dress, we bound up our long sleeves
to our shoulders and tucked the skirts of the robes through the back of
our girdles.

When we went up on the deck with our dunnage, a gleam of moonlight
showed us the dim, smoking mass of Vries Island already a full two
leagues astern, while ahead, across eighteen miles or more of racing
foam-crested billows, loomed the mountainous coast of Awa. We made our
way along the pitching deck to where the skipper stood with a group of
sailors beside the gig. They were lashing down a number of empty water
breakers in the bow and stern and under the thwarts, and there was an
oil cask made fast to the bow with a five-fathom line.

“Ready, hey?” shouted the skipper, when I made our presence known by
touching his arm. “Well, it’s on your own head, sir. I’m doing my best
for you, as I’m a God-fearing Christian. But it’ll take a sight of
special providence to bear you safe into haven once you cut adrift.”

I pointed to the oil cask. “A drag?”

“Aye. Keep you from broaching. Best kind of drag. She’s three-quarters
full of oil, and the head riddled with gimlet holes. The oil will
spread and keep the waves from breaking over you.”

“I’ve heard of that whaler’s trick,” I replied, gripping his broad
hand. “And the gig is unsinkable with those breakers aboard. We’re
bound to win through. I’ll lash our dunnage in the sternsheets myself.”

The moon went behind a cloud, but one of the sailors raised the lantern
that he was holding beneath the bulwark and set it within the gig. Our
bundles were soon secured, and we had only to lean upon the bulwark and
gaze over the starboard bow towards the dim coast of Awa. Though under
shortened sail, the old _Nancy_ ran before the gale at so famous a rate
that within two hours the outpeeping moon showed us the furious surf
along the rocky coast, two miles on our starboard beam.

As agreed, the skipper now put the ship’s head to the northwest and
stood on across the mouth of the inner bay until we sighted the surf on
the western coast. Our time had come.




CHAPTER VI--A WILD NIGHT


The gig already hung outboard. At the word from the skipper, Yoritomo
sprang into the sternsheets and I into the bow, ready to cast off. Six
men stood by to lower away and one to cut loose our cask drag, which
had been swung outboard in a handy sling.

“Ready, skipper!” I called.

“Aye, aye--Good luck to you, sir!” he cried, and wheeling about, he
began bawling his orders to bring the ship about on the port tack.

I had chosen a moment when the moon was edging out through a cloud
rift, so that the deft-handed Yankees had ample light for their work.
Within half a minute the ship, already running close aslant the waves,
came around into the trough of the sea. Over she heeled, until she was
all but lying on her beam ends. A little more and she must have turned
turtle. The sea boiled up alongside until the water poured over the
bulwark. Yet our men stood coolly to their posts.

“Let go the falls!” I shouted, above the howl of the gale.

The gig splashed into the seething water. In an instant I had cast
loose the bow block.

“Clear!” cried Yoritomo from the stern.

“Cut!” I yelled.

The oil cask plunged from its severed sling as the gig swung swiftly
down the receding wave to the leeward of the _Nancy_. I caught one
glimpse of the gallant old whaler staggering up and swinging her stem
around into the gale. A faint cheer came ringing down the wind. Then we
were out from under her lee, in the full sweep of the gale.

Though I had always prided myself upon my skill in handling small
craft, I must confess that the narrow gig would have swamped or turned
turtle within the first minute had it not been for our drag and the
breaker floats. Before we had swung around to the drag, a comber broke
over us and filled our little cockleshell to the gunwales. As she came
out of the smother, still afloat but heavy as a log, we fell to with
our bailers like madmen. We now knew she could not sink, but without
freeboard she would not ride head on to the cask, and the first wave
that caught us broadside might roll us over.

Fortunately the oil oozing from the cask was already filming over the
surface around us, so that high as we were flung up by the racing
billows and low as we sagged into their troughs, no more crests broke
upon us. The moment the boat rode easier, I sprang upon a thwart and
gazed about for a parting glance of the _Nancy Briggs_. But the moon
was already covered by a wisp of the scurrying stormrack. When its
silvery rays again shone upon the wild sea, I fancied that I caught
a glimpse of the whaler standing out towards the open ocean on the
starboard tack.

The deep booming of surf on a rocky shore brought my gaze about, and
as we topped the next wave I saw that we were abeam the high cliffs of
Cape Sagami, at the western point of the entrance to the inner bay. I
swung aft into the sternsheets, where Yoritomo crouched ankle-deep in
the wash, still frantically bailing.

“Belay!” I shouted.

He dropped his bailer, and looked over the side at the surf-whitened
shore in blank astonishment.

“So swift!” he cried, “so swift!”

“Wind, wave, and tide,” I rejoined. “I’ve known a boat to make less
speed under sail. Only trouble, with our present bearings, we’ll pile
up on that outjutting point of the east coast.”

“Before that, Uraga,” he replied.

“According to chart, we’ll drift clear of the west coast, and there’ll
be no guard-boats out of harbor to-night.”

“But the moonlight; they may sight us,” he insisted.

“A mile offshore, among these waves! Even if they had night-glasses,
they could not tell the gig from a sampan, nor ourselves from
storm-driven fishermen. You say the bay swarms with fishers.”

“Then there is now only the danger of delay from being cast up on the
east shore.”

“A delay apt to prove permanent if we drift upon a lee shore in the
surf that’s running to-night,” I added.

“I know you fear death as little as I do,” he said. “We are brothers in
spirit. But that my message should be delayed or lost--the gods forbid!”

“We’re not yet on the rocks, Tomo. We’ve deep water and to spare for
a while,” I cried, springing up to take our bearings as the moon was
again gliding behind the clouds.

We were now well past Cape Sagami and opposite a bight whose southern
shore, lying under the lee of its hill-crowned cliffs, was free of all
surf. Leading down through the face of the cliffs from the terraced
hillsides above were many wooded ravines, at the foot of which villages
nestled upon bits of level ground near the water’s edge. Here was a
haven that might possibly be gained by casting the drag adrift and
rowing in aslant the wind. But it was below Uraga, Yedo’s port of entry
for the native craft, and Yoritomo had impressed upon me the great need
to win our way past that nest of government inspectors and spies. The
attempt to run under a lee would be no more desperate an undertaking
beyond Uraga than here.

I crouched down again beside my friend, and waited anxiously for the
next glimpse of the moon. But the weather had suddenly thickened.
Gusts of rain began to dash upon us out of the blackening sky. The
rifts closed up until there was not even a star visible, and the rain
increased until it poured down aslant the gale in torrents. The roar of
the pelting deluge drowned the boom of the surf and beat down the wave
crests. We had not even the phosphorescent foam of the combers to break
the inky darkness about us.

The rain was too warm to chill us, but the down-whirling drops struck
upon our bare limbs with the sting of sleet. We crouched together in
the sternsheets, peering westward into the thick of the aqueous murk in
search for the lights of Uraga. One glimpse would have given us fair
warning to prepare for my desperate scheme to work under the lee of the
point some two miles beyond.

Death was inevitable should we drive past that point, across the bend
of the bay, to the outjutting cape on the east shore. Nor was it enough
for us to clear the cape. Even should we escape destruction there, and
even should we drift on up into the northeast corner of the bay, across
from Yedo, we would no less certainly perish in the surf. On the other
hand, could I but win the shelter of the point above Uraga, out of the
full sweep of the in-rolling seas, I might be able to sheer over to the
west shore and gain the shelter of one of the capes shown on the chart
drawn for me by Yoritomo.

Failing to sight the lights of Uraga, I was in a pretty pickle. To
cut adrift from our drag was quite sufficiently hazardous without the
certainty that if we put in too soon we should go to wreck on the Uraga
cape, and if we held on too late, be cast up on the outjutting point
of the east coast. We were utterly lost in the dense night of whirling
wind and rain and swift-heaving waves. Without means to measure the
passage of time, I could not even reckon our position by estimating our
rate of drift.

“No use watching, Tomo,” I at last shouted. “We could not see even a
lighthouse so thick a night, and we’ve drifted past by now. Hand me
your dirk.”

“Aye,” he replied, and I felt him turn about to where his dunnage was
lashed down. In a few minutes he turned back and thrust the hilt of his
short sword into my hand. He asked no questions, but waited calmly for
me to direct him.

With a few touches of the razor-edged blade I cut loose the oars, which
had been lashed under the gunwales. As I pressed the dirk hilt back
into his hand, I gave him his orders: “Go forward and cut the line when
I say; then aft, and stand by to bail.”

Without a word he crept away towards the bows through the down-whirling
deluge and blackness. I followed to a seat on the forward thwart, and
waited while three of the great billows flung us high and dropped us
into the trough behind them. As we sagged down the <DW72> of the third,
I dipped my oar-blades and shouted, “Cut!”

The fourth wave shouldered us skyward. As we topped the crest the feel
of the wind on my back told me that the gig’s head was falling off to
port. A quick stroke brought her back square into the wind. We shot
down the watery <DW72>, but before we could climb to another crest
Yoritomo had crept past me to his post in the pointed stern.

With utmost caution I headed the boat a few points to westward, and
began to pull aslant the waves, with the wind on our port bow. It was a
ticklish moment, for I did not know how the gig would handle. Without
the drag of our abandoned cask, she might well be expected to fall off
into the trough of the sea.

The struggle was now on in desperate earnest. But as I bent to my oars
with all my skill and strength, I realized by the way the gig responded
to my efforts that we had at least a fighting chance. Yet it was no
easy matter to hold the bows quarteringly to wind and waves as we shot
up and down the dizzy <DW72>s, and Yoritomo was kept busy bailing out
the water that all too frequently poured in over the rocking gunwales.

At last, through the howling of the gale and the slashing roar of the
rain on the waters, I heard a deeper note, the welcome boom of the surf
on the west shore. Whether we were as yet abreast the cape above Uraga
I could not tell, but I held on as before, regardless of whatever reefs
or shoals might lie off this rocky coast. Soon the surf roar, which had
sounded abreast of us, seemed to fall away. I gave a shout, and bent
to my oars with redoubled energy. We were drifting past the point, out
into the turn of the bay beyond.

After a quarter-hour or so, to my vast relief the force of the wind
lessened and the waves ran lower. We were edging around the cape, under
the high lee of the westerly trending shore. Another quarter-hour, and
we were in comparatively quiet water.

“Tomo,” I called, “shall we attempt a landing? We can make it with ease
under the shelter of the hills.”

“So near across the point from Uraga?” he answered. “Could we not coast
up the west shore? Every mile we float nearer to Yedo is two miles of
walking saved.”

“But what if we should fetch up on a lee shore? You’ve marked more than
one promontory on the west coast.”

“Hold farther out, then,” he said. “By morning we might drift all the
way up the bay and across the Shinagawa Shoals, into the mouth of the
Sumida River.”

“Clear to Yedo?” I cried. “Yet your chart makes it less than thirty
miles, and it’s only a question of holding the boat a few points aslant
the wind. We’ve seen how lightly the gig rides. There’s only the danger
of those promontories, and I’ve the wind to steer by. We’ll do it,
Tomo!”

“Commodore Perry may already be at Nagasaki,” he added, by way of final
argument for haste.

“Give me your robe,” I said.

He slipped off the loose garment without demur, and crept forward to
press it into my hand. We were now in water in which the boat could
be safely allowed to drift without guidance. I flung the oars inboard
and lashed the robe to one of them so as to make a small triangular
sail. While I worked I gave Yoritomo his instructions. Soon the sail
was ready. I handed it over to my friend, and with the second oar for
rudder made my way aft to the sharp stern. A few strokes brought us
around with the wind on our port quarter. Immediately Yoritomo stepped
his oar mast through the socket in the forward thwart, and set sail.

Though so small, the little cotton triangle drew well, as I could tell
by the ease with which the gig responded to her helm. Another proof was
the quickness with which we ran out from under our sheltering highland
into the full sweep of the gale and the high waves of the open bay.
Scudding aslant the wind as nearly north as I could reckon our bearings
from the drive of the rain torrents, we hurled along through the black
night, utterly lost to all sense of time and distance.

After what may have been two hours, or possibly three, the rain
slackened to a fine drizzle and the wind began to lull, blowing in
fitful gusts and veering about in a way that left me only the run of
the waves by which to shape my course. Soon after, to my surprise, the
great rollers began to lessen in height, clear proof that we had come
under the lee of a headland. Outwearied by the long struggle, I decided
to try for the shelter which it seemed to offer. But before I could
give the order to Yoritomo to shift sail, a roller broke aboard us,
filling the gig to the gunwales.

“Unship and bail!” I yelled.

“Bailer gone!” he shouted, and he crawled aft with his robe sail
wrapped about the oar.

A second roller broke over us. We were among breakers, either upon a
bank or a shoaling beach. As I labored to hold the gig stern on to the
waves, I cried out in anticipation of the coming shock: “Hold to your
oar! Cut loose the bundles. Stand by to pass me mine.”

“Ready!” he called back.

The gig struck softly on a mud bottom, and was instantly smothered
under a third breaker. But the impact drove her over the bank, and we
found ourselves afloat in fairly calm water. An attempt to pole with
my oar showed me that we were in water deeper than I could sound. A
last puff of the expiring gale caught the boat and swung her about
broadsides. Before I could bring her bows on again she struck bottom on
another mud bank.

Through the lessening drizzle I could see the outline of a rising shore
near at hand. The boat lifted in the low swell that rolled over the
outer shoal, drove forward a few yards, and stuck fast. A downward
thrust of my oar told me there was hard bottom a foot below the ooze.

“My bundle, and follow!” I cried.

Yoritomo thrust my dunnage into my hands, and leaped overboard after
me. Ten yards through knee-deep mud and water brought us to the foot
of a sloping embankment. We climbed up it and stretched out upon
its turf-covered crest, panting with the fatigue of our long battle
against wind and wave, yet aglow with delight at our victory.

“Come,” said Yoritomo, after a short rest. “The rain has ceased. I will
put on my robe and lead you to an inn or farmhouse.”

“Wait,” I replied. “The dawn must be near. We cannot leave the gig to
be found by the first man who comes this way. We must sink her.”

Lightened of our weight, the gig had cleared and drifted in almost to
the foot of the embankment. By rolling we sluiced enough water from
her to set her afloat, and I set about knocking out the bungs of the
breakers, while Yoritomo fetched heavy lumps of turf and clay from
a break in the face of the embankment. As the boat sank deeper into
the water with the filling of the breakers and the weight of the clay
ballast, we thrust off into deeper water. At last I was satisfied, and
shoving her out into the channel between the mud banks, I rocked under
the gunwales until she filled and sank.

A few strokes brought me back into shallow water, and I soon regained
the embankment. In the faintly gathering light I saw that Yoritomo had
already put on not only his robe but also his leggings and sandals.
He thrust my hat and revolvers into my hands and knelt to bind on my
sandals and leggings.

“The clouds break,” he exclaimed. “It is a good omen. Let us hasten on.”

“On?” I said. “We cannot go far without rest.”

“Until we find a farmhouse or inn,” he urged. Springing up, he swung
his dunnage upon his shoulder and led off inland.

A few steps brought us down the far side of the embankment into a
shallow swamp. As we splashed through the oozy slush I felt tufts of
soft grassy stems brushing against my ankles at regular intervals.

“Rice field,” muttered my friend before I could question him.

The stench of the strongly fertilized paddy swamp was almost
insufferable, and our discomfort was not lessened by the maddening
swarms of mosquitoes. We crossed a narrow <DW18> and splashed along with
quickened step through a second field worse than the first. Still
another <DW18>, and then, beyond the third field, we sighted higher
ground, above which loomed the dimly outlined tops of gigantic trees.

“The Tokaido!” cried Yoritomo.

A hundred yards across the last fetid swamp brought us up the bank and
into a broad smooth road beneath the dense gloom of a double row of
cryptomerias. We were upon the famed Tokaido, or East Sea Road, which
connects Yedo with Kyoto and the southwestern provinces of Japan. To
my surprise, Yoritomo crossed over, instead of turning along the road.
As I followed, he pointed to a wooded hill, upon which a group of lofty
trees and the black mass of a small peak-roofed building stood out
against the brightening sky.

Skirting the edge of the Tokaido, we soon came to a path that led us
windingly around through high coppices and up the far <DW72> of the
hill. The last of the clouds were now sweeping away to the northward,
and the eastern sky was gray with the pallor of the false dawn. We
gained the round of the hill, and passed between a pair of heavy wooden
pillars, cross-tied with a square lintel-beam and a massive roof-beam,
or framework, with upcurving ends.

“A _torii_,” muttered Yoritomo. “We come to a temple, not an inn.”

Though I caught a hint of disappointment in his tone, he led on up the
bend of the hillcrest and across a shrubbery, to the front of the small
grass-thatched building in the midst of the towering pines.

“It is a _miya_--a Shinto temple,” he murmured. “Yet we need food as
well as rest.”

“They will give us no food, when we come as fellow-priests?” I
exclaimed in mock indignation.

“Even when a _miya_ is not deserted, the priests of Shinto seldom
dwell in or near it,” he replied, and I heard him sigh. He was as near
outspent as myself. But suddenly I saw his bent form straighten. He
faced about to the western sky, with upraised arms, and his voice rang
clear and strong in a salute of reverent joy: “_Fuji-yama! Fuji-san!_”

I turned to look. Far away to the west-southwest, beyond the black
silhouette of broken mountain ranges and lesser peaks, a marvellous
pyramid of rosy flame towered high aloft in the starry sky. Red dawn,
as yet unseen by us, had turned the snow-clad crest of the superb peak
into the likeness of a gigantic blossom, pendent from mid-sky.

“_Fuji-san!_” repeated Yoritomo, and he fell upon his knees and bowed
his forehead to the ground, overcome with rapture.

Swiftly the roseate effulgence brightened and shifted hue to a glorious
gold that shone with dazzling brightness against the blue-black sky.
The eastern sky was now flaming high with the red dawn. Lighter shone
the great peak-crest, its gold changing under the magic transmutation
of day into the cold, burnished silver of its glistening snows. The sun
leaped above the horizon, and the last shadow of night fled.

Yoritomo rose from his knees and caught up his bundle.

“Come within,” he said. “We can at least rest, and it is well we should
not be seen until we have arranged our dress.”

Caught in the midst of a yawn, I signed assent, and he led me past the
stone image of a sitting fox to the narrow entrance of the temple.
Pushing in after him with my bundle, I found myself in a gloomy
chamber, shut off from the rear half of the temple by a close wall.
There was no idol to be seen, and the only furnishing of the bare
little room was a small mirror of polished bronze hung about with
strips of white paper.

Yoritomo kowtowed before this curious symbol of Shinto, rose to his
knees, and waved me to lie down. I stretched out, yawning, and he sank
down beside me. In another minute we were both fast asleep.




CHAPTER VII--ON THE TOKAIDO


We wakened, stiff and sore, a full two hours after noon. Yoritomo, who
was first to rouse up, ran to the door to look out. He turned about,
with an urgent cry that cut short my yawnings in the midst: “Up! up,
brother! We’ve slept past midday. We must lose no time if we expect to
reach the heart of Yedo by nightfall.”

“Do you remember the two biscuits I wrapped in my bundle?” I demanded.
“I’m famished. A drink and a biscuit for me before I take to any road
race.”

“We must dress and eat. There is water outside,” he responded, and he
slashed open our bundles.

Not a drop of water had penetrated the oil-paper wrappings. We slipped
off our stained and tattered Yamabushi robes to put on the silken
garments which he had carried from his country all the long voyage
to Europe and back. First came a pair each of the gorgeous baggy
trousers, or _hakama_. They were provided with side slits, into which
we tucked the skirts of our silk _kimonos_. The narrow twisted _obi_,
or sash, served to hold my revolvers and the magnificent Masamune sword
presented to me by Yoritomo that eventful night in the cabin of the
_Sea Flight_.

My friend thrust his sword and dirk into his girdle, not in the
horizontal Japanese fashion, but vertically, as I wore mine, that the
scabbards might not show beneath our outer robes. His writing case
and the bag containing his smoker’s outfit were secured on the other
side by passing the carved ivory buttons of their cords through a fold
of the girdle. Inside, about my waist, I placed my twenty odd pounds
of metallic revolver cartridges, while he packed within his bosom a
lighter though bulkier load consisting of white silk foot-mittens,
extra sandals, a roll of crinkly writing paper, and the box with the
remainder of his gold coins.

Over all we drew our cloak-like coats, or _haoris_, of rich stiff silk,
upon which the circled mallow-leaf trefoil of the Tokugawa crest was
embroidered on back, breasts, and sleeves. These coats were in turn
covered with our dingy priest robes, and we were outwardly prepared
to take the road. There remained our inward preparation. We took our
ship’s biscuits and passed out the narrow entrance.

My first glance was directed towards Fujiyama. But the glorious peak
was shrouded from view by a bank of envious clouds. Yoritomo turned at
once to a hollowed stone from which trickled a rill of pure water. We
drank and crouched down beside the spring to gnaw at our biscuits. At
first I was too hungry to heed my surroundings. Yoritomo, however, soon
pointed southward, through a gap in the shrubbery, to where, some four
miles distant, a hilly promontory jutted out into the bay.

“That is the town of Kanagawa,” he said.

“Where?” I asked. “I see no smoke. Do you mean that little gray blotch
low down on the edge of the promontory?”

“No, that is only a small fishing village lying among the rice
swamps,--Yokohama, I believe, is its name. Kanagawa lies about two
miles to the west of it. You see no smoke because in Japan we use
charcoal only. Kanagawa is the last station on the Tokaido where the
_daimios_ stop over night before marching into Yedo.”

“But the sons of the _daimios_ repose amidst the splendors of the
temples,” I bantered him.

He glanced about reverently at the decaying little edifice. “The spirit
of Shinto is simplicity. Yet I wish I could have entertained you with
proper hospitality, and that we might enter Yedo in the manner to which
we are entitled by our rank.”

“Ours?” I questioned.

“Are we not brothers?” he countered.

“You know the position of my family at home,” I said. “But it is a far
cry from America to Dai Nippon. I have read what the Dutch writers tell
about the hauteur of your nobility. Even as a friend of a kinsman of
your Emperor, will I be received?”

“I am not the kinsman of the Emperor,” he replied.

“You’re not? Yet you said that your father, the Prince of Owari--”

“He and the princes of Kii and Mito are the heads of the August Three
Families, descendent from the three sons of Iyeyasu. He is the cousin
of the Shogun, not of the Emperor. One alone can be called Emperor of
Nippon. That is the Dairi--the Mikado, lineal descendant of Ama-terasu,
the Sun Goddess. The sacred Son of Heaven lives in awesome seclusion at
Kyoto.”

“Yet I am aware that your shoguns, whom the outer world has known as
the temporal emperors, have ruled Nippon with mailed fist since the
days of my ancestor, the English counsellor of Iyeyasu.”

He stared at me in blank astonishment. “The English counsellor of
Iyeyasu!--he your ancestor?--Anjin Sama your ancestor?”

“Will Adams, the first Englishman to reach Japan,” I answered. “Surely
you have heard of him.”

“Adams! Was that the English name of Anjin Sama?--and he your ancestor?
You never told me!”

“How much have you told me of your family, Tomo?”

“But Anjin Sama, of all the _kami_--!” He gazed at me with a strange
glow in his black eyes. “You know our belief, Worth, that the dead come
back many times and are often born again.”

“The Buddhistic reincarnation,” I remarked.

“And the Shinto rebirth of the _kami_--the high ones,” he added.

“But what of Will Adams?” I demanded, aflame with curiosity. “I know
that he married a Japanese wife and left children by her. Have they any
living descendants?”

He looked away, with an enigmatic smile.

“You may learn more of your ancestor, brother, after we reach Yedo.
There is an Anjin Street, whose householders still hold a yearly
festival in his memory.--Come; it is time for us to be going.”

As he spoke, he rose and started around the corner of the temple. I
followed him to the corner and back along the side of the decaying
building, below the ragged thatch of the eaves. At the rear corner we
came to a narrow gap in the shrubbery looking down upon the Tokaido.
Yoritomo suddenly turned about, with his fingers to his lips, and drew
me down.

“Kwannon be praised!” he whispered. “They did not see us! For
common beggar-priests to be caught staring down upon a _daimio’s_
train--_Namu!_”

I peered forward and down into the Tokaido, which ran past less than a
hundred yards below us. Along the broad roadway was marching the most
curious and stately procession I had ever seen. It was the retinue of a
_daimio_ who was going up to Yedo for the half-year’s visit required by
law. By far the greater part of the procession was already strung out
Yedo-ward farther than the eye could see. But half a thousand of the
rearguard had yet to pass.

Used as I was to the sight of Yoritomo’s garments, there was much to
surprise and interest me in the appearance of the _daimio’s_ retainers.
Though as short as our women, they were of a more stalwart build than I
had expected, and the _samurais_, or two-sword men, carried themselves
with a proud assurance that went far towards offsetting their lack of
height. Among the loose ranks of these gentlemanly men-at-arms marched
lesser retainers,--grooms with grotesquely accoutred led-horses and
porters with rattan baskets and lacquered chests.

Yoritomo whispered that the box-like palanquin, or _norimon_, of the
_daimio_ had long since been carried past by its bearers. Yet this rear
end of the procession marched slowly along with a demeanor that could
not have been exceeded in solemnity and stateliness had the _daimio_
been present in its midst. The hush was almost oppressive. No man among
them called out or spoke or even whispered. The only sounds were the
scuffle of sandals in the dusty road and the muffled thud of straw-shod
horse hoofs.

“What is the crest?” I whispered, staring at the insignia embroidered
on the outer garments of every retainer and marked on every piece of
baggage. “It looks like a white cross in a circle.”

“A circled cross,” confirmed Yoritomo. “You saw it in Kagoshima
Bay,--the crest of my friend Nariakiri, Daimio of Satsuma.”

“The Prince of Satsuma!” I exclaimed. “Why not hasten down and join
him?”

“Hasten down, and be slashed or beheaded by the first _samurai_ we
passed!” rejoined Yoritomo, grasping my sleeve as I sought to spring
up. “Even without these tattered robes it would mean certain death.
Each _daimio_ is appointed a time for passing along the highroad. Any
one who breaks in upon the procession may expect to die without benefit
of medicine.”

“But he is your friend, and if you are so anxious to reach home by
nightfall--”

“There are no by-ways through the rice swamps,” he replied. “We must
trail after the rearguard.”

“They move at a snail’s pace!”

“It will bring them into Shinagawa, the southern suburb of Yedo, about
sunset. In Shinagawa I expect to find a friend with whom we can spend
the night. Meantime we may as well wait here until the cortege has gone
on four or five miles. I will take advantage of the opportunity to
write a petition asking permission to present a memorial to the Shogun.”

He crept back around the corner of the temple. I stretched out in
the balsamic shade of the pines, and watched the slow passing of the
procession. When the last strutting _samurai_ had marched on up the
road, I gazed around at the landscape. Across the full width of the
bay the mountains on the promontory of Awa loomed dimly through the
haze, while the blue waters between, already stilled from their night’s
turmoil, were dotted with the white sails of junks and fishing smacks.

Inland the golden sunlight streamed down out of the sapphire sky
upon a scene no less peaceful and charming. About me and far to the
northward the land lay in broad plain, for the most part cut up into
a checkerboard of rice fields. Here and there rose knolls and hills,
some terraced to the top for rice, others wooded, and the most eminent
crowned with temples that reminded me of China. In the rice swamps
naked peasants, knee-deep in the slush, were transplanting tufts of
young rice, while about them waterfowl waded or paddled, untroubled by
the presence of man. Above them soared numbers of eagles and hawks.
Birds were to be seen or heard on every side, but I noticed a marked
absence of animals from the landscape.

Some time after the rear of the procession had disappeared up the
Tokaido, Yoritomo came back around the temple, and said that we must
start. I pulled my hat brim low over my face, and swung after him down
the hillside to the smooth road.

For a time we met no other traveller. The road had been swept clear
by the procession. But we soon came to groups of odd little shops and
inns, strung along the roadside in almost continuous rows. Within
the open fronts of the shops cotton-robed tradesmen knelt on matted
platforms in the midst of their cheap wares, while from under the
shallow porticos of the inns quaint little maidens with powdered
doll-like faces and narrow skirts smiled at us invitingly and bowed
until we could see the great bows at the back of their sashes. But
Yoritomo kept on up the road at a fast pace, unmoved by the alluring
glances of these charming little waitresses.

Within the second mile we began to encounter a stream of travellers
released from the post town of Kawasaki by the passage of the
_daimio’s_ train. We were the first to come up from the south in the
wake of the _daimio_, but the people we met had no more than a casual
glance for a pair of dirty-robed Yamabushi priests.

As we swung along through their midst I peeped out at them between the
meshes of my loosely woven hat brim. My first observations were that
they averaged far below the height of Americans, and that clothing was
rather a minus quantity among all but the white-robed pilgrims and
the silk-clad _samurais_. The brown skins of peasants and fishermen,
porters, grooms, and beggars were either innocent of all covering
except narrow loincloths or at most limited to a shirt-like _kimono_ of
blue-figured cotton, a straw hat, and sandals.

Aside from the aristocratic swordsmen, these people were the merriest
I had ever met. When not smiling and chatting, they were laughing or
singing. Among the peasants and groups of pilgrims were several women,
the younger of whom possessed a buxom rural prettiness. The married
women looked aged and withered, and pleasant as were their smiles, my
Western eye was repulsed by their shaven brows and the gray-black teeth
which showed between their rouged lips at every smile.

At Kawasaki we swung briskly down to the bank of the Rokugu River,
where bronzed ferrymen, stripped to loincloths, stood waiting for
passengers in their big flat-bottomed punts. A boat in which the party
of a _samurai_ horseman had embarked was being thrust off. Before
Yoritomo could check me, I sprang forward to leap aboard. In a flash
the _samurai_ drew his two-handed sword and aimed a blow at me that
would have split my head in two had I not dropped backwards beyond
reach. Furious at the wanton attempt to murder me, I sprang up and
fumbled for a revolver as the boat shot out from the bank.

“Hold, brother!” warned Yoritomo, springing to catch my arm. “Remember,
we are only begging priests. He had the right to resent our company.
What’s more, he is a _hatamoto_, one of the Shogun’s _samurais_. If I
remember aright, he is Yuki, a captain of the palace guard.”

“He tried to cut me down in cold blood!” I protested.

“It is a right of all _samurais_ to kill lower-class men, and you
affronted Yuki by seeking to board the same boat. Here’s a smaller boat
putting off.”

We ran and leaped aboard the small boat as it swung into the stream.
For fellow-passengers we had a wealthy old merchant, dressed in plain
cotton robes, and the half-naked bearers of his narrow U-shaped
basket-litter. In paying our ferry fees, Yoritomo offered one of his
gold pieces, and the boat’s owner being unable to make full change, he
gave him the difference. As a result the polers bent to their work with
such hearty good-will that we reached the opposite bank a full three
lengths in advance of the _samurai’s_ boat.

We sprang ashore past a bevy of little brown children who were
paddling, stark naked, in the mud. Shortly beyond we met a pair of
neatly dressed girls, whose large mushroom hats rested upon black silk
skullcaps. They smiled and greeted us in a familiar manner. Yoritomo
muttered a hasty response, and pointed back at the _samurai_. The girls
hastened to advance upon that quick-tempered gentleman, with their
battery of charming smiles and alluring glances in full action.

“Courtesans?” I asked, as we swung on along the Tokaido.

“No, not _joros_, only _bikunis_--begging nuns, daughters of Yamabushi
priests. None would be quicker to penetrate our disguise,” replied
Yoritomo, and he quickened his pace.

After a mile or so we again met a crowd of southbound travellers,
people caught at Omuri by the closing of the highroad. We hastened
on to Omuri, the first post village out of Shinagawa. Recently as
the _daimio’s_ procession had passed, the place was already alert for
business, its shops wide open and teahouse girls standing coy-eyed in
the verandas. We hastened on through, pausing only to buy some large
dried persimmons that caught my eye.

A mile behind the town we came up with the rear of the Satsuma
procession, and were compelled by prudence to slacken our pace to a
tortoise-like gait. Making the best of the situation, I relished my
persimmons and viewed the scenery. There was much novelty and pleasure
in the sight of orange trees and bamboos and even an occasional banana
and palm growing in the same garden with pines and other evergreens,
while the deep-thatched roofs of the farmhouses were oddly attractive
with the beds of blue irises and vivid red lilies blooming on their
flattened ridges.

Above us towered the giant red-limbed cryptomerias of the Tokaido, with
their pine-like foliage, while on our right the road skirted along near
the sparkling blue waters of the bay, upon which sailed flotillas of
quaint fishing craft and high-sterned junks that might have served as
models for a painter of the sixteenth century.

Yoritomo touched my arm and pointed to something lying on the opposite
side of the road. I looked closer, and saw that it was the corpse of a
peasant, mangled by terrible sword cuts.

“A drunken fool,” he said, unmoved by the horrible sight. “No sober
man would have been found in the road after it had been sanded for the
passage of a _daimio_.”

Before I could reply, a little bell tinkled in the road behind us,
and Yoritomo drew me quickly out of the middle of the thoroughfare.
I glanced about and saw two runners racing towards us at headlong
speed. One carried the little bell I had heard, the other bore a small
bundle on a stick, across his shoulder. Both were stripped to their
loincloths, though at first glance I thought that they were clad in
tights, so completely were they covered with animal designs tattooed in
red, blue, and white.

In a moment the couriers had dashed past us and were flying on,
regardless of the stately cortege that barred the road. With the
murdered peasant fresh in mind, I looked to see the Satsuma men turn
about with sword and lance to avenge this outrage upon the dignity of
their lord. To my vast astonishment, the solemn ranks split apart all
along the centre of the road at the first tinkle of the little bell,
and the naked runners raced on without a check through the midst of the
procession.

“Carriers of despatches for the Shogun,” explained Yoritomo in response
to my look of amazed inquiry.

Here was food for thought to last me into Shinagawa, slow as was our
pace. Nowhere in the world had I witnessed such solemn state as was
exhibited by this _daimio_ cortege, a state so exalted that men were
killed for venturing within sword-sweep of the procession’s vanguard.
Yet at the tinkle of a bell, all had yielded the road to a pair of
naked, sweaty, unarmed postmen. What, then, must be the sublimity of
rank and state arrogated to himself by the master of this prince? Yet
the father of the quiet, mild-mannered gentleman trudging along in the
dust beside me was the blood kinsman of that Oriental lord of lords.

We were close upon Shinagawa before I realized that the sun was far
down the western sky and fast sinking behind a bank of black clouds. As
I looked up my eye fell upon a rude pillory, standing near the roadside
on ground raised above the level of the rice swamp. Along the top of
the rude structure sat five roundish objects sharply outlined against
the blood-red sky. Looking closer, I made out ghastly human faces--a
crow flapped up from the ground, with a hoarse cry, and began pecking
at one of the severed heads.




CHAPTER VIII--THE GEISHA


Day was fading into twilight as we trailed after the Satsuma men into
the heart of Shinagawa. On either side of the Tokaido extended rows
of handsome two-storied inns and teahouses, set one against the other
without a gap except where divided by narrow cross streets. The upper
windows and balconies of every building were sealed over with opaque
screens to prevent persons from looking down upon the _daimio_ and his
retinue, and across the entrances of the side streets were stretched
frail ropes of twisted straw, behind which kneeling crowds waited for
the passage of the last Satsuma man.

The street was guarded by wardsmen, or householders, bearing iron
staves with large rings at the top. We shuffled along between these
warders, with downbent heads, perilously close to the rear of the
procession. Three or four times the wardsmen seemed inclined to halt
us, but we passed by them with outward indifference, keeping well in
advance of the crowds that surged out behind us into the Tokaido from
the unbarred side streets.

Midway of the long suburb Yoritomo turned sharply into a narrow street
leading towards the bay. I stooped under the barring rope after him,
and found myself in the midst of a dense crowd of men, many of whom
were still kneeling. Packed side by side in the jam were cotton-clad
tradesmen and silk-gowned _samurais_, half-naked artisans and nobles
in lacquered _norimon_ palanquins. All alike were provided with paper
lanterns, round, square, or octagonal in shape, and inscribed with
crest or name in Chinese ideographs. These lanterns and the rows of
similar ones hung along the fronts of the houses were being lighted as
twilight deepened into darkness.

Suddenly the crowd through which we were attempting to pass swayed
forward and filled the air with the clash of their wooden clogs on
the hard ground. The rope had been taken down and the crowd permitted
to surge out into the Tokaido. While we worked our way in against the
outpouring stream, I was pleased to see that there were no women in
the jam. But on either side of the street wide-flung screens exposed
to view artistically decorated interiors where smiling young girls
in gorgeous dress knelt on the mats, twanging odd music on their
three-string _samisens_ or preening themselves before mirrors of
polished bronze. In other houses dainty waiting maids fluttered about
like butterflies, serving the hungry guests.

The crowd in the street was the sweetest one with which I had ever come
in contact, and this was no less true when we elbowed our way through
a band of breech-clouted porters. The explanation was not far off
when, with the breaking of the jam, we approached a building through
whose latticed front issued clouds of vapor and a babel of chatter and
laughter.

When opposite this house I glanced in through the wide spaces of the
lattice and was startled to see a large company of nude men and women
splashing about together in a great tank of hot water. It was a public
bath--public in all senses of the term! As we passed by, a dripping
nymph stepped up from the water within a foot of the lattice and gazed
idly out into the street, as naively unconscious in look and manner and
as innocent of costume as Eve before the Fall.

Yoritomo swung by unheeding, and hastened on to the open front of
one of the larger teahouses. A moment later we had entered a long
stone-paved passageway that ran back through the centre of the
building. On one side we looked in upon the charcoal ranges and sniffed
the savory odors of the inn kitchen, on the other we viewed through
half-closed screens the commoner guest-rooms of the house.

At sight of our tattered robes bowing waitresses sought to usher us
into one of these front apartments. Yoritomo thrust past them and
on down the passage, fifty paces or more, until we came out into a
veritable fairy garden, strung with myriads of painted lanterns. As we
seated ourselves on a low bench under a grape arbor, the host overtook
us and, bowing curtly, asked what we desired.

“Does Kohana, the free _geisha_, still live here?” asked Yoritomo.

“Kohana San, the artist patronized by princes, still honors my poor
establishment,” replied the man.

“We would speak with her,” said Yoritomo, pushing back his hat until
his pale aristocratic face could be seen in the soft lantern light.

The landlord, who had been about to turn us off, hesitated and answered
in a more respectful tone: “The most famous dancer of Yedo enjoys the
favor of _daimios_. How then can I bid her come to attend those who
seem no more than Yamabushi?”

Yoritomo drew a sheet of paper from his bosom, and taking his brush
pen from the case at his girdle, wrote a few small ideographs in the
classical Chinese character. Swift as were his strokes, the first
letter was scarcely drawn before the host was kowtowing, forehead to
earth. He rose, touched the finished writing to his brow, and clattered
off on his high wooden clogs across the fairyland of his garden.

“You have declared yourself!” I exclaimed.

“To him, no. My manner of writing convinced him that I am of high rank.
But I wrote only a quotation from one of the ancient poems. Even if he
is learned enough to read it--”

“Will this dancer then grasp your meaning?”

“Kohana is one of the higher class of _geisha_ called
_shirabyoshi_,--one of the superior artists. She is of _samurai_ blood,
and the old _geisha_ who bought her in childhood, and trained her after
the manner of _geishas_, gave her the highest of women’s culture.
Before I left Yedo I bought the girl’s freedom from service. She was
then in her eighteenth year.”

“You bought her freedom!” I murmured. “You who look so coldly upon
women!”

“I could do no more for her,--and no less. We loved, but love cannot
bind a true _samurai_ when duty calls. I vowed to give my life to the
service of the Mikado and Dai Nippon. To have lingered with her after
that would have been despicable.”

I sat silent, reflecting upon the strange customs of this queer people
and the hidden depths in the nature of my friend. All my intimacy
with him, backed by close study of Kämpfer and Siebold, had failed to
prepare me for the bizarre contrasts and impressions of the mysterious
land of Nippon.

In the garden about us pleasure-seekers strolled along the rough-paved
walks on lacquered clogs, but none disturbed our seclusion in the
arbor until the landlord came shuffling back. He kowtowed before us,
with loud insuckings of his breath. I could scarcely hear his murmured
words: “Kohana San sends humble greetings to the honorable writer, and
entreats him and his honorable companion to honor her lowly dwelling
with their august presence.”

“We need no guide,” replied Yoritomo, as the landlord rose to conduct
us.

The man again prostrated himself and held to the obsequious salute
until we had moved away. The moon gave no light through the curtain of
drifting cloud, but as we hastened along a winding path, in through
the gay rows of swaying paper lanterns, I made out amidst the graceful
trees and flowering shrubs grotesque bronze figures, odd shaped rocks,
and quaint pagoda-topped stone lanterns.

Soon the path led down along the shore of a tiny lake, whose still
surface glinted with the many-hued reflections of the lanterns. We
crossed over at one corner on a frail bamboo bridge, arched like a
quarter-round of hoop, and passed through a fern-set rockery, to
a gateless opening in a hedge of bamboos. Beside this entrance,
resplendent in a miniature _kimono_ of silver-wrought blue silk,
waited a doll-like little maiden of twelve, who, having duly kowtowed
to us, tottered ahead on her high clogs, to conduct us to the house of
her mistress.

A few steps brought us to a rambling red-tiled bungalow with broad,
low eaves and deep-set verandas. Mounting daintily before us up the
rough stone steps, the child knelt upon the polished planking of the
veranda, to remove our sandals. If she was astonished at our mudstained
leggings, she showed not the slightest sign, but bowed us into the
house with winsome smiles.

Though all the screens were open, the interior before us was dark as
midnight. The little maiden reached down one of the lanterns that hung
from the eaves among the tinkling wind-bells, and lighted us in across
two tiny rooms to a large apartment fronting on a miniature garden
court. All one side of the room was open to the court veranda, and two
of the other walls were formed of sliding screens, but the far end of
the room was closed with a solid partition containing a shallow double
alcove.

The little maid hastened to place two soft leather cushions for us,
hesitating just perceptibly over the second until Yoritomo indicated
that it was to be laid beside the first, close before the raised floor
of the larger recess. Having kowtowed while we reposed ourselves on
knees and heels, she pattered about the room with a taper, lighting
the pith wicks of several little saucer lamps that were set about the
room in square paper frames.

I glanced around the apartment in the increasing glow. The soft, thick
mats, all about three by six feet in size, were set in the floor
on a level with the slotted sill-beams of the wall-screens. Unlike
those I had seen in the front rooms of the inns, they were not only
immaculately white and clean but were bordered with strips of silk.
The sliding screens of the room were rimmed with gold leaf and painted
with exquisite landscapes in rich soft colors. The low ceiling and the
recessed wall behind us were finished in fanciful cabinetwork, and
the beautiful grain of the two woods used was polished without oil or
varnish to a surface that shone like satin.

The one side of the recess was an open closet, filled with shelves
and drawers; the other was the sacred _tokonoma_ mentioned by the
Dutch writers. Upon its wall hung a blue silk banner, painted with
a summer view of Fuji-yama. Below, on the polished floor, a vase of
plain earthenware held a single fragrant spray of Cape jasmine. Across
from the vase stood the bronze figure of a playful kitten, with paw
outstretched in graceful invitation. Before it were placed a few grains
of boiled rice, a tiny cup of amber liquid, and a stick of burning
incense. It was the emblem and godlet of the _geishas_,--a frolicsome
young cat, behind whose velvet touch lurked cruel claws, ever ready to
mangle.

Would the worshipper of this image meet her former lover with feline
treachery?

As I asked myself the question the room re-echoed with a ripple of
gentle laughter, melodious as the note of an Æolian harp, sweeter than
the tinkle of fairy bells. I faced to front, and saw floating towards
us a vision as wondrously beautiful as a Buddhist angel. Against the
jet blackness of her high coiffure glinted comb crests and pin heads
of amber and coral, while from slender throat to tiny feet she was
enveloped in a robe of scarlet silk, gorgeously embroidered with
flowers in gold thread, and her plump little hand fluttered a vividly
 fan.

Like my friend’s, the girl’s face showed the _samurai_ type in its
oval contour, small mouth, and aristocratic nose,--features so
markedly different from the broad, flat faces of the lower classes.
The characteristic lack of prominence of her brows and the bridge of
her nose lent to the upper part of her face a mildness of expression
well in keeping with the inimitable gracefulness and gentleness of her
bearing, but her rosebud mouth and lustrous black eyes held all the
subtle allurement of a Spanish Carmen’s.

Bound about as she is by narrow skirts, modesty compels the Japanese
woman to assume in walking a short, scuffling, intoed gait, with
forward bent body and head. Yet even to this awkward movement Kohana
San, the dancer, contrived to give a semblance of grace as she hastened
forward to prostrate herself at the feet of my friend.

The little maid was tripping from the room. The _geisha_ sank down
before us, her forehead upon the mat between her little olive-hued
hands, and her body quivering with an excess of emotion which even a
lifetime of training could not enable her to repress.

Yoritomo gazed down upon her as serenely impassive in look as a bronze
Buddha. Yet beneath his placid tone even I could detect the hidden note
of tenderness: “Kohana, we have come to you from a long journey.”

“My lord!” she murmured, “to my lowly house first of all!”

She rose to her knees and gazed into his face with a look of such
radiant love and devotion that I forgot on the instant my suspicion
of her loyalty. And in the same moment I forgave the thick powdering
of rice flour upon her face, and the dark red stain of thistle juice
upon her lips, and the greasy pomade with which her hair was matted and
stiffened.

For a minute or more the lovers sat silent and motionless, gazing into
one another’s eyes, Yoritomo gravely smiling, Kohana melting to happy
tears. That was their greeting after three years of separation!

“Tomo,” I whispered in English, “do you not see how she has waited and
longed for you all the time since you left her? Console her for the
past! I will go out and leave you.”

“Do not trouble,” he replied. “Have I not told you that we Japanese
do not kiss and embrace?” He turned and spoke to the girl, who was
glancing at me out of the corners of her long eyes with intense
curiosity: “Kohana, my brother is weary, and we have not bathed in two
days.”

“My lord! no bath in two days!” she gasped, and she clapped her hands
sharply. There sounded an answering “_Hai!_” and the little serving
maid appeared at the end of the room--“Quick, girl! see that the bath
is heated.”

As the child trotted away, Yoritomo peered out through the open side of
the room into the dim garden. “Close the _shoji_,” he ordered.

Kohana hastened across, and from either end of the room drew white
paper screens out along the slotted sill and lintel-beams, until
the room was shut in from the garden. Within a minute she was again
kneeling before us. Yoritomo smiled into her beaming face, and said:
“You will now be honored by seeing the countenance of my august
brother. He is my friend and benefactor.”

At the word, I lifted off my deep-brimmed hat and looked at her,
smiling. What she had expected to see I cannot say. My oval face and
even my nose might easily have passed for Japanese, and my cheeks were
tanned almost to the darkness of Yoritomo’s. But the two days’ stubble
upon my lip and chin was very thick for the beard of an Oriental, and
my forehead much too white, while yet far more my round blue eyes spoke
of a terrifying world all unknown to this gentle girl. Before my look
her eyes widened and purpled with terror. She sank down at my feet in
speechless fear.

“Is it so Kohana welcomes my friend and brother?” asked Yoritomo in
quiet reproach. “There is nothing to fear.”

The girl straightened and gazed up at me, wide-eyed yet with a smile on
her trembling lips. “_Tojin sama!_ forgive the rudeness of one who is
foolish and ignorant! Accept the humble greetings of your servant!”

“Is the _tojin_ so fearful a beast or devil in the eyes of Kohana San
that she still trembles?” I asked.

“Woroto Sama is my friend and brother. He has been my benefactor during
all my travels among the _tojin_,” added Yoritomo.

“Among the _tojin_, my lord! You have travelled among the
barbarians?--beyond the sea?”

“To the five continents. I sailed away with Woroto Sama towards the
rising sun, and sailed back with him from the setting sun. The world
is an enormous ball, Kohana, and I have been around it as a gnat might
crawl around Fujiyama.”

“My lord is no gnat!” she laughed. “I do not understand. Even Fuji-san
rests broadly upon the back of Dai Nippon, and Dai Nippon upon the back
of the great fish. How then could my lord go beneath? Did my lord see
the great fish?”

“I saw greater things than the fish of our myth. Beyond the seas are
lands vastly greater than Nippon. I have sailed in the black ships and
seen the power of the _tojin_. Tell me quickly. Has word come of the
fleet from America?”

“No more, my lord, than a message from the _tojin_ at Deshima that the
black ships had sailed for Dai Nippon and would force the Shogunate to
open other ports than Nagasaki.”

Yoritomo’s eyes glowed. “We are in time, brother! All now turns upon
the wisdom or folly of the Elder Council.”

Kohana rose to her feet barely in time to mask my face from the gaze of
the child-maid. She had returned to announce that the bath was ready.

“Go bid the landlord prepare his best dishes for my guests. Then see
that no one enters unannounced,” said her mistress.

[Illustration: SHE DROPPED HER BLUE ROBE FROM HER GRACEFUL SHOULDERS]

The child turned away in smiling obedience. Yoritomo signed me to rise
and follow Kohana, who took up a lantern and thrust open one of the
screens of the inner wall. We walked along a smooth planked passage
twenty or thirty paces to a little room with sloping slatted floor.
Beside the door stood clothes-racks, on which hung thin towels of
cotton print. Three or four buckets of cold water ranged along the
wall, and at the lower end, half sunk below the level of the floor,
was a great tub, or wide-mouthed barrel, from which warm vapors were
beginning to rise.

The _geisha_ hung her lantern to a convenient hook, and unwrapped
her long crepe _obi_, or sash. In a moment she had slipped off her
gold-brocaded robe and disclosed a still more beautiful under _kimono_
of azure silk embroidered with gold dragons. Loosening the inner _obi_,
she dropped her blue robe from her graceful shoulders, and stood before
us as nude and as unconscious as the nymph of the public bath. Though I
was aware that she was a member of a profession that her people class
little above the courtesans, one look into her earnest, smiling face
convinced me that her thoughts were innocent of all immodesty.

“Our customs are not the customs of the Occident, but they are now your
customs, Woroto,” said Yoritomo, and he ungirt his priest robe.

There was no escape, and my hesitancy was brief. My friend had
submitted to many customs repugnant to him, in my country. Since this
was a custom of his country, I could do no less. His matter-of-fact
manner, taken with the girl’s naive unconsciousness of all wrong,
helped me to realize that true modesty and purity are of the spirit and
not of outward convention.

The ordeal was no light one, yet long before the bath was finished I
had begun to forget my embarrassment in the girl’s ecstasies of wonder
and delight over the whiteness of my skin. Though distinctly a brunette
in all else than the color of my eyes, I seemed marvellously fair to
this daughter of the Orient, whose own skin was of the olive tint of
southern Italy and Spain.

With strict impartiality she aided our ablutions with the cold water,
and then, at a sign from Yoritomo, led me first to the tub. It was
scalding hot, yet the girl betrayed surprise when I insisted upon the
addition of two cooling buckets before I would venture in. Even with
that I was almost parboiled before Kohana had finished shaving my
friend and dressing his hair.

When at last he came to take my place in purgatory, the girl deftly set
about drying and shampooing me, still exclaiming upon the fairness of
my skin, though it was now far other than “snow white.” Having dried
the “honorable _tojin sama_,” she proceeded to shave my face and crown
with her queer little razor and to reknot my cue. To my vast relief,
she then cast aside my Yamabushi robe and soiled leggings, and left me
to dress myself in the rich garments I had worn inside my tatters.




CHAPTER IX--NIPPON’S GREETINGS


Cleansed and refreshed, we returned to compose ourselves upon our mats
in the guest-room, while Kohana San, once more resplendent in gala
dress, hastened out for our dinner. We were not long kept waiting.
She returned with a lacquered tray, or rather, a low table, twelve or
fourteen inches high. This she placed before me, and was out and back
again in a few minutes with a similar tray for Yoritomo.

Each tray held many little bowls of steaming hot food and a pair of
plain chopsticks, cut from a single piece of wood and not yet split
apart at the upper end. At first I hesitated to begin eating under the
eyes of this most cultured of _geishas_, but my single biscuit and the
handful of persimmons had served only to whet my appetite, and the
savory odors of many of the dishes before me were very tempting.

After a thimbleful of hot _sake_, a curious bittersweet wine made of
fermented rice, we fell to on the dinner, which Kohana served with
utmost deftness and grace, ever alert to refill our porcelain _sake_
cups between dishes. The meal was odder than any I had eaten even
in China,--soup, omelet, fishballs, and sponge cake; soup, boiled
crawfish, lotus-root salad, and salted plums; thin soup, sweetmeats,
pickled bamboo shoots, and stewed cuttlefish; thick soup, sliced duck,
and stewed vegetables; sea slugs with soy sauce, loquats stewed with
sugar, soup, more soup, and last of all plain boiled rice, without
sugar--which is scarce in Japan,--and without milk--which is unknown.

Throughout the eating of this odd medley of exotic dishes, Kohana was
either pattering out to her kitchen, or back with trays held level with
her forehead, or replenishing our _sake_ cups from her heated flask of
the amber wine. The time came when we could eat no more. The last dish
was removed, and Kohana set before us a tray with smoking materials and
an embossed copper-lined brazier, or _hibachi_, in which a few twigs of
charcoal glowed upon a bed of ashes. I had smoked too often in Japanese
fashion with Yoritomo’s outfit not to know how to roll a pellet of
tobacco and fill the tiny silver bowl of the pipe now offered me.

As we settled back on our cushions and drew slowly at the silver
mouthpieces, our hostess rose and began to dance for our entertainment.
Well was she named the best dancer in Yedo! Unlike our Western
_artistes_, she did not glide about, but stood in one place, seldom
shifting her feet, yet swaying body and arms and head in movements of
enravishing grace and beauty. For one of the dances she withdrew, to
reappear in a _haori_ whose gorgeously embroidered sleeves, fluttering
from her extended arms, suggested to me the movements of a butterfly
even before Yoritomo explained that the performance was called the
Butterfly Dance.

My friend had, however, graver matters in mind than amusement. In
consideration of my pleasure, he had waited this long. Now he made a
slight gesture, and the girl sank down, flushed and smiling. He spoke
with austere abruptness: “Enough of play. When I went upon my travels,
Kohana said she would be my eye and ear in Yedo.”

“My lord knows that few things fail to reach the ear of the free
_geisha_.”

“Begin. Dai Nippon has been a sealed book to me since I sailed from
Kagoshima in the black ship with Woroto Sama.”

She kowtowed and whispered: “There has been no change at Kyoto.”

He bowed low at the veiled reference to the mysterious Mikado. “And
Yedo?” he demanded.

Again she kowtowed, though not so low. “His Highness, Minamoto
Iyeyoshi, is still Sei-i-tai Shogun. Iyesada Sama, his august son, is
no stronger either in head or body.”

“The Council of Elders?”

“Midzuano Echizen-no-kami is now head of the Council. He does not enjoy
the favor of the Household.”

Yoritomo nodded slightly. “The _Gosanke_?”

“My lord’s august father, Owari dono, enjoys excellent health. My
lord’s august elder brother, Mori--” she hesitated, “he is not so well.”

She said nothing as to his mother, and he did not inquire, but sat
silent, apparently meditating on her last words. I surmised that they
carried a meaning beyond my knowledge of the idiom. When, after a few
moments, he lifted his lowered lids, she went on without prompting:
“The Prince of Kii is still given over to the pleasures of his women,
the _No_ dances, and the exploits of his wrestlers. His august heir is
still a child, and Kii dono has not adopted an elder son to take over
the burden of the title.”

“The child may become a factor should Iyesada Sama depart this life
before his august father,” said Yoritomo.

“My lord!” exclaimed the girl, “the choice of the Mito faction is well
known to be set on Keiki, who has been adopted by the Hitotsubashi
family. He is the favorite of his father.”

“The former Prince of Mito!” muttered Yoritomo, his handsome face
distorted with the first look of hatred and anger I had ever known him
to betray. “Old Rekko, lord of the frogs in the well! When I left he
was still imprisoned in one of his secondary palaces.”

“His Highness the Shogun holds steadfast to the counsel of your august
father and of Ii Kamon-no-kami. Keiki has won over the Council of
Elders, but the Household is with my lord’s party.”

“Satsuma also is with us. He does not forget that my father brought
about the marriage of his adopted daughter to Iyesada,” said Yoritomo.

“Over-confidence is a traitor in camp, my lord. Always before this,
Kii has stood with Owari against Mito, until the saying has become a
proverb that no son of Mito can be chosen to sit on the stool of the
Shoguns. But now Kii swims in pleasure, and Owari stands alone against
Mito. Keiki aims high. My lord has read how Hideyoshi, though barred
from the title of Shogun, attained to the higher office of Kwambaku.”

“He would climb to greater power on the ruins of the Shogunate!”
muttered Yoritomo.

“Either Shogun or Kwambaku,” replied the girl. “And what chance has he
of the first as against my lord, should Iyesada Sama go from us and
leave the heirship in doubt?”

Yoritomo gravely shook his head. “My life is given. If I live, it will
not be to sit on the seat of Iyeyasu my forefather. Our choice is the
child of Kii dono. I have overcome passion. The thought of power does
not tempt me.”

Kohana prostrated herself at his feet, with a soft insucking of her
breath. “My lord has overcome all passion and desire! He has entered
upon his Buddhahood!”

“Far from it, foolish girl!” he exclaimed. “My heart is black with
hatred of my father’s enemies, the real enemies of Dai Nippon, and I
burn with desire to win glory in the service of the sacred Mikado. I am
far indeed from the blessed peace of Buddhahood.--Tell me, has Keiki
made any open move?”

“Not as yet, my lord,” she replied, straightening and glancing
apprehensively about the room, “not yet! But--” her voice sank to a
whisper--“his plans are laid to win the release of his father. With the
old Prince of Mito free and high in the favor of Iyeyoshi, my lord can
easily foretell--”

“The plans?” demanded Yoritomo.

The girl began to breathe quickly. “My lord has heard how it is said
that the Princess Azai holds the place that should be Iyesada’s in the
heart of their august father. It is unbelievable that a parent should
consider a daughter before a son, yet this has come to me in a way that
leaves no room for doubt. My lord, would a father turn his face away
from one who had saved his heir from the blades of drunken _ronins_?
The Princess Azai is more to His Highness than is his heir.”

“Keiki thinks to win favor by a trick!”

“To-morrow, after midday, when the Princess is returning from worship
at Zozoji, there will be _ronins_ waiting. Blows will be struck. They
will bear off the _norimon_ of the august lady. Keiki will rush to
the rescue. What wonder if a fond father soon signs the pardon of the
rescuer’s parent?”

“To-morrow, after midday,” repeated Yoritomo, in a voice still and
impassive as his face. He turned to me. “You will do well to get a full
night’s rest, brother. We have work before us.”

“But what’s in the wind, Tomo?” I demanded in English, as Kohana ran to
draw out a pair of silk quilts from a drawer in the lesser recess of
the _tokonoma_.

“There’ll be the devil to pay,” answered my friend, the glint in his
narrowed eyes boding ill for the “devil.” He nodded towards Kohana. “I
will tell you more fully in the morning.”

The hint was sufficient. I rose and followed the girl down a short
passage to a small room that was to be my sleeping chamber. She
prepared my bed by spreading the two quilts on the soft mats of the
floor and placing at the head a little lacquered box rounded on the top
with a small roll of soft paper. This was the pillow. Over all she
hung a large canopy of mosquito netting. There remained only for her to
light a tiny night-lamp, kowtow, and withdraw. Five minutes later I was
fast asleep, with my jaw upon the paper pad of my wooden pillow.

How soon my dreams began and how long they continued I have not the
slightest idea. But I had a prolonged succession of the most fantastic
visions imaginable, in which brown-skinned, slant-eyed elves and
gnomes, clad in outlandish costume, were ever committing _outré_ and
unexpected antics. Sometimes the performance was of grotesque horror,
as when severed heads, dripping blood, flew at me with malignant
ferocity. This must have come from a blending of Yoritomo’s Japanese
goblin tales with the ghastly spectacle of the execution-pillory
outside Shinagawa.

After a time I found myself sauntering through an Oriental Paradise in
company with a Buddhist angel, who bowed down and worshipped me as the
God of Snow. Immediately I became a snow image, fast melting to liquid
beneath the noontime sun. I melted and flowed away down through a fetid
rice field, into the blue Bay of Yedo. Too late I discovered that my
angel was none other than the beautiful Princess Azai, daughter of the
Shogun.

I was now aboard a Japanese junk, flying up the bay to save the
Princess from the guns of the American fleet. The giant steam frigates
were fast overhauling my slow craft, their decks cleared for action and
their gun-ports swung open, tier above tier, ready for the bombardment
of ill-fated Yedo. Suddenly the junk struck upon a shoal, over which it
was driven by the billows, only to strike again and again. As the mast
went by the board and the hull crunched to splinters under my feet,
the stately _Susquehanna_, flying the blue-starred broad pennant of
Commodore Perry, swung around and fired a thunderous broadside into our
shattered wreck.

With a shout of terror, I leaped up, and found myself reeling about a
matted floor, in the dim light of a tiny lamp. An instant later the
floor heaved and rocked under me with a sickening motion that flung me
to my knees. All around I could hear the creak and groan of straining
timbers. Above me my dizzy eyes made out a ceiling of odd-patterned
bamboo-work and swaying walls whose gilt panels glinted in the faint
light.

The screens of the end wall suddenly brightened, then shot open, and
through the gap Yoritomo came darting towards me, lantern in hand.

“Earthquake!” he cried, springing across to extinguish my little
night-lamp, which was on the point of jarring from its shelf.

The floor steadied with the passing of the shock. I crawled from under
the mosquito net and staggered to my feet. Yoritomo seized me by the
sleeve, and dragged me out the way he had come. I heard Kohana calling
to us to hasten. We turned a corner, and saw her dart towards us across
a room, beyond which gleamed a square of early daylight. Again the
floor lurched. We all three sprawled prone upon the mats, while about
us the rafters and beams creaked louder than before and the walls
seemed toppling to crush us.

“This way!--the shutters are open--this way, my lord!” shrilled Kohana.
She plucked at Yoritomo’s sleeve, and scrambled back, tossing about in
a manner that would have been irresistibly comic but for the terror of
the moment.

We followed as best we could, now crawling, now staggering half erect,
like drunkards. Through it all Yoritomo clung fast to his lantern, too
dazed to extinguish it, yet fearfully conscious of the peril of fire.
All around me things were reeling. I clutched at a swaying wall-post,
a few feet short of the gap in the wooden shutters that closed in the
outer side of the veranda. Before I could glance about, a fearful shock
flung me across the veranda and out into a bed of roses.

To my sorrow, I found that roses in Japan have thorns. Also I caught a
glimpse of the massive tiled eaves seemingly about to pitch upon me.
I leaped out of the roses, clear across a path, and fetched up with
a skip and a trip, coming down squarely in a bed of purple irises.
In perfect unison with my own arrival at stability, the earth spasms
ceased as suddenly as they had begun.

From behind a bush on my left a voice murmured in quavering, gurgling
delight: “My lord, you are safe, unharmed?”

“Unharmed,” answered Yoritomo, and he called in an anxious tone,
“Woroto!”

“All present and accounted for,” I replied, rising dizzily, to face
them across the bush in the red dawnlight. “You are not hurt, Kohana
San?”

“Nor my lord!” she cried, with a soft chuckle of delight. “After all it
was only a little wriggle of the fish’s tail.”

“Fish’s tail?” I inquired.

“The great fish upon whose back rests the land of Dai Nippon,”
explained Yoritomo, with a twinkle in his black eyes.

“If my lords will pardon the rudeness of their servant, she will go in
and prepare the morning bath for them,” said Kohana, and before I could
protest against such rashness, she hastened up across the veranda, into
the house.

“Tomo!” I exclaimed, “you let her go, when the house may fall any
moment! It must be shattered! That little wriggle was a cataclysm.”

“The shock was sharper than the usual weekly tremor,” he admitted.
“But the house is built to withstand all but the heaviest quakes. The
massive roof takes up the vibration of the shock, which is already
broken at the loose post joints.”

Following his gesture, I looked under the house, through the open
lattice-work, and saw that the house posts rested each with its hollow
foot perched upon the round point of a half-embedded boulder. He nodded
reassuringly, and led the way back into the house. Within I found the
mortised beams and panelled woodwork unharmed by the earthquake. Thanks
to the absence of plaster and standing furniture, the only result of
the shocks had been to fill the rooms with dust and upset the vase with
the jasmine spray in the _tokonoma_ of the guest chamber.

Yoritomo smiled and pointed to the undisturbed bronze kitten. “It is
hard to disconcert a _geisha_ or her god. Kohana will soon have the
bath heated. After that, breakfast and a morning of delight. No other
_geisha_ in Dai Nippon can dance as dances Kohana.”

“Morning?” I repeated. “But the feigned attack of Keiki upon the
daughter of the Shogun?”

“There is ample time, and the more we refresh ourselves the better.”

“Tell me more of the plot. Is it possible the government spies can be
deceived by such a farce?”

“Death is never a farce.”

“Death?”

“You have heard me speak of _ronins_,--_samurais_ who, because of their
own offences or the death of their _daimios_, have become masterless
men. Whether scholars, teachers, or criminals, all alike are men for
whose acts their former lords cannot be held responsible.”

“And who no longer owe loyalty to their lords,” I added.

“Not in law,” he assented. “But suppose certain loyal retainers became
_ronins_ at the bidding of their master? The _samurai_ code says that
a man shall serve his lord even to the death. What greater joy to the
Mito men than to give their lives for the freeing of their prince?”

“You should hasten to warn the Shogun!” I exclaimed.

He smiled in gentle reproof of my heat. “There are guards at the
gateways of all bridges across the inner moat, and within are officials
interested in barring out the bearer of a warning message. Remember,
Keiki has won the favor of Midzuano, chief of the Council of Elders.
Yet suppose the message should penetrate to the august ear of Iyeyoshi
Sama. What follows? The Princess does not go to worship at the
temple of Zozoji; no blows are struck; small credit accrues to the
tale-bearer.”

“You would risk the life of the Shogun’s daughter--of the princess to
whom you are betrothed!”

“There will be no risk of life--for her,” he replied.

“But the shock?--her terror?”

“The most delicate of our ladies are taught to withstand fear.”

“Consider the indignity to be suffered by a princess, your kinsman,” I
argued.

“What matters the terror or the death or even the dishonor of a woman,
weighed in the balance against that which I seek to accomplish? No;
whatever the cost, I must win a favorable audience with the Shogun, for
the sake of Dai Nippon and the sacred Mikado! It is a rare chance for
us, Woroto. We will take part in Keiki’s badger game.”

“And, like the fox, snap the game from between his paws,” I punned.

He nodded. “With the aid of Kohana, we are to become priests of the
official Jodo sect.”

“You said the Yamabushi are Buddhists. Why change?”

“Iyeyasu built Zozoji for the Jodo sect. They have charge of the
temple and the tombs of the four Shoguns who are buried at Shiba Park.
Therefore we go as Jodo priests, lately arrived from Kyoto.”

“With sharp arguments and loud words for the Mito _ronins_,” I added.

He caught at my sleeve. “Not that!--not your pistols, brother. To fire
a gun within the bounds of Yedo is certain death!”




CHAPTER X--THE PRINCESS AZAI


Noon found us ready for the start, our swords girt on under the flowing
priest robes, and hats drawn low to shade our faces. Upon our feet
iron-shod sandals were bound firmly over the white silk foot mittens,
in keeping with our role of monks of noble blood, vowed to a pilgrimage
to Zozoji and just in off the road. But the hilts of our swords were
within convenient reach inside the edge of our robes, and, despite
Yoritomo’s warning, my revolvers were no less ready. I assured him,
however, that they would not be used unless the occasion justified.

When it came to the parting, I looked to see Kohana protest or at least
shed a tear over this short ending of her lover’s visit. After three
weary years of absence he had come back to her for a single night, and
was now going from her again, it might be to his death. Yet she neither
wept nor betrayed any other sign of grief. Smilingly she conducted us
from her house and down the path to the gateway, where he signed her to
stop.

“If all goes well,” he said, “I will send for you or come again to
Shinagawa.”

She kowtowed, with a softly murmured word of parting, “_Saionara!_”

“Farewell, Kohana San,” I responded. “The _tojin_ carries away with him
grateful thoughts of his kind and beautiful hostess.”

“Gracious indeed is the condescension of the august lord in deigning to
overlook the conduct of one so rude and ignorant,” she said. Yoritomo
was swinging away at a rapid stride. She rose quickly, and held out
her hands, clasped palm to palm. Her eyes gazed up into mine, full of
timid appeal, and her lips quivered with a pitiful smile. “Woroto Sama
is a lord of the _tojin_, he is powerful. While he slept I looked at
the strange weapons he bears, and my lord told me their use. The _tojin
sama_ is a friend of Yoritomo Sama!”

“If they kill him, they kill me,” I answered.

With a swift movement she drew from her sleeve and pressed into my
hand a dirk whose richly ornamented hilt and sheath told of a precious
blade within. I would have sought to return the gift, but she sank down
and beat the ground at my feet with her forehead. I thrust the dirk in
beside my sword, and turned away, feeling that this girl of a despised
profession had honored me with her trust and gratitude. Indeed, I
might say she had ennobled me, since I had needed the dirk to become a
_samurai_, a two-sword gentleman.

With hat brim down, hands demurely folded within priestly sleeves, and
body waddling _samurai_-fashion from the weight of cartridges about my
waist, I followed after my friend across the beautiful little landscape
garden of the teahouse. There were many guests strolling along the
shaded walks or lunching in the little kiosks which from the crest of
a terrace looked out over the blue bay. But, unheeded either by guests
or attendants, we passed up the garden and out through a wicket gate in
the wall across from the teahouse.

As we came into the narrow alley upon which the gate opened, Yoritomo
warned me to keep my hand on my swordhilt. On either side, preening
themselves behind barred verandas, I saw rows of pretty young girls
clad in gorgeous robes. We had entered a street given over to the
_joro_, or courtesans. Throughout the length of the lane, _samurais_
flushed with _sake_ and evil-eyed _ronins_ swaggered aggressively up
and down, with swords cocked high in their girdles.

Twice we saw pairs of swashbucklers draw upon each other, but hurried
past while their blades were yet clashing together in furious cut and
parry. Without looking back or so much as glancing to right or left, we
swung ahead through the groups of cut-throats and drunkards, and our
steadiness, together with the priest robes, won us safe passage to the
Tokaido.

Along the highway vice was for the most part masked behind the disguise
of legitimate teahouse entertainment, and the rakes and ruffians bore
themselves with a less truculent manner among the light-hearted smiling
throngs of travellers and townfolk.

As we swung into the busy thoroughfare I caught my first view of Yedo,
a view impressive only in the vastness of the city’s extent. Built in
great part on low-lying ground, it stretched out along the curve of the
shallow bayhead and inland to the northward, in a sea of gray unpainted
roofs, partly relieved by an occasional temple or red-roofed pagoda
rising among groves of trees. In the midst of this dull expanse rose
an island of low hills, upon whose wooded crests the moated official
quarter was built about the citadel-palace of the Shogun.

A mile along the high embankment which guards all the upper curve of
the bay brought us to the black gate on the boundary between Shinagawa
and Yedo. A few steps beyond it Yoritomo significantly drew my
attention to a roofed notice-board, covered in large Chinese characters
with the ancient edicts against Christianity. Shortly after he pointed
out a temple in which were the tombs of the forty-seven loyal _ronins_
and the lord for whose sake they achieved vengeance and martyrdom.

Somewhat farther on we left the Tokaido and angled off inland from the
bay towards a great park called Shiba. It is formed of the grounds of
Zozoji and its many subsidiary temples, tombs, and monastery buildings.
A high-arched wooden bridge carried us over a canal, or tide-water
stream, whose waters swarmed with the sampans of fishermen and roofed
produce boats from up country.

A little beyond this muddy stream we entered the lovely cool glades of
Shiba. The place was an Oriental paradise of giant trees and blooming
shrubs, from which sounded the merry note of twittering birds, blended
and dominated by the flute-like song of the Japanese nightingale; while
about the smaller of the temples lotus leaves and blooming irises rose
above the still waters of ponds stocked with tortoises and goldfish.

Yoritomo gravely led the way across this rear portion of the sacred
park, along stately avenues of giant pines and cryptomerias and camphor
trees, between rows of stone lanterns, under _torii_ of wood and stone
and bronze, and past grotesque bronze images, to enclosures where
broad and massive temples shouldered up the ponderous weight of their
gray-tiled roofs. We came out into the main road and turned along it
a short distance to the entrance of Zozoji, a magnificent two-storied
gate guarded on either side by hideous red and green demons.

“_Namu Amida Butsu!_” chanted my friend, and mingling with a crowd
of worshippers, we passed through the ancient gateway into the great
courtyard about Zozoji.

The temple stood at the head of a flight of red steps, and, with its
huge red pillars and enormous Chinese roof of gray tiles, was by far
the most imposing edifice I had yet seen in Japan. A mighty sonorous
boom smote upon our ears. I looked to the right, and saw a priest
swinging a suspended beam against the rim of an immense bell.

Yoritomo turned across to a building on our left, and between the
thunderous peals of the great bell addressed a young priest who was
writing in the veranda. I could not follow their low conversation,
but presently I saw my friend hand the priest one of his gold coins,
in return for a slip of paper. After this we joined another group of
worshippers, climbed the temple stairway, and, transferring our sandals
to our bosoms, glided in upon the mats of the great hall. We stopped a
little way inside, between the great lacquered contribution-chest and a
superb dragon-wrought brazier from which was rising clouds of incense.

Yoritomo stared for some moments into the gloom of the vast interior,
shook his head slowly and edged about to watch the courtyard and
gate. My experience in China had already acquainted me with the many
startling resemblances between Catholic Christianity and Buddhism in
respect to priestly costumes, ceremonial, and houses of worship. Yet
I found much to interest me in the gorgeous panelled ceilings, the
carvings and arabesques and bronze-work of this grand temple.

At the far end, within the railed space that I might call the chancel,
appeared the high altar, crowded about with the shrines of various
images, colossal candlesticks and lotus blossoms of silver, bells
and drums for the use of the officiating priests, memorial tablets,
bronze offerings, and emblematic banners. All about the hall on the
soft matting moved crowds of priests and worshippers, tapping bells,
murmuring prayers, clapping hands, and bowing before the many shrines.

A touch from Yoritomo drew my gaze around. I looked out into the
dazzling sunlight of the courtyard, and saw the crowds falling back on
either side before a band of _samurais_. In the midst of the band was a
gilded _norimon_, beside which walked two silk-clad women.

“She comes. Follow,” whispered Yoritomo.

He led the way up the dim-lit hall to the chancel, and showed the
paper he had bought from the young priest to an old monk in chasuble
and stole. The priest eyed us sharply and stood hesitating until
Yoritomo slipped a gold piece into his itching palm. At that he led us
in behind the bronze screen, or rail, and left us bowing in a recessed
shrine before a huge many-handed image of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy.

Hardly had we gained this post of vantage when the sudden hush
throughout the temple told of the entrance of the Shogun’s daughter.
Though she had come incognito, a glance around the corner of our niche
showed me the mass of the worshippers kneeling with forehead to floor.
Through their midst advanced the cortege of the Princess, led by the
venerable abbot, who, according to my friend, was a blood kinsman of
the mysterious Mikado.

Fearful of discovery, Yoritomo drew me back into the denser shadow of
the shrine. Soon, however, I heard the soft rustling of silk garments,
followed by low murmurs and sibilant insuckings of breath. Aflame with
curiosity, I turned half about, and ventured to raise my hat brim for a
sidelong glance.

The lord abbot had passed on up to the high altar. But the Princess
Azai stood only a few paces distant, a little in advance of her
kowtowing women and _samurais_. She was looking up at the benevolent
features of Kwannon in the gloom above us. The outline of her dusky
hair blurred into the dark background, but her face, as if framed about
with black velvet, stood out distinct in all the pure loveliness of an
Italian Madonna’s.

Overlapping _kimonos_ of gold-wrought rose and azure crepes draped her
about in graceful folds from the base of her round white throat to her
tiny feet, and her hands were hidden in sleeves whose tips almost swept
the floor. Beautiful as was her dress, it won from me only a passing
glance. My eyes returned to feast themselves on the innocent tender
beauty of her face.

Her complexion, untouched by any cosmetic, was of an ivory whiteness,
slightly tinged on the cheeks with rose. The adorably curved lips
of her little mouth were of a clear coral red. Below her delicate
high-arched brows her black oval eyes gazed out between the long lashes
with the mildness of a young child’s and the divinely sweet artlessness
of budding maidenhood.

Forgetful of all else in my wonder and delight, I thrust my hat brim
higher and faced square about. A projecting corner of the shrine masked
me from the kneeling attendants, but not from the Princess. Drawn by
the intensity of my gaze, she lowered her glance and looked full into
my face. On the instant, I knew from the widening of her eyes and the
quick rise of her little bosom that she had made out my features
through the shadow of our dim niche.

Yoritomo’s voice breathed softly in my ear, “Do not move!”

I waited, breathless, expecting to see the Princess cry out or sink
down as had Kohana. Yet, great as was the awe and wonder in her dilated
eyes, she neither shrank away nor called upon the guard to protect
her from the blue-eyed apparition. Such perfect control on the part
of a girl so delicately nurtured, so exquisitely refined in look and
bearing, was more than I could withstand. Regardless of Yoritomo’s
warning, I raised my head higher, and sought to express in a smile the
utmost of my admiration for her courage and beauty.

Again her bosom rose and fell to a quick-drawn breath, and her lustrous
eyes widened yet more. But the god or devil--whatever he might be--had
been pleased to regard her with a kindly look. Etiquette, if not
respect and gratitude, called for a polite response. A row of little
pearls gleamed between her smiling red lips, and her lissome young body
bent low in gracious obeisance.

[Illustration: A ROW OF LITTLE PEARLS GLEAMED BETWEEN HER SMILING RED
LIPS]

Instantly Yoritomo grasped my arm and drew me around the far corner
of the shrine. Before the Princess had straightened from her bow, we
were slipping out through a narrow doorway into the broad veranda of
the temple. The sudden vanishing of the priest-robed apparition must
have seemed to her clear confirmation of its godly or ghostly nature.

In the veranda I would have stopped to whisper my blissful impressions
of the girl’s beauty, had not my friend snatched his sandals from his
bosom and imperatively signed me to strap on my own. The moment our
footgear was secure, he hastened down around the rear of the temple
and out through a postern, into a winding road that led us past the
enclosures of two or three mortuary chapels. Had the occasion been
different, I might have pressed my friend to show me these magnificent
memorial tombs and temples of departed Shoguns. As it was, he did not
pause until we had passed down a long row of stone lanterns and out
through one of the beautiful secondary gates of Shiba.

At last he stopped in a vacant space, and turned to reproach me with
mild friendliness: “You should not have so risked discovery, brother!”

“How could I help it?” I demanded. “She is very beautiful, Tomo!
Candidly, I envy you your good fortune.”

He gazed into my glowing face, his own quickly stilling to the placid
Buddha calm. “Form is an empty mask, a nothingness,” he murmured. “The
love of women, the craving for power, the greed for gold,--all alike
are lures to decoy the soul out of the upward path to Nirvana.”

“You have seen your future bride, and can speak of Nirvana!” I
exclaimed.

“She is as pure and beautiful as an angel. Yet I looked into her
luminous eyes and did not see my soul.”

“I saw _her_ soul, you cold-blooded Buddhist! Her spirit is as
beautiful as her face!”

“No, Woroto,--it was your own soul you saw shining in her eyes,” he
replied.

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

He shook his head gently. “Who may penetrate the mysteries of the
future? You may have loved her in some previous incarnation. As for me,
I have given my life to the Son of Heaven, the holy Mikado.”




CHAPTER XI--ROUT OF THE RONINS


For an hour or more we loitered about within view of the great gate of
Zozoji, waiting for the cortege of the Shogun’s daughter to march out
on its return trip to the citadel. That the Princess would come back
through the main entrance was evident from the fact that the _norimons_
of her ladies-in-waiting were stationed in the road at one side of the
grand carved portal. Yoritomo stood beneath a camellia tree, seemingly
lost in meditation, but I paced to and fro through the passing crowds,
unable to restrain my impatience.

At last between the meshes of my hat brim I caught sight of the
_samurai_ escort of the Princess issuing from the gateway. In their
lead was the quick-tempered _hatamoto_ Yuki who had struck at me from
the ferryboat at the passage of the Rokugu River. The bearers of the
_norimons_ moved around, and as soon as the ladies-in-waiting had taken
their seats, the cortege formed in line, with one of the _norimons_
before and the other behind the gold-lacquered palanquin of the
Princess. We drew back behind a hedge of blooming privet.

Soon the cortege marched past us, at a slow and stately pace, though
the absence of standards indicated to the public that the noble person
escorted was travelling incognito and dispensed with the usual kneeling
of the common folk along the road. I examined with intense interest
the sturdy _norimon_ bearers and the score of proud _hatamotos_, or
shogunate _samurais_, who made up Yuki’s company.

These gentlemen-soldiers seemed to me to be picked men, but they wore
no armor and carried no other weapons than the customary sword and
dirk. Though their petticoat-trousers were neatly tucked up above the
knees in the tops of long silk stockings, freeing their legs for quick
action, their arms and forebodies were encumbered with the peculiar
gauze-winged ceremonial jackets and the long sleeves of their _haoris_.

“That guard looks more like dress parade than action,” I commented.

“They are the pick of the best swordsmen among the _hatamotos_; yet
they are all doomed men,” replied Yoritomo.

I caught at my swordhilt, no longer intent on the fringe of split
bamboo which curtained the window of the Princess’s _norimon_. “All
doomed?--And ourselves?”

“Mito will have planned to sacrifice as few retainers as possible. But
though they will not be many, they will have the advantage of armor.
Our sole chance of success lies in the method of fence you have taught
me. Lunge for face or neck. Waste no thrusts on mail-clad bodies.”

“We can at least hold them until other rescuers run up,” I said.

He shook his head doubtfully. “Look down the bay. A rain-squall is
coming. There will be few in the streets, and if Keiki rushes up first
with his rescue party, we will be cut down with the _ronins_. As you
say, we are playing against long odds, but the stake is big.”

“A little hot soy will flavor the rice,” I replied. “Lead on.”

He shuffled about, and we strolled out and along the road, keeping
half a hundred paces behind the rearmost of the strutting _hatamotos_.
Leisurely as was the advance of the cortege, we were soon clear of
Shiba and approaching a hill that Yoritomo called Atago-yama. The
eminence was provided with two means of ascent, a straight steep
stairway and another one long and winding. The cortege passed by on one
side.

We now descended into a low and thickly populated quarter, passing at
every two hundred paces one of the gloomy gates which divide off all
the streets of the lower city into wards of fifty or sixty houses. Each
ward was given over to a particular trade or the sale of a certain
article,--as a street of blacksmiths, squatting before their primitive
forges, a street of toy merchants, another of lacquer-dealers,
fan-makers, cabinet-workers, and so forth.

Shops and people differed little from those I had already seen, but for
the first time I observed the lofty ladder watch towers, at the top of
which hung firebells. The urgent need of such means of warning in a
city built, for the most part, of tinder-like materials, was evident
from a belt of ash-covered ground off to our right, in which the only
buildings unburned were a few mud-walled storehouses.

My roving eye was recalled by a word from Yoritomo to be on my guard.
Kohana had conjectured that the attack would be made near one of the
moats, and we were approaching a boat-crowded canal or moat, the
outermost of the line of fortifications that gird in the Shogun’s
palace and the _yashikis_, or palaces, of the _daimios_. I loosened
my swordblade in its scabbard, and held my hand ready to jerk up the
skirts of my robes and tuck them in the back of my girdle.

The cortege moved slowly on down the busy street and out upon the
old wooden bridge that arched across from the grassy <DW72> of the
nearer bank to the abrupt stone wall which Kämpfer calls the Outer
Castle. We followed, warily scanning the band of _samurais_ that
approached from the far end of the bridge and the scattered groups
that clattered up behind us through the crowds of common people. All
alike, however, showed the utmost deference in avoiding close contact
with the attendants of the Princess, and the crests of their respective
_daimios_, conspicuous on the backs, breast, and sleeves of their
_haoris_, proved that they were not _ronins_.

We plodded after the cortege, across the canal and through the
bastioned gateway on the far side, out into one of the smooth wide
streets of the official quarter. Here there were no commoners to be
seen, and the few _samurais_ scattered up and down the broad way were
hastening to shelter before the first gusts of the coming rain-squall.
But even the threatened downpour failed to hurry the _hatamotos_ out of
their stately strut. Seeing no sign of any _ronins_, I relaxed my tense
nerves and looked about at the long walls of the _yashikis_ which lined
each side of the street.

I knew that these residences of the _daimios_ each consisted of
a mansion house surrounded by courts and gardens, all set in the
defensive hollow square of the retainers’ barracks. What I had failed
to picture from Yoritomo’s descriptions was the extent and odd
appearance of these _samurai_ quarters. One of them stretched along
the road nearly a quarter of a mile, its continuous roof of red tiles
broken only by a grand, ornate gate, midway of the monotonous façade.

The mortarless stone foundation walls of the _yashikis_ rose from deep,
curbed ditches that flowed along each side of the street. Above the
high foundations the walls were of diagonally-set black tiles with wide
joints of white plaster. Well up in this checkerboard surface, rows of
small windows, stoutly barred against attack, projected in shallow bays.

A turn in the street brought us in view of the citadel just as the
rain-squall came swirling upon us. Across the head of the street loomed
up a mighty wall of cyclopean masonry, its granite base deep beneath
the placid waters of a broad moat, its crest crowned with trees and
square pagoda guardtowers. Our street rose to meet the causeway that
ran along the moat bank and curved in to cross a wooden bridge. At the
far side a huge bastioned gateway led up into the higher ground of the
citadel.

Beyond the trees and pagodas that fringed the top of the titanic wall,
I saw outlined against the blackening sky the lofty white peak of the
“Lord of Heaven” tower, in the O Shira, or innermost castle. Then the
full force of the storm struck us and wrapped us about in blinding,
swirling torrents of rain. Yoritomo pressed up close to me, and bent
over to make himself heard above the howls of the wind and the drumming
splatter of the deluge.

“Be ready!” he warned. “Watch this street that runs in on the left
where the vanguard is passing--There is one just beyond, on the right.
At the moat gate is stationed a powerful guard. If the _ronins_ fail to
attack here--”

“Look!” I cried, grasping at my swordhilt.

Out of the narrow street on the left were streaming a number of
cloaked figures, silent and downbent as though intent only upon making
their way through the storm. As they filed out into the broad roadway
alongside the _norimon_ of the Princess, a gust of wind tore open the
cloak of one in the rear and exposed to our gaze the bright links of
chain armor within.

“The _ronins_!” hissed Yoritomo. “Wait! Make ready.”

I let go my half-drawn sword, and hastened to follow his example
by tucking my robe skirts in the back of my girdle and tying up my
long sleeves. In the midst I saw one of the _hatamotos_ turn upon
the nearest _ronin_ with a repellent gesture. Instantly the assassin
drew his sword and struck a fearful two-handed blow. The head of the
luckless _hatamoto_ leaped from his shoulders and fell after the
blood-gushing corpse into the mud and water.

At the treacherous blow all the _hatamotos_ who had seen it yelled
with fury and amazement, and flashed out their swords to strike down
the murderer. But their blades clashed without effect upon his hidden
helmet and armor, and in an instant the other _ronins_ were beside
their chief, slashing back at the armorless _hatamotos_. Half a dozen
guardsmen fell beneath the razor-edged blades, slain outright or
hideously maimed, all in the brief moment before those in the van of
the cortege could turn about and rush to their aid.

I found myself with drawn sword, struggling frantically to free myself
from the grip of my friend. Though I was the stronger, he held me fast
by some subtle trick of wrestlers’ art that, without injuring, rendered
me as helpless as a child.

“Not yet!” he muttered, “not yet, brother!”

Unable to free myself, I was forced to stand and glare impotently
through the whirling rain at the terrible massacre. At the beginning
of the fight the _hatamotos_ had numbered a fourth more than the
assailants. Now they were already less than equal in number. With
merciless swiftness, the _ronins_ struck out in terrific blows that
split heads to the chin and hewed off arms and legs and ripped open
bodies with hideous slashes.

Vainly the brave _hatamotos_ parried and slashed back at their foes
with strokes no less powerful and often more skilful. For the most
part, their blows served only to slice the false covering from the
helmets of the _ronins_ or nick the steel and brass under the masking
cloaks. But every stroke of the _ronin_ blades that reached its mark
meant a ghastly wound.

Yet the _hatamotos_ were not the only ones that fell in the bloody
shambles. Twice I saw _ronins_ go down under blows that split clean
through their steel helmets; others were bitten deep by blades that
slashed through the firmest chain mail; while more lost a foot or
a hand from the lightning strokes of the Shogun’s swordsmen. But
gloriously as the _hatamotos_ fought, the _ronins_ were no less
brave and little less skilful, and the armor gave them an advantage
impossible to overcome.

Never had I dreamt of such terrific fighting. In as many seconds a
dozen of the guard were lying mutilated under the iron-shod sandals
of the _ronins_. Every _hatamoto_ near the _norimon_ of the Princess
and all but three or four of those in the rear were slain. One of
the bearers of the rearmost _norimon_ caught up a sword and struck
out manfully. Back flashed a blow that split him to the middle. His
fellow-bearers, who so far had stood as though paralyzed by fright,
fled past us shrieking.

But not one of the proud _hatamotos_ sought to escape. Shouting fierce
imprecations, the last of the rearguard parried and struck, each
as long as he could stand,--without giving back an inch before the
merciless attack of their murderers. The six members of the vanguard
still left, burst through the ring of _ronins_ that was closing about
them, and fought their way back towards the _norimon_ of the Princess,
whose bearers were being forced by threatening blades to swing about to
the narrow side street.

“Now!” shouted Yoritomo, as the _ronins_ again closed around the
vanguard. He freed me and leaped away up the street, flourishing his
sword and yelling, “_Owari!_ _Owari!_”

I rushed after him, blood-mad with the sight of the fighting and
slaughter, and utterly lost to all sense of danger in my fury at the
ferocious treachery of the assassins.

“Avast!” I roared in English, “avast, you devils!”

For answer, the head of the last rear-guardsman came rolling towards
us along the wet pavement. Close after it a pair of _ronins_ sprang to
meet and slash down the audacious priests. Out lunged Yoritomo’s sword,
and the foremost murderer fell headlong, stabbed through the throat.
The second slashed at my head. But the stroke glanced harmlessly down
my parrying blade, and before the fellow could recover guard, I drove
my point into one of his glaring eyes.

As my man fell across Yoritomo’s, three others came running at us
with the ferocity of tigers. We sprang to meet them half-way. One,
fortunately, was slightly outdistanced by his fellows. The swords of
the two leaders clashed against ours in fierce, eager strokes. A blow,
barely warded, struck off my hat and exposed fully to the gaze of my
opponent my distended blue eyes. A look of horror flashed across his
vengeful face. Doubtless he thought me a demon. For the barest fraction
of a second he faltered--it was enough for me. Before his gaping mouth
could snap shut, he fell to my lunge.

I wheeled to meet the third man, who, as Yoritomo parried with the
second for an opening, had sprung around for a treacherous side slash.
My outstretched blade met but failed to check entirely the blow, which
fell across the back of Yoritomo’s right shoulder. Meeting my gaze, the
ronin faltered as had his mate, and the result was as fatal to him. How
seriously Yoritomo had been wounded I could not tell. I doubt if he was
aware he had been struck. His lunge followed after mine, flash upon
flash.

We darted forward, leaving five of the murderous band already accounted
for. Four more were intent upon driving the bearers of Azai’s _norimon_
on across into the side street. All the others were crowding around the
few survivors of the vanguard in furious attack. Only supreme masters
of Japanese swordcraft could have so long withstood the tremendous
blows of the assassins throughout this atrocious massacre.

To fling ourselves into the midst of the deadly struggle was sheer
madness--but it was a glorious madness. Having a moment’s start of my
friend, I dashed ahead, past the rearmost _norimon_, from which the
younger lady-in-waiting was frantically struggling to free herself.
The _norimon_ of the princess had been swung about, and its reluctant
bearers were being forced into a trot by prodding dirks.

Shouting a command for the bearers to halt, I ran upon the _ronins_ at
the rear, who were directly before me. Until this moment they had been
too intent upon driving the bearers to perceive us. The sight of their
fallen comrades and the possibility of a check in their plans seemed to
madden them. They rushed to meet me with a silent rage that flamed into
wildest fury at sight of my _tojin_ eyes.

“Demon! Kill! kill!” they yelled, and their strokes flashed out at me
so swift and strong that I was beaten back a full two yards, and saved
myself from the whistling blades only by the nimblest of footwork and
parrying.

In a moment, though none too soon, Yoritomo sprang to my side and
crippled one of the grinning fiends with a leg cut. This man must
have been the leader of the band, for as he and his mate fell to our
thrusts, the pair at the head of the _norimon_ checked their charge
upon us, and shouted loudly to their fellows.

Only three of the _hatamotos_ now stood in the merciless circle of
swords, and but one of their assailants had fallen. At the cry for
help, the greater number of the _ronins_ wheeled about and charged upon
us, with the rain splashing upon their downbent helmet brims.

“Shoot!” gasped Yoritomo, bending over to lean upon his sword. “My arm
weakens!--Shoot!”

Already my right hand was thrusting into my bosom. As I drew out one of
the revolvers and cocked it, I stepped forward and to the left, that I
might have the _norimon_ between me and the charging _ronins_. At the
same moment the young _samurai_ woman from the rear _norimon_ darted
between the bearers and stood up across from me, facing the _ronins_,
with upraised dirk. She could not have hoped to stop the ruffians for
an instant, but she thought they meant to injure her mistress, and so
was offering her own bosom first to the murderous blades.

The sight of such absolute courage and devotion steadied my twitching
hand. I raised my revolver, and fired as rapidly as I could work hammer
and trigger. The _ronins_ were too close for me to miss even through
the swirl of wind and rain. I risked no glancing of balls from mailed
breasts, but aimed at the devilish faces below their broad helmet
brims. To shoot wide of such large marks within a distance of ten
paces and less would have been difficult, and a man shot from the front
anywhere between mouth and brows never requires a second ball. Down
went the foremost _ronins_, sprawling backwards in the flooded roadway,
one at every shot.

To these mediæval warriors, acquainted only with antique matchlocks and
Tower muskets, the mysterious appearance and rapid fire of my revolver
must have been even more appalling than the death of their leaders.
Before I could snatch out my second pistol, every man of them still on
his feet fled towards the narrow cross street, shrieking that I was the
_daimio_ of demons. To aid their flight, I sent after them a leaden
message that glanced from the helmet of the rearmost man, yet sent him
staggering for a dozen yards.




CHAPTER XII--ESCORT TO THE PRINCESS


A gust whirled the smoke of the shot into my face. As I paused with
half-raised pistol, waiting for the puff to sweep aside, I heard the
_samurai_ lady calling cheerfully to her mistress, “My Princess! august
lady! Fear nothing. The _ronins_ have fled!”

I gazed about at the _norimon_. On the far side the brave girl was
kneeling in her drenched silks, intent upon reassuring the occupant of
the palanquin with word and smile. But the Princess had turned to the
window on my side, and, heedless of the rain, was peering out at me
through the parted bamboo curtain with even more awe and wonder in her
dusky eyes than when she saw me in the temple.

My features, flushed and distorted as they were from the rage of battle
and bloodshed, and fully exposed to view by the loss of my hat, must
have appeared to her both _outré_ and terrifying. Yet she was aware
that I had helped to save her from the _ronins_. The _samurai_ girl was
exclaiming the fact through the other window. I bent toward her with a
reassuring smile, but before I could speak, Yoritomo shouted to the
bearers, “About, men! To the palace!”

The _samurai_ girl sprang up as the willing bearers swung around over
the bodies of the dead and wounded. The two _hatamotos_ who alone had
lived to witness the flight of the _ronins_ came staggering to meet
the litter, the blood of their many wounds dripping with the rain from
their tattered coats. One of them I recognized as Yuki the captain.
Past the wounded men darted the aged _samurai_ woman of the foremost
_norimon_, whose bearers had fled at the beginning of the attack, and
who had only just contrived to squeeze from her narrow box.

I drew a deep breath, and stared around at the bloody scene through the
lessening rain, in sudden bewilderment. To have witnessed the butchery
of all those brave _hatamotos_, to have had so large a part in the
defeat and rout of their murderers, to have met again the soft gaze of
the Shogun’s daughter, all within little more than two minutes--small
wonder I stood dazed! It was my first fight, the first time I had ever
met and struck down men in mortal combat.

One of the wounded _ronins_ had dragged himself a little aside and,
crouched on knees and heels, was bending forward with the point of his
dirk at his bared left loin. I caught at Yoritomo’s arm to point out
the man, but before he could turn to look, the _ronin_ had stabbed
himself and was drawing the blade across his middle with a horrible
deliberateness. After the cross stroke there followed an upward cut.
The suicide swayed forward in silent agony, yet still had strength and
resolution to draw out the blade and plunge it through his neck.

“_Hara-kiri!_” murmured Yoritomo, in a tone of deepest respect. “He
has saved his family from disgrace and punishment. See! There are two
others who would do the same.”

One had been enough for me. I turned, shuddering, to pick my way over
the water-and-blood-soaked bodies of the dead, in the wake of the
slowly advancing _norimon_. The rain-squall was blowing away as swiftly
as it had dashed upon us.

With the passing of the last shower, a burst of golden light from the
low western sun flooded over the roof of the _yashiki_ on our left. At
the same moment I heard the sound of rushing iron-shod feet. As I flung
up my downbent head the sun-rays glittered on the wet silks and bared
steel of a band of _samurais_ that came charging out of the street on
the right.

“Keiki!” cried Yoritomo, and clapping his hat upon my head, he
darted forward to thrust a roll of writing through the window of the
_norimon_, into the lap of the Princess.

With my second revolver held loose under the edge of my robe, I sprang
after him to the side of the _norimon_, as the Mito men swarmed out and
closed about the crippled cortege. The first glance had shown them the
failure of their diabolical plot. Utterly disconcerted and bewildered
by the defeat of the _ronins_, they ran about like wolves that have
overshot the trail of their quarry. The two wounded _hatamotos_ sought
to wave them aside, but so many blocked the way that our party was
forced to halt.

The thought flashed upon me that they might butcher every one of us
except the Princess, and then claim all the credit of the rescue.
This I am certain would have been the course of action of the more
hot-blooded among them, had not the older men bethought themselves that
they could not silence the Shogun’s daughter. To accomplish the object
of their plot, they must bring her safe to her father.

In the midst of their flurry and confusion, a _norimon_ came swaying
around the corner of the side street at a most unlordly speed. Before
it the excited _samurais_ parted their ranks, and the bearers trotted
across as if to range alongside the _norimon_ of the Princess. Yoritomo
sprang before them with barring sword.

“Stand!” he commanded.

The bearers halted at the word, but the _samurais_ burst into angry
yells, and turned to rush upon the audacious priest who had dared to
oppose the advance of their lord. A glance around in search for some
way of escape showed me the windows of the _yashikis_ jammed with
the heads of out-peering women and the main street full of running
_hatamotos_ and _samurais_. My pistol shots had been heard above the
uproar of the squall.

Regardless of the swiftly gathering crowd, Keiki’s men pressed upon
Yoritomo, with upraised swords. I drew my revolver and stepped forward
beside him, certain that the end had come. I could not hope to overawe
so large a band with a few shots. Without doubt we would have been
overwhelmed and cut down within the next quarter-minute, had not their
master called upon our menacing opponents to fall back.

The bearers of the black _norimon_ set down their burden, and the
nearest _samurais_ sprang to remove the top. The silk-clad aristocrat
who arose from the depths of the box-like palanquin was younger and
even handsomer than Yoritomo, but his eyes, between their excessively
narrow lids, had a shiftiness that reminded me of the treacherous
Malays.

Yoritomo bowed low to him in mock politeness.

“Ten thousand years to the heir of Hitotsubashi!” he said. “Had Keiki
Sama come sooner, he might have aided the progress of the Shogun’s
daughter, instead of blocking the passage of the august lady.”

“Seize that false priest!” commanded Keiki, stung beyond self-control.

But before the eager _samurais_ could spring in upon him, Yoritomo
flung the priest robe from his shoulders, and exposed to view the
Tokugawa crests upon his silk _haori_. Angry as were the Mito men, they
stopped short at that insignia of the ruling family.

Again Yoritomo bowed to Keiki and spoke with biting sarcasm: “The son
of Owari dono greets the son of Mito dono. It may be possible that
Keiki Sama is disappointed at having arrived too late to share in
the slaying of certain _ronins_. Wounds have been received by those
who defended the august lady, but if the heir of Hitotsubashi will
condescend to soil his honorable feet, proposal is made that he exhibit
his wide-famed skill as a swordsman.”

For a moment I feared that the fiery young lord would snap at the
ironical challenge. He flushed a dusky red beneath his olive skin and
glared at my friend with a malignancy that caused me to raise and aim
my revolver with an instinctive movement such as might have followed
the sudden uprearing of a venomous snake. Had Keiki so much as signed
to his retainers, he himself would have been the first to die. But a
gray-bearded counsellor was murmuring quick words into the ear of
his master. Keiki’s hate-distorted features relaxed to the blank,
inscrutable calmness of Yoritomo’s.

“The heir of Hitotsubashi does not pollute himself by crossing swords
with common street brawlers,” he answered.

Yoritomo smiled suavely. “Keiki Sama need not fear to pollute his
sword. Such of the brawlers as have not fled are all slain. Fortunate
is the evil-doer who dies beneath another’s sword or finds opportunity
to commit _hara-kiri_. The stern torturers rack the limbs of criminals
until they confess all the foul plans of themselves and their
accomplices.”

Unable to face my friend’s challenging glance, Keiki turned to the
wounded captain of Azai’s guard. “Yuki,” he called, “lead on again! My
cortege is at the service of the Shogun’s daughter, to escort her safe
to the inner castle.”

The younger _samurai_ lady, who had knelt beside the _norimon_ of the
Princess, whispered across to the older lady. She in turn bowed and
whispered to Yuki. Though tottering from his wounds, the _hatamoto_
captain straightened and replied to Keiki in a tone of haughty
command: “Stand aside with your men, lord. The daughter of the Tycoon
is satisfied with the escort of the two priest-clad champions who,
single-handed, destroyed the evil _ronins_.”

At this the newly arrived _hatamotos_ came shouldering their way in
among the Mito men with scant ceremony, and Keiki hastened to give
the signal for his retainers to fall back. Again the bearers of the
Princess started forward, with the two wounded _hatamotos_ in the lead,
each supported between a pair of his fellow-retainers. The others
stationed themselves behind, to act as rearguard. Yoritomo sheathed
his sword, and placed himself before the old _samurai_ lady, on the
right side of the _norimon_. Following his example, I thrust my sword
and revolver inside my robe, and stationed myself on the left of the
_norimon_, in front of the _samurai_ girl.

As we advanced through the crowd of curious onlookers, I glanced about
at the baffled Mito men, who were attempting to “save the face” of
their lord by forming about his _norimon_ in the usual stately cortege.
Chancing to catch the eager gaze of the _samurai_ girl, I smiled and
nodded. Encouraged by my condescension to venture a like breach of
etiquette, she bowed low, and murmured, with a soft laugh: “August
lord! pardon the rudeness of Setsu!”

“O Setsu San is free to speak,” I said.

“Ten thousand years of happy life to my lord!” she murmured. “Again
pardon the inexcusable rudeness,--but the awesome face of my lord has
been seen by august eyes. Should report be made that my lord is to be
numbered among the _kami_?--or is he a _tojin sama_?”

“A _daimio_ of the _tojin_, come to aid Dai Nippon with sword and
counsel,” I answered.

She bowed low, with a gentle insucking of breath, and fell silent.
But as I sauntered along beside the slowly moving _norimon_, I caught
glimpses of a pair of soft black eyes peering at me through the fringe
of the window curtain. There could be no doubt that the Shogun’s
daughter was studying such of my face as showed below the hat brim. The
thought that she might be seeking to accustom herself to the “demon”
eyes of the _tojin_ set me aglow with blissful anticipations. But my
amorous fancies quickly gave place to hot shame at the remembrance that
the gentle little princess was the betrothed of my friend.

Our slow advance at last brought us up on the causeway, across the
lake-like moat from the cyclopean wall and gate. The passage had been
made through the midst of a multitude, drawn in rapidly increasing
numbers by wild rumors of the fight. The causeway swarmed with hundreds
of _samurais_, who stared at Yoritomo and myself in respectful silence.

A company of the _hatamotos_ in charge of the great gate had advanced
across the bridge to meet the Princess. Near the foot of the bridge
Yoritomo signed me to stop. We stepped back while the _norimon_ and
those who followed it passed on between.

A venerable _samurai_ wearing the circled cross of Satsuma saluted
Yoritomo and pointed westward to the gate of one of the nearer
_yashikis_.

“Shimadzu Satsuma-no-kami sends greeting to Yoritomo Sama, the heroic
son of Owari dono, and to his heroic companion!” he said. “Will they
honor the house of Shimadzu by entering and refreshing themselves?”

“Return our greetings and thanks to the Daimio of Satsuma,” replied
Yoritomo. “We hope soon to visit Shimadzu Sama, but now we have come
from a long journey, and must hasten to salute my father.”

“The son of Owari dono is wounded,” suggested the _samurai_.

“A wound received in a good cause bears no sting,” replied my friend
with a Confucian sententiousness that drew an appreciative murmur from
the crowd. He waved aside the old _samurai_ with a courteous gesture,
and crossed to me. “Come, brother, we must be on our way. The sun is
low, and we have no lanterns.”

The _samurai_ again hastened around before him and bent low. “Fearing
that Yoritomo Sama might be unable to linger for a call, my lord took
the liberty to send _norimons_ for the conveyance of the son of Owari
dono and his companion.”

“The gracious offer of Shimadzu, the Daimio of Satsuma, is accepted
with grateful thanks,” responded Yoritomo.

At a sign from the _samurai_, two red-lacquered _norimons_ were borne
forward through the crowd, and their doors opened for us to enter.
Calling to mind Yoritomo’s instructions I slipped off my sandals and
squeezed into one of the narrow boxes. Once inside, I crouched down on
knees and heels in quite the correct manner, though I caught a murmur
of politely smothered surprise at my failure to remove my hat.

A half-minute later our palanquins were swinging westward along the
walled edge of the moat, an escort of Satsuma _samurais_ in van and
rear, and the old leader in attendance beside Yoritomo’s _norimon_.




CHAPTER XIII--THE PRINCE OF OWARI


Our trip through the _daimio_ quarter must have covered two miles and
more. Though closely cramped in my elegant box, I managed by stooping
over to peer out through the bamboo fringe of the windows. For some
time we had on our left the walls of large _yashikis_ and on our right
the beautiful lotus-covered moat-lake, with the lofty rampart of the
citadel across. The sun sank beneath the horizon as we turned westward
down a wide thoroughfare.

Presently we turned again, and passed zigzag from one street to another
between silent _yashikis_. The buildings were lighted only by quaint
street lanterns hung beside their heavy gateways and by the dim glow of
candles through the white paper screens of the windows. The few people
passing along these aristocratic streets were provided against the
gathering darkness by cylindrical lanterns marked with the crests of
various _daimios_.

At last we came to one of the bastioned gateways of the outer moat,
and, after a brief parley with the guard, passed through and out
across the bridge. Shortly beyond, our escort halted before a grand
double-roofed gateway. We had arrived at the main entrance to the
largest of the _yashikis_ belonging to the Prince of Owari.

While our bearers carried us across the stone bridge of the moat-ditch
into the lighted space before the huge copper-faced gates, the old
_samurai_ leader announced us to the warden or captain of the gate.
Almost instantly the ponderous leaves of the gate swung open before us,
and a dozen Owari _samurais_ hastened out to open the _norimons_ and
salute their occupants.

Yoritomo met their smiles and kowtowings and noisy insuckings of
breath with an austere dignity that I took pains to imitate. But to my
surprise, he accepted a pair of the lacquered clogs that were brought
for us, and proceeded to leave his _norimon_. Catching my look, he
explained in English: “I am yet to be made heir, and as a younger son I
lack the rank required of one permitted to ride in through the gateway.”

“Your rank is known,” I replied. “Mine is yet to be established. I will
make a start here and now. You know that in my country there is no man
of better blood than myself. I will not enter your father’s gateway
except in my _norimon_.”

“You are right. The point is shrewdly taken,” he assented, and he spoke
gravely to the gate warden.

The retainer accepted the statement of his master’s son without
a trace of hesitancy, and I was carried in beneath the carved and
lacquered crossbeams of the gateway with Yoritomo walking beside my
_norimon_. The iron-shod sandals of _samurais_ and bearers clattered on
the stone flags of the broad courtyard within the gate.

Crossing this court, we passed up a <DW72> and through an ornamental
fence, into a second court before the mansion of the prince. Wings and
high hedges flanked the main building in such manner that we could have
seen nothing of the _yashiki_ gardens even had the day still lingered.
I was, however, more than satisfied by the fairy-like vision of the
palace. Though the building was of only one story, the white-tiled roof
flung up its twisted gables against the blue-black sky with an effect
of airy height, while the rows of lanterns, hung to the outcurving
eaves, shed their soft glow over the artistic balustrades and polished
planking of verandas wider than those of Zozoji.

In the centre of the façade was a grand portico of _keyaki_ wood,
supported by carved beams and pillars lacquered in vivid colors. Young
pages came out to salute us and spread mats for us to step upon. I
emerged from my _norimon_. Yoritomo returned our thanks to the old
_samurai_ for the courtesy of Satsuma, and stepped from his clogs onto
the mats beside me as the bearers and escort turned back to the gate.

An elderly chamberlain in richest costume appeared from within and
kowtowed before us. Mindful of my lessons in etiquette, I drew out my
sheathed sword and handed it to the official as he rose. He took the
priceless weapon reverently and raised it to his forehead before giving
it into the keeping of one of the pages. Yoritomo handed his own sword
to a second page, and addressed the chamberlain curtly: “Let my august
father be informed of our arrival, Fujimaro.”

“By what name shall I announce my lord’s companion?” asked the
chamberlain.

“Announce my friend as one entitled to sit at the left hand of the
Prince of Owari.”

Fujimaro bowed us into the keeping of a second chamberlain, and slipped
noiselessly away over the white mats. The newcomer kowtowed, and, at
a word from Yoritomo, conducted us in through a vestibule lined with
halberds, lances, archers’ equipage, armor, and battle-axes, to a
dim-lit passage. The pages with our swords followed at a respectful
distance.

Two or three turns brought us to the brightly illuminated dressing-room
of a bath. As we entered several attendants saluted and began waiting
on us, rising from their knees only when necessary. When my hat was
removed, one man gave a gasp of amazement. Otherwise all preserved
their bland smiles throughout my disrobing, too well trained to
venture any comments upon my “snow white” skin.

But etiquette did not prevent them from uttering soft exclamations of
grief and pity when the removal of Yoritomo’s dress disclosed a deep
cut across his shoulder blade. Though no longer bleeding, the wound
gaped open to the bone. Yet with Spartan fortitude Yoritomo silenced
their cries and ordered them to proceed with me. When, in turn, he
had received his cold rub and hot immersion, he at last permitted the
chamberlain to bind up the wound with moistened strips of the tough
Japanese paper.

Blind shampooers reinvigorated our muscles with their skilful rubbing;
other attendants shaved us, dressed our hair, and attired us in
gorgeous ceremonial costume, including white silk socks and the
gauze-winged jackets called _kamishimos_. Last of all our dirks were
thrust into our girdles and my revolvers and cartridges placed on a red
lacquer tray to be carried after us with our swords.

Fujimaro appeared to conduct us into the presence of the Prince. We
followed him through well-lighted corridors, flanked by rooms varying
in size but all alike in their silk-bordered mats, the beautiful
pictures on their lacquer-rimmed wall-screens, and the artistic
fretwork in the space between the lintel-beams and the ceiling.
Throughout the palace the woodwork was in natural finish, without
paint or varnish, yet polished until the exquisitely grained surface
shimmered like watered silk.

At the anteroom of the _daimio’s_ hall of audience two more
chamberlains kowtowed and ushered us forward. At the head of the room
there was an impressive pause. The chamberlains could not have looked
more solemn had they been ushering us into the presence of the Shogun
himself. The screens before us drew noiselessly aside and disclosed a
chamber somewhat larger than the anteroom and a slight step higher.

The chamberlains kowtowed at the threshold and crept forward on their
knees. We followed, erect. To our left, midway up the room, knelt six
dignified _samurai_ counsellors. The Daimio awaited us, seated Turk
fashion upon a low dais before a lacquer-walled _tokonoma_. So far
as I could judge of his figure within the loose robes, he was tall
and slender. He wore a small beard and mustache whose snowy whiteness
contrasted with his tall black bag-like cap of cobwebby tissue. His
long face had a stern and saturnine expression and he bore himself with
austere stateliness.

As the chamberlains neared the dais, they kowtowed and drew to one
side. We advanced and knelt, and Yoritomo kowtowed. Resolved to
maintain equality with the Prince, I went no further than a low bow. As
I straightened, the Prince gazed keenly into my blue eyes, and after
a moment’s pause returned my bow. I was received as a _daimio_ of the
first class!

The kneeling chamberlains waved me to the cushion on the left of the
Prince and Yoritomo to the cushion on his right. Our swordbearers slid
around to the _tokonoma_ and placed our swords upon the rack of honor
below the Prince’s glittering gold-mounted helmet and armor. At a sign
from the Prince, the page bearing my revolvers and cartridges set his
tray before us.

The solemn silence which had prevailed since our entrance continued
while attendants glided in with sweetmeats and a toy-like tea service
of egg-shell china. When we had been served, the Daimio signed all the
retainers except his counsellors to withdraw, and broke the silence by
politely inquiring my name, age, and family.

“My father’s guest is Adamisu Woroto Sama,” answered Yoritomo for me.
“He is a _daimio_ of the great _tojin_ people whose land is called
America. His age is the same as my own. In all America there is no
family of higher blood than the family of my friend and benefactor. He
held honorable rank under the Government of America, but laid aside
office, and has come with me to aid Dai Nippon.”

The Prince looked across to the group of counsellors, and the aged
_karo_, or chief counsellor, responded to the wordless inquiry without
moving.

“My lord, in the Legacy of Iyeyasu it is forbidden to harbor a _tojin_.
According to the ancient edict, all Christians shall be imprisoned in
the common jail.”

“August Prince and father,” said Yoritomo, “the Legacy of Iyeyasu also
forbids that any man shall leave the shores of Nippon, under penalty
of crucifixion. Your son has travelled beyond the shores of Nippon; he
has traversed the five continents, and proved the truth of the Dutch
learning by sailing around the vast circuit of the world.”

“My lord,” said the _karo_, “the wording of the edict is explicit.
Death is decreed against whomsoever shall presume to intercede
for the life of a man returned from beyond the seas. Men of low
class--fishermen--have been received back from _tojin_ ships and
forgiven their unintended crime. But according to his own words,
Yoritomo Sama left the shore of Nippon with intent to contravene the
ancient edict by bringing back the knowledge of the _tojins_. My lord,
the enforcement of the laws has been lax in recent years; there has
been much blinking at the study of the Dutch learning. Yet the laws
stand ready for enforcement against my lord and Yoritomo Sama and the
honorable guest, should enemies of my lord make demand upon Midzuano
Echizen-no-kami, chief of the Elder Council.”

“A petition for a hearing has already gone to the Household in the
_norimon_ of the Princess Azai,” replied Yoritomo, and without naming
Kohana, he told succinctly how we had discovered and defeated the Mito
plot.

The Daimio and his counsellors listened throughout with an
impassiveness of manner which I should have mistaken for indifference
had I not been near enough to see the glow in the jet eyes of the
Prince. At the end of the account the great man murmured his comments
in a voice that vibrated with suppressed exultance:

“In all that you have done, my son, I see the guidance of the gods and
of the spirits of our forefathers. The Mito men walk with faces over
their shoulders, looking to the past, and with ears closed against
all reports of the disasters brought upon the Chinese by a like
frog-in-the-well policy. The true cause of the Mikado owes much to your
service and the service of this noble _tojin sama_.”

“I have broken the law; I have brought danger upon the House of Owari,”
said Yoritomo. “I alone should receive punishment, and not my family.
Shall it be _hara-kiri_, or shall I strip off the Tokugawa crest, and
as a _ronin_ seek to accomplish my mission, aided only by my _tojin_
brother?”

His father looked across at the counsellors, and the old _karo_
responded without a moment’s hesitancy: “Yoritomo Sama has in truth
been guided by the ancestral spirits of Owari. Chief and clan should
stand or fall in the support of the heir of Owari.”

“Heir?” murmured Yoritomo. “Such, then, is the truth!”

“Trusted men have been making secret search for you throughout Nippon,”
answered the Prince. “For a month your elder brother has lain sick
beyond hope of recovery. His son is yet a child. The strong man has
come to succeed the sick heir. To-morrow the death of your brother will
be announced.”

To give way to grief in the presence of a superior is a most serious
breach of Japanese etiquette. The graver the grief or pain, the more
pronounced the smile of the sufferer. Yoritomo uttered a soft laugh,
and immediately turned the conversation to a less painful subject.

“My lord,” he said, “I have told how Woroto Sama received me aboard
the black ship, and how he proved himself the generous friend and
brother of the stranger. We believe the saying that the spirits of our
ancestors are ever about us. Here is proof. Only a day past Woroto Sama
informed me that he is a descendant of Anjin Sama.”

“Of Anjin Sama!” repeated the Prince, even his austere reserve shaken
by the statement.

I bowed to mask my curiosity. The news of my ancestry could not be
other than interesting to any one acquainted with the romantic history
of Will Adams. But why should the announcement to this Oriental prince
create such a sensation?

He looked at me with a slight smile, and asked his son: “Does Woroto
Sama know?”

“He has yet to be informed, my lord.”

The Prince turned to his _karo_: “What is written in the records of
Owari regarding Anjin Sama, the _tojin_ counsellor of Minamoto Iyeyasu?”

“My lord, it is written that the fourth Daimio of Owari took to wife
the daughter of Satsuma-no-kami’s brother Nagato. The wife of Nagato
was the daughter of Anjin Sama’s grandson.”

The saturnine face of the Prince relaxed in a kindly smile, and
Yoritomo bowed to me in grave salute. “My brother now sees that it was
immutable Fate which drew us together in the bonds of friendship. We
are blood kinsmen.”

Accustomed as are we of the South to trace out the ties of family
through all its ramifications, I was astonished at this recognition
of cousinship through so remote an ancestor, especially as I knew the
Japanese hold strictly to the male line. But if the princely House of
Owari was inclined to receive me as a member of the clan and family, it
was not for me to repudiate the connection.

The Daimio spoke to the counsellors: “The heir of the Prince of
Owari is entitled to present his memorial direct to the Shogun. See
that Yoritomo Sama is registered at Zozoji, in the place of his elder
brother, who is about to go from us.”

The counsellors kowtowed, and glided from the room. Yoritomo addressed
his father, with a shade of anxiety beneath his smile: “My lord, I
cannot go before the Shogun during my time of mourning. Yet the black
ships may come any day.”

“Prepare the memorial. I myself will present it to the Shogun in
private audience,” replied the Prince.

One of the screens of the side wall slipped open, and there entered
a slender little old lady in dove- silk. She was the first
aged woman I had yet seen in Japan whose features retained a share
of youthful beauty. Her face was as exquisitely refined and almost
as fair as that of the Shogun’s daughter, while her teeth, owing
either to greater skill in the application or to better dye, were of a
glossy black not altogether unpleasing even to my Occidental ideas of
attractiveness.

Softly as a thistledown, she drifted across the mats and knelt before
Yoritomo, her lips parted in a smile that went far beyond the demands
of etiquette. Tears of joy glided down her soft cheeks, and in her eyes
was a look of mother love and devotion that made all clear to me. No
less deep and overpowering was Yoritomo’s joy at sight of his mother;
his tears flowed quite as freely. Yet there followed no outburst of
caressing words, no kisses and fond embraces. Weeping and smiling in
decorous quiet, they kowtowed to one another and murmured formal words
of greeting.

In the midst Yoritomo composed himself to introduce me as his friend
and benefactor and a distant kinsman of the family. She welcomed
me with exquisite courtesy. A _samurai_ girl appeared with a light
refreshment of tea, and rice-cakes covered with a sauce of red beans
and sugar. This the Princess served to us herself, with a daintiness
that would have drawn from me more than one compliment had I not been
aware that my fine phrases would have been considered an outrageous
breach of etiquette.

When the little lady had withdrawn with her assistant, the Prince
unbent entirely from his austere reserve, and in a most genial manner
showered upon me a hundred and one politely personal inquiries as to
my opinions and ideas. Behind the mask of solemn state I found him a
gentleman as cordial as he was dignified, and as kindly disposed as he
was noble minded.

Returning to the fight with the _ronins_, he spoke wonderingly of my
audacious resort to firearms within the bounds of Yedo, and insisted
that I should show him the action of my revolvers. The weapons greatly
pleased him, and he obtained my promise to fire them the next day in
one of the archery walks of the _yashiki_.

After this, mindful of our need of rest, he touched a small gong, and
ordered the chamberlain Fujimaro, who responded, to conduct me to
apartments occupying one of the wings of the palace.




CHAPTER XIV--BEFORE THE SHOGUN


For several days I lived in strict seclusion. A semi-detached wing of
the palace, surrounded by one of the most beautiful of the landscape
gardens within the _yashiki_, had been set apart for my use. All my
wants were attended to by a faultlessly polite corps of retainers and
servants.

Fujimaro the chamberlain acted as my major-domo and incidentally as
my instructor in language and etiquette. Much as I had derived both
consciously and unconsciously from my intimacy with Yoritomo, I soon
found that I had made no more than a fair beginning in the intricacies
and niceties of one of the most difficult of languages and of the most
complicated of all existing codes of etiquette, that of China not
excepted.

My teacher proved to be invariably cordial and interested, but no
less invariably formal and precise in his demeanor towards the _tojin
daimio_. The Prince, who came to walk with me in the garden each day,
was still more formal whenever any of his retainers were present.
At other times, as when I showed him a little pistol practice in
the seclusion of a rockery, he unbent to me as to a peer, always
faultlessly polite and dignified yet flatteringly attentive to my
conversation.

During this time I saw nothing of his wife, the quaintly beautiful
little lady Tokiwa Sama. The family life of the Japanese nobility is
extremely private, even as regards relatives. Yoritomo found time to
pay me only one brief visit. He was dressed in white, the Japanese
mourning, and was greatly worn by his labor in preparing his memorial
to the Shogun during the nights and his daytime duties as chief mourner
for his brother.

Japanese etiquette does not permit the official mourning of parents
for children. Upon Yoritomo had fallen the sorrowful task of receiving
the family friends at the bier of his brother and of attending to all
the Buddhistic and Shinto funeral rites. The day after our arrival the
death of his brother had been officially announced, and the corpse,
which had been embalmed in vermilion for a month past, was mourned over
for the prescribed number of days before the interment in one of the
cemeteries at Shiba.

In the meantime my friend had completed a summary of the knowledge he
had acquired regarding the outer world, and the new foreign policy to
which that knowledge pointed. He was now writing the full report and
memorial, while his father, who had already smuggled the summary into
the Castle, was intriguing for permission to present the memorial
direct to the Shogun, unknown to Midzuano and the other members of the
Council of Elders.

As the Council was secretly pledged to the Mito faction, it was
necessary for us to obtain an unprejudiced hearing from the Shogun.
Delay was dangerous, since at any moment Keiki might invoke the ancient
laws against us, or the inopportune arrival of the American expedition
might checkmate our purpose by throwing the Government into an
irrevocably hostile attitude towards the foreigners and ourselves.

Weary of inaction, I welcomed a message from the Prince requesting me
to join him on an informal visit. Where we were to go was not stated,
but I accepted the invitation on the instant, and asked no questions.
My attendants dressed me with utmost care, in rich though sober-
garments, and I noticed that a ceremonial winged jacket, or
_kamishimo_, of hemp-cloth was laid in a lacquered case to be carried
along.

When, shortly after midday, I was led through the palace to the state
portico, I found that the Prince had already entered his _norimon_, and
was being borne away in the midst of his slow-moving cortege. I stepped
into my _norimon_ and was borne after him, Fujimaro and other officials
walking beside me. My led-horse and grooms, my two-sword men, and the
bearers of my state umbrella, hat, fan, and all the other ceremonial
paraphernalia of a _daimio_, were strung out before or behind me.

Upon issuing from the _yashiki_, we did not cross the outer moat at the
nearest bridge, but skirted southward along it to the Yotsuya Gate,
which opens into the great Kojimachi Street. Up Kojimachi we swung at a
pace far brisker than dignity would have permitted had not the absence
of ceremonial standards indicated that we were travelling _naibun_.
The incognito of the Prince, however, was no more than a conventional
fiction, since his cortege was immediately recognized by every man in
the throngs of _samurais_ that passed us within the official quarter.

Gazing out through my curtains, I caught the politely veiled glances
with which the two-sword men regarded our cortege. The intensity
of party feeling among them was evident from the total absence of
indifference. There was not one who failed to show indications of
either warm friendship or bitter hatred. This was no less true of the
helmetted riders we met. Some rode by with the heads of their barbed
and grotesquely caparisoned horses curved high and the huge slipper
stirrups of the high-peaked saddles thrust out aggressively. Others
courteously swerved to the far side of the street, and a few even
dismounted, despite our conventional incognito.

A mile along the Kojimachi Street brought us to the moat of the
citadel. I expected our cortege to turn to the right into the great
causeway and skirt the moat towards the Sakaruda Gate where Yoritomo
and I had parted from the cortege of the Princess Azai. Instead, our
escort led straight on across the bridge that headed the street. The
thought flashed upon me that we were about to enter the Shogun’s sacred
enclosure and call upon one of the high officials of the Household.

On either side I looked down over the waters of the beautiful moat,
among whose blue-green lotus pads swarmed ducks and geese, swans,
ibises, storks, and cranes. The outer bank rose to the causeway in a
steep grassy <DW72>, set with wide-spreading oaks and pines. Nearing the
far side, I studied at close view the granite blocks of the citadel
wall, many of which measured at least four feet by sixteen. They were
neatly fitted together without mortar or iron cramps, and showed no
crevices or displacements from the earthquakes of three centuries.

At the head of the bridge our cortege halted, and Fujimaro informed
me that I was to alight. The Prince, as the head of one of the August
Three Families, was entitled to ride in through this lesser gate, but
no other _daimio_ could be accorded the privilege.

“Very well,” I replied, determined to make a test of the matter. “Let
the Prince of Owari proceed. I will wait his return here.”

“Impossible, my lord!” exclaimed the chamberlain.

“Then take me back to the _yashiki_,” I demanded. “The Prince was
pleased to receive me as a _daimio_ of rank equal to his own. I will
enter the citadel in the same manner that he enters, or not at all.”

This was a bold stand for a foreigner whose very presence in Japan was
against the ancient laws. But my natural disposition to insist upon a
correct valuation of my dignity was backed by a careful consideration
of Japanese manners and customs. As an American gentleman, I had the
right to rank myself as an equal to any one beneath the ruler of the
country. To accept a lower station would result in humiliations that I
was not disposed to suffer, either from white men or brown.

There followed a prolonged conference between the captain of the gate,
the chamberlain, and the Prince, during which Fujimaro twice came back
and begged me to change my determination. I refused. The gate captain
in turn refused to admit the unknown occupant of the second _norimon_
other than on foot. The deadlock that followed was broken by the
appearance of a _hatamoto_ whom I at once recognized as the only member
of the Princess’s guard, except the leader, that had survived the
attack of the _ronins_. His dress indicated that he had been promoted
to the rank of court chamberlain. He had come to conduct us into the
citadel, and at a word from him, the obstinate gate captain yielded his
will to mine.

We moved forward beneath the huge ancient gateway into a small court
between the lofty bastions, and out at right angles, through an inner
gateway, into the marvellously beautiful gardens of the Shogun. After
winding about for half a mile or more among hillocks and rockeries and
groves interspersed with kiosks and toy-like red-lacquered temples, we
came to the wall and moat that surrounds the O Shiro.

Here the Prince and I left our _norimons_, and walked over a slender
high-arched bridge, accompanied only by our chamberlains and the newly
made court chamberlain, who had ostentatiously ushered us from the
citadel gate. In compliance with the request of the Prince, I walked
behind him as if lost in meditation, my head downbent and eyes narrowed
to a line.

At the far side of the bridge we passed between the vigilant guards of
the inner gateway, who, however, seemed to detect nothing foreign in my
appearance. Beyond them we came into a garden court, surrounded with
high walls on three sides and on the fourth with a wing of the palace.
There was no person to be seen either in the court or in the broad
veranda of the palace wing, to which we were conducted. Mounting a set
of movable lacquered steps, we crossed the veranda to the threshold of
a small waiting room.

When our clogs had been removed, the Prince handed over not only his
sword but his dirk as well into the keeping of his chief attendant.
The act convinced me that we were about to be received by the Shogun
himself. It was absurd to suppose that one of so exalted a rank as the
Prince would lay aside his dirk as well as his sword for any personage
in Yedo other than the head of the Government. Fujimaro did not have to
ask twice for my swords. I handed them over at the first word.

We entered and seated ourselves. The court chamberlain kowtowed and
withdrew, and our attendants proceeded to slip on our winged jackets
and adjust our court caps. These were odd black-lacquered affairs, not
unlike inverted boats in shape, and were tied on the crown of our heads
with cords passing under our chins. Our chamberlains then handed us the
ceremonial fans, and withdrew to the lower end of the room.

After a short wait, the court official reappeared and bowed to the
Prince and myself. We rose and followed him through a deserted corridor
into a large square room, where he signed us to kneel on three mats
below the cushions in front of the _tokonoma_. He slipped out again by
the way he had entered, drawing shut the screen behind him.

There followed a wait of ten or fifteen minutes, during which I sought
to quiet my apprehensions as to the outcome of the audience with this
mysterious Oriental potentate, by studying the exquisite cabinetwork
and decorations of the room. I was admiring the priceless _cloisonné_
vase which shared the floor of the _tokonoma_ with a common water-worn
stone, when the Prince drew in his breath with a soft sibilation, and
kowtowed until his forehead pressed the floor.

A quick glance showed me a gap between the screens of the side wall,
through which was entering a portly, stern-faced, black-bearded man in
yellow _kimono_ and black _haori_. In his girdle were thrust a sword
and dirk that glittered with gold fretwork, but the bell-shaped cap, or
hat, on the crown of his head was of plain black lacquer. The salute of
the Prince was, however, quite sufficient to convince me that we were
in the presence of the Shogun. I kowtowed beside my companion.

We maintained our salute until the Shogun had seated himself on the
cushioned dais before the _tokonoma_ and commanded us to rise. As we
straightened and sat back on knees and heels, I was astonished to
perceive that we were alone with this exclusive and jealously guarded
ruler of the most exclusive and jealously guarded empire on earth. But
I had heard too much about the ways of Oriental potentates to doubt
that palace guards waited within instant call behind the frail barrier
of the wall screens.

“The petition of Yoritomo Sama for permission to present a memorial
through Owari dono has been received and read,” he began in a clear,
colorless voice. “The summary of the intended memorial of Yoritomo
Sama has been received but not read. The Legacy of Iyeyasu forbids the
reading of documents or letters that refer to _tojin_ countries.”

“The will of Minamoto Iyeyoshi is the delight of his servants!”
exclaimed the Prince, smiling as though he had received a favor. “May
inquiry be made whether the Tycoon has laid the matter before the Elder
Council?”

If the Shogun was flattered by the adulatory Chinese title, which
properly belonged only to the Mikado, there was nothing to indicate the
fact in his stern look. He replied curtly, “The Council has not yet
been consulted.”

Though so ungraciously stated, I divined that this answer implied a
point in our favor, and I smiled quite as suavely as the Prince. The
Shogun turned his gloomy eyes upon me in a fixed stare. As a matter of
courtesy I was willing to conform to the etiquette of the country, but
I was not inclined to cringe before any man. No thought of insolence or
bravado entered my mind. The rank of this Oriental ruler entitled him
to my respect. I met his look with the calm and steady gaze with which
a gentleman regards a new acquaintance.

The experiment was not lacking in danger. Deference is the breath of
life to the normal Oriental potentate. But the pride of race and family
is hard to overcome, even though expediency counsel a subservient
attitude. I could not have humbled myself had I desired.

The event proved that Minamoto Iyeyoshi was far other than a typical
tyrant. His dark eyes lighted and he expressed his opinion of me with
royal conciseness: “The American _tojin_ is brave.”

I bowed in acknowledgment. “Your Highness is pleased to be gracious!
Permit me to speak for one who is my friend,--a man who, for the sake
of his country, laid aside riches and rank, and, at the risk of life
and honor, crossed the seas to search out the secrets of _tojin_ power.
Your Highness, do the records of Nippon’s heroes tell of any nobler
deed of courage and devotion?”

“The Legacy of Iyeyasu may not be altered,” he replied.

“Your Highness,” I said, “since the days of your august ancestor
Iyeyasu Sama, Dai Nippon has stood still among the nations of the
earth while all the _tojin_ world has rolled forward. Even China stirs
from the sleep of cycles. The time has come for the people of Nippon
to learn that the _tojins_ are neither beasts nor demons nor even
barbarians. Your Highness, the son of the wise Prince of Owari honored
me with his friendship. For the sake of that friendship I have come
with him to Nippon to advise the altering of the laws of Iyeyasu.”

“A _tojin_ counsellor in the Shogunate!”

“Your Highness may recall one precedent,” I replied. “Iyeyasu Sama
listened to the counsel of Anjin Sama, my ancestor.”

The curiosity in the Shogun’s eyes deepened without a trace of change
in his impassive face. He glanced inquiringly at my companion, who
responded in a tone of calm conviction: “Anjin Sama, the favorite and
most trusted counsellor of our august ancestor, has returned in a new
birth to advise Minamoto Iyeyoshi regarding the _tojin_ peoples.”

“Does the _tojin_ himself make claim that he is a reincarnation of
Anjin?” demanded the Shogun.

“No claim is made by myself, Your Highness,” I answered. “I am not
conscious that my soul is the soul of Anjin. But I know that I am
lineally descended from Anjin through his English son, and Owari dono
honors me with an acknowledgment of kinship.”

The Prince bowed in confirmation.

Iyeyoshi’s face darkened. “Woroto is a believer in the accursed sect!”

“Your Highness is mistaken,” I replied. “The sect denounced by your
laws is that body of Christians which acknowledges the rule of the Pope
of Rome. There are many Christian sects which reject the Pope.”

“All Christian sects seek to subvert filial piety and the reverent
worship of the august ancestors, upon which rest the foundations of
morality and order.”

“Your Highness,” I ventured, “whatever may be the foundations of order
and morality, the life of nations depends either upon the power to
meet force with force or the wisdom to avoid conflict. For generations
Dai Nippon has been safe owing to her isolation from the lands beyond
the wide seas. But now the _tojin_ peoples have attained to a power
inconceivable to one who has not seen. Their warships cover the seas.”

“So also did the war junks of Kublai Khan,” he rejoined.

“The fleet of Kublai Khan was destroyed off the shores of Nippon by
the great storm no less than by the valor of Nippon’s _samurais_,” I
replied. “But the warships of the _tojins_ move without sails against
the greatest of typhoons, and their cannon shoot far. Your Highness may
have heard of Chinese arrogance. The _tojins_ said, ‘Trade with us.’
The Chinese spat at them and called them ‘foreign devils.’ The _tojins_
said, ‘Trade with us.’ They attacked the _tojins_. The _tojin_ warships
came to them in anger. Now they trade with the _tojins_ in many open
ports. The _tojin_ trade is a rising tide that is sweeping its way
around the world. Your Highness knows that the Government of my country
is sending a very great official honorably to request that the ports of
Dai Nippon be unblocked before the rising tide.”

“Earthquake waves have rolled up on our coasts, destroying thousands.
The waters have ever receded, and Dai Nippon still stands.”

“The tide of _tojin_ trade has never receded from wherever it has
flowed. _Tojin_ power is far beyond the knowledge of Your Highness.
Do not judge by the Dutch. They are now a very little people in the
_tojin_ world. In the august name of Minamoto Iyeyasu and in the name
of Anjin Sama, his counsellor, I ask Minamoto Iyeyoshi to receive and
ponder on the memorial of Yoritomo Sama.”

“The prayer of Woroto will be considered,” replied the Shogun, and with
this half concession, he touched a small gong that stood beside him on
an elbow rest.




CHAPTER XV--REQUITAL


In quick response to the signal, the chamberlain who had conducted us
to the palace entered at the side of the room. Over his feet and a
yard behind trailed a grotesque prolongation of his trouser legs that
gave him the appearance of walking on his knees. I supposed he had
been summoned to usher us out. But when he crept forward on hands and
knees and kowtowed, the Shogun commanded harshly: “Look at the _tojin_,
Gengo. Report has been made that he committed the crime of firing a gun
within the bounds of Yedo. Speak the truth.”

The chamberlain raised his head a little above the floor, and stared
across at me, his face gray with fear beneath its set smile.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, “the truth cannot be concealed. This is
the _tojin_ who, in company with Yoritomo, son of Owari dono, fired
many shots from a little gun the like of which has never before been
seen in Yedo. Your Highness knows that I had no share in the crime.
Yuki was captain of the cortege, and the responsibility--”

“Enough,” interrupted the Shogun. “Send in Setsu.”

As the fellow crept from the room I stared after him, astounded that
fear could so debase one who had outmatched by his skill and braveness
the armored _ronins_. He had stood unflinching before the bloody swords
that had cut down his comrades, yet now, at the bare intimation that
his lord was displeased with me, crawled away without venturing a word
in favor of the _tojin_ whose so-called crime had saved him from death
and his Princess from the disgrace of capture.

I turned to the Prince, expecting him to burst into warm protests
against the injustice of the Shogun’s attitude. He sat in placid
silence, his face wreathed in the polite smile of the Japanese
courtier. Yet I knew that he could not be indifferent. Ruin to me would
spell ruin to Yoritomo. Determined not to be outdone in self-control,
I composed myself, and faced the Shogun with the same forced smile of
etiquette.

Iyeyoshi regarded me with an inscrutable look. Though his features
were as impassive as if cast in golden bronze, I fancied a sinister
mockery behind the cold curiosity of his gaze. I felt as a mouse must
feel between the paws of the cat. I had been so foolish as to leave
my revolvers in my apartments. I was absolutely in the power of this
gloomy-eyed ruler. I thought of all the hideous mediæval tortures
still in practice in this benighted land, and a cold sweat oozed out
upon my skin and chilled me. Yet I maintained my courtier’s smile.

Noiselessly as a shadow a girl glided across the room and prostrated
herself before the Shogun. It was the younger of the Princess Azai’s
_samurai_ ladies. Iyeyoshi muttered a command. She raised her head a
few inches, and spoke rapidly, but in tones so soft and low I could
only conjecture that she was giving a detailed account of the attack
and defeat of the _ronins_. Throughout the recital the Shogun held to
his cold scrutiny of my face. I continued to smile.

At the end he signed her to go. In turning about, she cast at me a
glance of modest interest, and I thought there was friendliness in her
smile. She glided out as noiselessly as she had entered. There was a
moment’s pause, and another girl glided in to prostrate herself before
the Shogun,--a girl still more graceful and lissome, dressed in crepes
of gossamer texture. I stared in amazement, my heart skipping a beat
and then bounding with a force that sent a flood of color into my face.
The girl was the Shogun’s daughter, the Princess Azai.

“Speak the full truth!” commanded the Shogun, with the barest
suggestion of tenderness beneath his stern tone. “This is not the first
time you have seen the _tojin_.”

“Your Highness,” she murmured, in a voice as clear and musical as it
was low, “the _tojin sama_ appeared before me first below the holy
image of Kwannon at Zozoji. I thought him a god or a spirit. Again he
appeared, in the midst of the attack by the evil _ronins_, and then I
knew him to be a hero such as are told of in the ancient writings.”

“The privilege of rulers is to honor heroes,” said the Shogun, and he
made a sign with his fan.

Azai glided to the opening in the screens, and returned with a tea
tray of unvarnished cypress wood, which she held above her white brow
until she had knelt to set it before her father. Having served him, she
glided across again, to return with a tray and service of vermilion
lacquer. This she brought to the Prince, holding it not so high as
the first tray. Last of all she came to serve me in precisely the
same manner as my fellow-guest. Tray and service and ceremonial were
identical. In other words, I was received by the Shogun as a personage
of rank equal to that of the Prince of Owari.

But I gave scant thought to this triumph of diplomacy when I looked
down upon the quaint coiffure and slender figure of the kowtowing girl.
As she straightened from the salute and, still upon her knees, bent
forward to offer me my tea and sweetmeats, her eyes rose to mine in a
timid glance. By good fortune I was able to restrain my tongue. But I
could not withhold from my gaze the adoration which overwhelmed me at
this close view of her exquisite purity and loveliness.

I had barely a glimpse of the soft brown-black eyes, purpling with
emotion. Then the lids drooped their long lashes, and a scarlet blush
leaped into her ivory cheeks. Yet with consummate grace and composure,
she maintained her delicious little smile of greeting, and served me
without a falter.

Her blush passed as swiftly as it had come, but it left me stunned
and dizzy with the realization that I loved this divinely sweet and
innocent maiden,--the daughter of the proud ruler of Nippon,--the
promised bride of my true friend Tomo. She was as far beyond my reach
as the silvery moon. What of that? Love does not reason. Even in the
midst of my shame at the thought of my friend, I found myself unable to
resist the mad longing to win the lovely girl.

My infatuated gaze could not have escaped the keen eyes of her father
and the Prince. To my surprise, instead of reproving me with word or
look, they sipped their tiny cups of tea as fast as the little Princess
could refill them, and exchanged cryptic verses from the Chinese
classics. The poetic contest continued until we had finished our
refreshment and Azai had withdrawn with her trays.

The Shogun quoted a last verse, and turned upon me with pedagogical
severity. “Woroto gives no heed to the golden words of the Chinese
sage!”

“Your Highness,” I replied, “if ignorance of Confucius is the sole
test, regard me as a barbarian. Less than two years have passed since I
began the study of your language with Yoritomo Sama.”

“In the matter of _tojin_ learning, Woroto Sama is a scholar,”
interposed the Prince.

“And a true _samurai_ in battle,” added the Shogun with a graciousness
that, I must confess, relieved me not a little.

“Your Highness,” I asked, “if inquiry is admissible--there were two
_hatamotos_ who lived to see the flight of the _ronins_. Both fought
with utmost skill and courage.”

“Gengo, as you have seen, has been promoted,” answered the Shogun. “He
did all that his position called for. Yuki, as captain of the cortege,
was guilty of falling into an ambush. In consideration of his loyal
valor, his life has been mercifully spared, and his punishment limited
to degradation from the service of the Shogunate.”

Only with utmost difficulty could I maintain my set smile. Here was
bitter requital for service,--the loyal and courageous _hatamoto_ made
a _ronin_ and beggared because of a surprise which he had no shadow of
reason to anticipate.

“Rumor says that one of the traitors was taken alive,” remarked the
Prince. “Is permission given to inquire?”

“The criminal refused to speak, and so died under examination.”

A shudder passed through me at the terse reply. I called to mind what I
had read of rack and boot and fire and all the other hideous tortures
of mediæval court procedure.

The Prince must have been bitterly disappointed. He laughed softly, and
ventured another inquiry: “It is rumored that the band came from the
north.”

“They were _ronins_, formerly in the service of Mito,” replied the
Shogun. “Written declarations found upon their bodies state that they
had foresworn their loyalty to their lord, and intended to strike
a blow against the Shogunate in favor of the temporal power of the
Mikado.”

“In Tenno’s name, for Mito’s fame,” rhymed the Prince.

The verse was not improbably a paraphrase of a classic couplet and
must have contained an allusion beyond the bare meaning of the words.
Iyeyoshi’s face darkened with a double suspicion.

“Eleven years have passed since the Prince of Mito was compelled to
resign his _daimiate_ to his eldest son and confine himself in his
inferior Yedo _yashiki_,” he stated. “Rekko’s enemies have yet to
furnish clear proof that his casting of bells into cannon was not
for the conquest of the Ainos and the glory of the Shogunate, as was
claimed by him.”

“Mito walks with face to the past and eyes turned upward,” murmured
the Prince. “No Mito has yet sat on the stool of the Mikado’s high
commander of armies. But neither was Hideyoshi the Taiko Sama made
Shogun. He held a higher title in the Mikado’s court, and was supreme
general in fact though not in name. Is it for the glory of our holy
Mikado or for the elevation of Keiki that Mito plots the overthrow of
the Shogunate?”

Stung to fury by the bare mention of the threatened disaster to his
rule, Iyeyoshi bent forward, his face distorted with murderous rage,
and his hand clutching at the hilt of his dirk. The Prince, still
smiling under the menace of instant death, kowtowed, and waited on
hands and knees, with his neck bared for the blade.

“Gladly does a loyal subject offer life in confirmation of sincerity,”
he murmured.

The blood curdled in my veins as the full horror of the moment burst
upon me. Unsoftened by my companion’s submissiveness, the Shogun
thrust back his long sleeve with his left hand and tightened his grip
on the dirk. His eyes narrowed to cruel slits. I knew there would be
only one movement,--a flashing stroke from the scabbard that would
sever the outstretched neck of the Prince. In the same instant I
realized that the death of the father would mean death to the son and
the ruin of what he valued far above life,--his mission. I had pledged
myself to help Yoritomo, and--I loved his betrothed! What had I to live
for?

“Your Highness!” I gasped. “I do not know all your customs. In China a
condemned man may sometimes receive punishment through a substitute.
Accept my life for the life of my kinsman!”

The Shogun turned his glittering eyes upon me. They were as cold and
hard and malignant as the eyes of an enraged snake. Yet the same
impulse that had forced my offer now impelled me to creep nearer to
him, fearful that he might refuse to accept. I did not realize that my
interference was in itself an outrage upon the dignity of the Shogun,
punishable with death. First the Prince, then myself! The bared arm of
the despot twitched--

Suddenly the distorted face relaxed and the hand on the hilt drew away.
Either my offer had penetrated through the crust of ceremonialism to
the wellsprings of his nature, or, at the very height of his rage,
he had recalled to mind the power of the friendly Owari party and
remembered that even he had no lawful right to punish a _daimio_ of the
first class other than by deposition with the sanctioning assent of the
Mikado.

“_Namu Amida Butsu!_” he murmured. “Rage is an evil counsellor! Be
seated. The _tojin_ offends with his uncouth manners and unsmiling
face. Yet he has proved his high sense of loyalty and the filial duty
owing to his elder kinsman. I am appeased.”

“Your Highness has spared two unworthy lives,” replied the Prince. “The
loyalty of my counsel is still doubted. Grant me leave to withdraw,
that I may make proof of sincerity.”

Again a feeling of horror seized me and brought the cold sweat to my
face. The gruesome proof of sincerity was _hara-kiri_. I recalled
the suicide of the wounded _ronin_, and I shuddered. No! Not even
for Yoritomo’s sake could I offer this sacrifice of myself for his
father. I had not been trained from childhood in the stern _samurai_
code. Still on hands and knees, I stared up at the clouded face of the
Shogun, in agonized suspense.

At last the clear gaze and unchanging smile of the Prince won the
contest against doubt and suspicion.

“The sincerity of Owari dono is not questioned,” replied the Shogun.

But the Prince was still unsatisfied. “There remains doubt regarding
the wisdom of humbly offered counsel,” he insisted.

“Permission is granted Owari dono to present the memorial of Yoritomo
Sama, which will be read and considered,” came the welcome response.

We kowtowed together, loudly insucking our breath to express our
gratitude and delight. The Shogun rose, and we again kowtowed while he
left the room. A screen in the side wall opened before him and closed
again without a sound. We were once more alone.

As we settled back on our heels the Prince commended me for my part in
the successful outcome of the audience with a glance of warm approval.
I could not restrain an exultant exclamation: “We’ve won! He cannot
resist Yoritomo’s facts!”

The Prince touched his lips and signed to the rear. A shadow passed
across my face. I had not heard even a rustle of silken folds, yet
Gengo the court chamberlain was already beside me. He kowtowed, and
murmured in a tone of ingratiating obsequiousness: “The august princes
are implored to accept the humble services of their servant. The
condescension of the great fills with joy the breast of the lowly!”

“The duties of a court chamberlain restrict his services to his lord,”
replied my companion.

I had taken a dislike to the man, despite my remembrance of his
braveness and swordsmanship, but I thought the Prince spoke with undue
harshness. Heedless of the reproof, Gengo looked up, with a fawning
smile, and answered significantly: “Great men have accepted aid from
foxes.”

“A wise man trusts in the gods, and scorns the goblin power of badgers
and foxes,” rejoined the Prince.

“Gold opens gates that steel cannot force, my lord.”

“The gates that are already open may crush those who attempt to close
them.”

Gengo cringed and looked up with a bland smile.

“The favor of the exalted Prince of Owari will be remembered by his
servant,” he murmured, and he kowtowed, laughing softly and sucking his
breath.

The Prince signed me to rise. Gengo rose after us and ushered us out
by the way we had come, with utmost obsequiousness. In the waiting
room our caps and winged jackets were removed by our chamberlains, who
slipped on our lacquered clogs at the threshold.

Gengo conducted our party out across the inner moat and through the
palace gardens to the gate in the citadel rampart. There at last he
turned back, while we swung out across the great moat and homeward
along Kojimachi Street, to bear the good news to Yoritomo.




CHAPTER XVI--MITO STRIKES


A second period of anxious waiting followed the visit to the palace.
Yoritomo soon completed his memorial which his father at once presented
to the Shogun. After that we had to wait in blind uncertainty of the
outcome, yet aware that the Mito party was gathering all its strength
to bring about the downfall and destruction of Owari.

On the morning of July the sixth, Yoritomo came to my apartments for
the first long visit he had been free to pay me since our arrival at
Owari Yashiki. As soon as the attendants had served pipes and tea and
had withdrawn, he sought to repeat the fervent thanks which he had
already showered on me for my impulsive attempt to save his father. I
could no longer bear his gratitude.

“Wait, Tomo,” I interrupted. “I have a confession to make. I am ashamed
to receive your praises. The least I can do is to confess the bitter
truth. I love your little Princess.”

“Do I not already know that?” he replied. “My brother, I grieve for
you!”

“Despise me, rather! When I looked into her Madonna face, I could not
resist showing her my love--to her, your betrothed!--and I thought
myself a gentleman!”

“My betrothed only in name, Worth. How often have I told you that my
life has been given?”

“Yet if you succeed?”

He touched his dirk. “You know the customary proof of sincerity. If
that is not required, I have vowed to shave my head, and enter the
monastery at Zozoji.”

“No, no, Tomo!” I protested. “Consider your chances for a glorious
future. If we win against Mito, only the life of the feeble son of the
Shogun stands between you and the succession to the throne. As the
husband of the Shogun’s daughter and heir of Owari, with the strong
friendship of Satsuma--”

“What is the saying of your great poet?” he interrupted. “‘Uneasy lies
the head that wears a crown.’ Neither power nor love tempt me. If now I
can subdue my hatred of Mito and his clan, and fulfil my mission with
self-abasement--”

“Be a Buddhist saint if you must, but when you have accomplished your
mission, your gods will reward you with a happy life.”

“Your souls have met and loved in some former reincarnation,” he
murmured. “Cast off all thought of shame, brother. I have no desire
for the maiden. You belong to one another. Your souls are bound
together inseparably.”

“Tomo!” I cried, and I bowed over, between shame and intoxicating
delight.

Fujimaro entered with the freedom allowed a teacher, and said in his
most formal style: “Permission to enter the august presence is humbly
entreated by a woman of low degree, the _geisha_ Kohana.”

Yoritomo nodded to me, and I answered: “Bring her in without delay.”

As Fujimaro glided out, I bent towards Yoritomo with a quick question:
“Another of Keiki’s plots?”

“Would that be a matter of surprise?” he replied, with his placid
smile. “She will soon tell us. We were talking of one to whom you have
given your heart with true Occidental romanticism. I grieve for you,
brother!”

“That I should have betrayed my friend?”

“No, not that. I have never stood between you and the maiden in wish,
and will not in fact. I grieve because I know that your love is
hopeless in this life. At the best, you have only the chance to unite
yourselves in death, and even that union is no more than a remote
possibility.”

“Union!--death!” I repeated.

“When lovers know there is no hope of union in this life, they pledge
themselves to love one another for seven existences, and--” Again he
touched his dirk hilt.

“That?” I cried. “Ask her to sacrifice herself for me?”

“You Westerners talk of faith. We practise it. Azai will gladly end her
life here for the bliss of being joined to you in the world beyond. She
loves you.”

“Impossible! I am a _tojin_. The very sight of me frightened her.”

“At the first, yes. Now she loves you. My father saw your soul in her
eyes.”

“Impossible!” I repeated.

“Impossible for you to be united in this life,” he repeated. “None the
less, she is yours so far as love gives you the right,--and she is
yours so far as the wish of your brother is to be considered.”

“Tomo, you will help me?”

“I will help.” He waved back my outstretched hand. “They come.”

Fujimaro opened a screen for Kohana San to enter, and, at a sign from
me, withdrew. The _geisha_ had not paused to cast off her hood and gray
street _kimono_. Panting from haste and fear, she glided across to us
on her knees, her unsmiling face pallid beneath its rouge and rice
powder.

“My lord,” she gasped, “Mito strikes! The Council, unknown to His
Highness--”

“Midzuano has ordered our arrest,” stated Yoritomo.

“I have had no calls to Mito _yashiki_. A delayed message came from the
_ronin_ Yuki, who was captain of the _hatamotos_--Keiki sought to bribe
him against us. He pretended to agree--”

Yoritomo twisted about to my _tokonoma_ and opened the lacquered case
in which I kept my revolvers and ammunition. He thrust one of the
revolvers into his bosom, and gave me the other.

“We must stand before the judges without our swords,” he said. “That
is due the dignity of the court. But we cannot tell how far Keiki and
Midzuano may induce them to proceed. It is better to die quickly than
under torture.”

“And take Midzuano and Keiki with us,” I added.

“If it comes to the point, and they are present.” He turned to Kohana
San. “You have been followed?--seen to enter?”

“Not that I can tell, my lord.”

“Call Fujimaro.”

I clapped my hands, and the chamberlain appeared at the side of the
room.

Yoritomo pointed to the kneeling girl. “Let denial be made that the
_geisha_ who entered Owari Yashiki was Kohana San. To-night return the
girl to Shinagawa in a _norimon_, with escort, incognito, but passing
out the main gate.”

“My lord! a _geisha_ in a _norimon_, and carried through the state
gate of Owari Yashiki!” murmured the outraged chamberlain, masking his
amazement behind his suave smile, yet unable to repress the note of
horror that underlaid his mildly worded protest.

“Will Keiki then believe the spies that report the coming of Kohana
San to Owari? They will say she is still here, yet she will be in
Shinagawa.”

“My lord! the life of a dancer against the dignity of Owari--”

“The dignity of Owari against the defeat of those who would ruin Owari
and Nippon. The _geisha_ is now worth a thousand men to Owari. Seal
your lips and the lips of all others. She will leave the _norimon_ in
some dark by-way. You will loiter through Shinagawa, and return with
one of the guard inside. Go now and request leave of my august father
for us to appear before him.”

Fujimaro hastened out, and we turned to question Kohana San. Before she
could tell how the message had reached her, the chamberlain reappeared,
and announced that one of the Prince’s personal attendants had come to
inform us our presence was desired in the audience hall.

“Mito strikes. It is for us to parry and counter,” said Yoritomo. We
slipped our swords into our girdles, and rose. At the threshold he
turned to Kohana San. “Pray to the war god and to your kitten.”

“Ten thousand felicitous years to my lord!” she murmured. “The might of
Hachiman and the craft of the _geisha_ cat shall aid him!”

The waiting attendant conducted us direct to the audience hall, his
unsmiling face a portent of calamity. At the entrance he halted and
kowtowed. We passed in alone. The Prince was seated in state before the
grand _tokonoma_ and close beside him on his left sat a visitor also
dressed in winged jacket,--a large and swarthy man, with features of
the heavy German type.

When we entered, refreshments had been served, and the only retainers
present were the six counsellors. Yoritomo led me to the head of the
room, where we knelt and laid our swords upon the mats at our right,
and exchanged bows with the Prince and his guest. I had no need of
my friend’s greeting to the stranger to divine his identity. I had
already perceived from the circle cross upon his coat and his position
on the left of the Prince that he was none other than Yoritomo’s
friend Shimadzu Nariakira, the great Daimio of Satsuma. Accepting the
precedent set by the Prince, he greeted me as his junior but peer, and
proceeded to look me over with a gaze as frank and kindly as it was
keen.

“Woroto Sama is far different in appearance from the hairy _tojin_ that
I have seen on the black ships,” he said. “The august Prince of Owari
has told me the deeds of his guest. My regret is doubled.”

Yoritomo glanced inquiringly at his father, who explained with utmost
calmness of tone and manner: “Our noble friend, the Daimio of Satsuma,
has received the command of the Shogunate to bring the heir of Owari
and the _tojin_ lord before the High Court in netted _norimons_.”

In a flash Yoritomo drew open his robes below the girdle and placed the
point of his dirk to his side, ready for the fatal cross cut. Calm and
steady as if cast in bronze, he looked up at his father for the signal
to strike. The Prince turned quietly to his guest. The Daimio sat mute
and impassive. The Prince faced the counsellors, who consulted together
for what seemed to me an age of hideous suspense. Yet throughout it all
the Prince and the Daimio waited, to all appearance as apathetic as
lumps of clay, while my friend crouched, no less impassive in look, the
cruel knife held ready to rend his loins in dreadful self-immolation.

At last the _karo_ spoke, in a voice devoid of all emotion. “The words
of the august lords have been heard and considered. Humble counsel is
given that Yoritomo Sama should bear the present shame and should risk
appearance before the High Court. To commit _hara-kiri_ now would save
his personal honor. It would not be proof of sincerity should doubt be
expressed as to his motive in presenting the memorial to His Highness
the Shogun.”

The Prince nodded in assent. Yoritomo still waited.

“Does the Shogun know of this order?” he asked.

“That we have yet to learn,” answered the Prince. “The risk is great.
So also is the chance of great gain.”

Yoritomo sheathed his dirk, and tendered both it and his sword to the
Daimio. I offered my sword and dirk. The Daimio smiled gravely, and
waved them back with his fan.

“We shall all lay aside our swords when we enter the presence of the
High Court,” he said.

The Prince clapped his hands, and attendants entered to take up the
swords of the four lords. The Prince himself escorted his powerful
guest to the state portico, Yoritomo and I following close after. At
the entrance, _norimons_ with Satsuma bearers and guards were stationed
in waiting for us before the gold-lacquered palanquin of the Daimio.
With no other display of feeling than the required smile of etiquette,
we took leave of the Prince, slipped our swords into our girdles and
entered our _norimons_.

The head of the cortege passed out into the great courtyard and
through the massive gateway, followed by Yoritomo’s _norimon_ and
then by my own, each surrounded by a guard of stalwart Satsuma men.
The Daimio came after us, near the end of the procession. Outside the
gateway the heralds began to chant a monotonous cry: “_Shi-ta-ni-iro!
shi-ta-ni-iro!_--kneel down! kneel down.”

As my _norimon_ swung around, I peered out and saw the standard bearers
carrying the insignia of their lord on tall shafts. The Daimio of
Satsuma was making a state progress. The thought that we were in the
charge of the most powerful of all the _daimios_, and that he was our
friend, reassured my apprehensions of the coming ordeal. I drew a
sigh of relief, and was about to settle back in my narrow box, when
something struck lightly across the _norimon_ and fell down over the
windows. I peered out again, and saw the meshes of a net.




CHAPTER XVII--IN THE PIT OF TORMENT


The ride would have been tedious at best. With that symbolic net hung
over me, it was well-nigh unendurable. More than once the indignity of
being paraded as a prisoner through the aristocratic section of Yedo
all but overpowered my self-control. Only by the severest repression
was I able to constrain myself from drawing sword and cutting my way
out of my enmeshed palanquin. The saving thought was that Satsuma
had left us our swords and that the net did not necessarily imply
degradation.

With the heralds ever chanting their cry, “Kneel down! kneel down!” we
marched in solemn state into the official quarter and slantingly across
it, past the great Sakaruda Gate where we had parted from the cortege
of the Princess, to a gate in the angle of the moat, half a mile
beyond. Here I expected an order for us to dismount and enter afoot.
But the gate led us into the Second Castle, which is the separately
moated portion of the official quarter, lying along the east side of
the citadel.

We now had to go only a short distance to reach the _yashiki_ in which
the magistrates of the Supreme or High Court held their sessions. As
prisoners of high rank, we were carried in through the gateway and
across the courtyard to the portico. The Daimio followed in state.
When he had stepped out upon the mats laid for him by the _hatamoto_
attendants of the court, the nets were removed from our _norimons_, and
we were courteously assisted to alight beside the Daimio. At a sign
from him, we handed over our swords and dirks to a pair of his own
retainers, while he gave his sword alone into the keeping of one of the
_hatamotos_.

With this we were ushered after the Daimio into a waiting-room and
served with tea and rice cakes,--an extreme of ceremonial hospitality
for which I felt more impatience than gratitude. We had good reason
to believe that those who so politely entertained us were our
enemies,--that we were going before a prejudiced court. I wondered
how Yoritomo could preserve his tranquil bearing. For myself I found
much difficulty in imitating the austere solemnity of Satsuma, whose
deportment I had resolved to copy. In my perturbed state of mind, the
task was by no means easy, yet I succeeded so far as visibly to impress
the _hatamotos_ with the dignity of the _tojin_ lord.

At last we were summoned into the presence of the court. The trial
chamber was an apartment of medium size, divided into a stone-paved
pit, level with the ground below the mansion, and a matted platform or
continuation of the house floor, three or four feet higher than the pit
bottom. Upon the centre of the platform sat the magistrates in a row,
with several court secretaries or reporters on their right.

Turning my glance from the judges, I stared down into the space before
them with a thrill of horror. Along the walls of the pit were ranged
grotesquely modelled instruments and machines, the very shape of which
was a menace and a torment. Before them stood guards armed with hooked
and forked implements used to entangle and pin down unruly prisoners.
Worst of all were the three men of the _eta_, or pariah class, who
knelt beside a post in the centre of the pit, grim and silent, their
cotton robes tucked up into their girdles, their corded arms bared to
the shoulder.

The three swordbearers knelt in a corner, while Satsuma was conducted
to a cushion on the left of the magistrates. He seated himself and
exchanged bows with a lean, cold-faced _daimio_ who had preceded him. A
_hatamoto_ signed us to descend a steep flight of steps into the pit.
Without a shadow of change in his serene face, Yoritomo led the way
down. At the bottom, attendants slipped lacquered clogs upon our feet,
that we might not soil our silk foot-mittens upon the stone flagging.

We halted near the steps, yet close enough to the post where
the pariahs stood for me to see a splotch of fresh blood on the
black-stained flagstones at its foot. Yoritomo saw me shudder, and
whispered reassuringly, in English, “Remember, brother, we have the
pistols, and there will be no attempt at torture if we tell the truth.
Conceal nothing except our knowledge of Keiki’s plot.”

I drew in a deep breath, and turned my gaze away from the pit, to look
at the magistrates. They were studying me with a supercilious curiosity
such as a lady of fashion might exhibit while viewing a painted savage.
Pride spurred me out of the black mood of horror and despair into which
I had sunk. With chin uplifted, I returned the insolence of the judges
in a contemptuous glance. Yet intense as was my anger, I found myself
almost disconcerted when I met the gaze of the _daimio_ beside Satsuma.
His face was as immobile as a death-mask, and his dull eyes peered
out at me through the narrow lids with a glassy stare, as cold and
emotionless as the eyes of a corpse.

“Who is that beside your friend?” I muttered.

“The chief of the Elder Council,” whispered Yoritomo.

I stared closer at the repellent face. This, then, was Midzuano
Echizen-no-kami, the Shogun’s grand vizier or premier,--our enemy
and the friend of Mito. What chance had we of a fair trial before a
court influenced if not overawed by the ally of those who sought our
destruction? According to the ancient law of the land, we had committed
deeds punishable with death. What possibility could there be for us to
escape condemnation by a court acting in the interests of our enemies?

“Yoritomo, son of Owari dono!” called one of the secretaries, and he
signed with his fan.

Yoritomo stepped forward before the judges, and bowed to them with
grave dignity. Another secretary lifted a sheet of writing to his
forehead, and read slowly: “Charges have been made that Yoritomo, son
of Owari dono, left the shores of Nippon; that he has returned to
the shores of Nippon from the lands of the _tojins_; and that he has
brought with him into the country a _tojin_ who belongs to the evil
sect.”

The reading of the brief indictment was followed by a profound hush, in
which the only sound I could hear was the quick drumming of my heart.
The silence was broken by one of the magistrates, who leaned forward
and asked sharply: “What has Yoritomo Sama to say to the charges?”

The secretaries wetted their inkbrushes and wrote down the question
with swift strokes. They did not have long to wait for Yoritomo’s
answer. He smiled up into the faces of those who were about to condemn
him, and replied without a trace of hesitancy:

“Regarding the first and second charges, no proof can be brought
forward by the august court, yet I speak freely the truth. Many years
have passed since word came from Nagasaki how the hairy _tojins_
had humbled the pride of the arrogant Chinese and forced them with
cannonballs to open their ports to _tojin_ trade. That is well known to
all men of _samurai_ blood.”

“It is well known,” assented the magistrate.

Yoritomo bowed, and continued: “When I had attained to manhood I
chanced upon a full account of the _tojin_ victory and China’s
humiliation. The realization that a like humiliation might come to the
sacred Empire of the Rising Sun sobered me in the midst of drunken
revels. I put on pilgrim dress and journeyed to the holy shrine of Ise.
There I prayed for enlightenment. The High Ones sent me a vision, in
which I was directed to cross the seas and learn the secrets of _tojin_
power. I waited my opportunity, and embarked in one of the black ships.”

“Your accomplices?” demanded the magistrate who had spoken before.

“I had no accomplices. I boarded the black ship unknown to any person
in Nippon.”

“Was this at Nagasaki, on the Dutch ship, or on one of the Chinese
junks?” asked another magistrate.

“On neither, nor was it at Nagasaki.”

“Where was it?” queried the first judge.

“That is not to be told,” replied my friend.

The magistrates conferred together in low murmurs. After a time one
of them signed with his fan to the torturers. As the men advanced,
Yoritomo folded his arms and faced them. Though I knew his hand was
gripped on the revolver under the edge of his robe, there was no shade
of change perceptible in his serene face. I folded my arms and reached
in to grip my own revolver.

The magistrate nearest Midzuano Echizen-no-kami leaned towards him as
though to catch some faintly whispered remark. The leading torturer
reached out to grasp Yoritomo’s shoulder. The magistrate raised his
fan in a restraining gesture, and said authoritatively: “Let the point
rest for the present. The prisoner has confessed to the first charge.
Make note that, according to his own statement, he left the shores of
Nippon. He was not driven to sea by storm, but boarded a ship of the
_tojins_ and sailed from Nippon of his own free will.”

“Under the guidance of the gods and for the sake of the holy Mikado,”
added Yoritomo.

One of the judges murmured a protest, but the last speaker signed to
the secretaries. “Write down the claim of the prisoner,” he ordered.
“Regarding the second charge, it is proved by the confession of the
first. Yoritomo, son of Owari dono, left the shores of Nippon. He now
stands before us. Therefore he has returned to Nippon. There remains
the third charge.”

“First, as to my return to Nippon,” replied Yoritomo, “I make defence
that, having learned much of the _tojin_ peoples and their power, I
come back, not in defiance of the edict, but as a loyal subject, to
counsel the Shogunate against the mistakes of misinformation.”

“Make note that the prisoner confesses his return to Nippon for the
purpose of counselling the Shogunate with the forbidden knowledge of
the barbarians,” said the magistrate nearest Midzuano. He turned to
Yoritomo and repeated: “There remains the third charge.”

“The third charge is false,” replied my friend. “Adamisu Woroto, my
august _tojin_ kinsman, is not a member of the evil sect.”

“Your kinsman?”

“My kinsman,” repeated Yoritomo, and he gave a terse account of Will
Adams, his relations with the great Iyeyasu, and his descendants.

The magistrates listened with intense interest, but the recital,
instead of softening them, seemed to quicken their suspicions. One of
them signed to the torturers and commanded: “Bring the _fumie_.”

Again I gripped my revolver, certain that the time had come. My first
ball should rid the world of the corpse-eyed Chief Counsellor Midzuano;
after that as many of the perjured judges as there might be time to
remove from office before the need of putting a ball through my own
brain--How could Yoritomo stand so serene!

One of the torturers hastened across the pit, and returned with a
bronze plate, which he cast down on the stone flagging before my friend.

“Tread!” commanded a judge.

Yoritomo smiled, and struck the face of the plate with one of his
clogs. A slight smile gleamed across the heavy face of Satsuma.
Midzuano betrayed no sign either of relief or disappointment. The
magistrates conferred. The one who had spoken at the beginning of the
trial nodded to the secretaries. “Make full note that the prisoner
denies the third charge and has trod upon the image. He may step aside.”

As Yoritomo crossed to the far end of the pit, the judge signed to
me with his fan to come forward. I advanced and stood facing the
magistrates, with head high and arms folded. Little did they suspect
that their fate was in my hands, not mine in theirs. Angered by the
defiant stare of my blue eyes, the youngest judge commanded harshly:
“Kneel down, white devil!”

“White lords do not kneel to the servants of a servant,” I rejoined,
recalling to mind that in theory if not in practice the Shogun is the
servant of the Mikado.

The man recoiled before my angry gaze, fearful of my “demon” eyes,
while the magistrate next to him cried out his indignation at my
insolence. But an elder judge quieted his colleagues with a gesture,
and addressed me with calm severity: “The barbarian speaks with
intolerable insolence to the high retainer of the Shogun.”

“Civility for civility; insolence for insolence,” I rejoined. “He
called me ‘white devil’; you call me ‘barbarian.’ You are both foolish
children, pitifully ignorant of the mighty civilization of the _tojin_
peoples. I have come to Nippon with Yoritomo Sama--”

“Wait,” he interrupted, “First let the charges against the prisoner be
read.”

A secretary raised the indictment to his forehead, and murmured:
“Charges are made that the _tojin_ companion of Yoritomo, son of Owari
dono, is a member of the evil sect; that he has discharged a firearm
within the proscribed limits about Yedo; and that he is a spy sent to
Nippon by the barbarians.”

“Regarding the first charge, I deny that I am a member of what you
call the evil sect,” I stated.

One of the judges pointed to the floor beside me, with a laconic
command: “Tread!”

I looked down at the bronze plate upon which Yoritomo had trod so
readily. On its smooth surface was incised a Latin cross. I faced my
judges again, prepared for the worst. I was not a Roman Catholic,--nor
for that matter a member of any Christian denomination,--but I did not
propose to spurn that symbol with my foot.

“Denial of the charge has been made,” I said. “The word of a _tojin
daimio_ is sufficient. I will not submit to a foolish ceremony.”

“Make note, the prisoner denies the first charge, yet refuses to tread
upon the image,” called the youngest magistrate, without attempting
to hide his exultance. “Bring forward the witness to the second
charge.--Stand aside, barbarian!”

As I crossed to Yoritomo, one of the guards drew away a screen at the
edge of the pit, and exposed to view a clumsy wooden cage. A second
guard opened the cage. From within crept a half-naked man. The guards
caught him on either side and guided his tottering steps across to
the torturers’ post. Though his face was marked with the effects of
atrocious suffering, I knew him at a glance. He was Yuki, the captain
of the _hatamoto_ cortege, now beggared and degraded by a perverse
judgment. The freshly healed gashes on his chest and shoulders
confirmed his identity.

“Has Yuki the _ronin_ thought better of his obduracy?” demanded the
eldest judge. “If so, let him look upon his fellow-culprits, and speak
the full truth.”

Yuki gazed at us for several moments without betraying a sign of
recognition.

“The truth has been spoken,” he said, facing the judges. “When the
cortege in my charge was attacked by the _ronins_, two swordsmen in
monks’ robes slew many of the evil band and put the survivors to
shameful flight. There is no more to be said by me.”

Instantly two of the torturers seized the heroic victim and began
lashing him to the post. The sight was more than I could endure. I
sprang forward, and cried out to the merciless judges: “Hold! Question
me first! If your wish is to prove the second charge against me, I
admit that I used a firearm--”

“The prisoner confesses to the second charge,” commented the eldest
judge.

“In defence of your Shogun’s daughter,” I added. “Write that also.”

“Do not write,” commanded the judge.

“I call upon the Daimio of Satsuma to bear witness,” I cried. “The
crime charged was committed in defence of the Shogun’s daughter against
the attack of evil traitors, yet the Shogun’s magistrates refuse to
make note of the truth.”

“Let the claim of the prisoner be noted,” ordered the judge.

I turned eagerly to the loyal martyr at the post. “Speak, Yuki!” I
urged. “The truth is now known. Your testimony will work no further
harm.”

“There is no more to be said by me,” he replied. “I saw no crime
committed by the defenders of the Shogun’s daughter.”

The deep voice of Satsuma-no-kami brought all heads towards him:
“Permission is requested of the august magistrates to ask a question.”

“The august _daimio_ is entreated to speak,” murmured one of the judges.

“Condescend to state the charge against the _ronin_ Yuki.”

“The obdurate witness has refused to testify regarding the second
charge against the accused _tojin_.”

“The charge has now been admitted. The testimony is no longer
required,” remarked Satsuma.

The judges conferred. If any wished to carry on the martyrdom of their
victim to the bitter end, their lust for cruelty gave way before
the general eagerness to curry favor with the most powerful of all
_daimios_. The eldest judge bowed to him, and responded obsequiously:
“Wisdom flows from the lips of Satsuma-no-kami! The testimony of Yuki
the _ronin_ is no longer required. He is free to go.”

The _daimio_ drew out his sheathed dirk, and handing it to an
attendant, spoke with deliberate distinctness: “Present this gift to
Yuki, the brave and loyal _ronin_, from one who values heroic conduct.
Ask him to await me in company with my retinue.”

The torturers had already loosened their cords. When the attendant
delivered the dirk and message, Yuki faced the _daimio_, and holding
the gift above his head, kowtowed until his forehead touched the
bloodstained stones. He rose and staggered across the pit to the steps,
where attendants hastened forward to support and conduct out into
the open the man favored by the great _daimio_. Even the magistrates
followed the departure of their tortured victim with envious glances.

Only Midzuano the Chief Counsellor had not been diverted by this
touching incident, and at a whisper from him, the nearest magistrate
called to me sharply: “The _tojin_ prisoner has yet to answer the third
charge.”

I stepped back before the centre of the platform, and replied: “Instead
of coming to Nippon as a spy, I accompanied Yoritomo Sama my friend
for the purpose of warning his country to prepare for the appearance of
my country’s fleet.”

“Is, then, the _tojin_ disloyal to his country, that he asserts
friendship for Nippon?”

“The warships of my country come upon a peaceful mission. In loyalty
to my country and no less in friendship to Nippon, I have come before
the fleet with Yoritomo Sama, to counsel acceptance of the honorable
friendship offered to the ruler of Dai Nippon by the exalted ruler of
America.”

“Intercourse is forbidden. The American envoy will find the ports of
Nippon closed against him.”

“The envoy of my country comes half around the world, with a stately
escort of warships worthy his rank and his mission. He comes in peace,
with offers of friendship, but he is no low tradesman, to be turned
from your ports without a hearing. Of this I have come to warn Nippon.
The American admiral will exact a respectful hearing.”

“Does the _tojin_ threaten? Nagasaki is far from Yedo. Even should the
black ships venture into Yedo Bay, none but the smallest craft can come
within a great distance of the Shogun’s city. Can the cannon of the
black ships shoot so far?”

The jeer goaded me beyond discretion. I rejoined: “There are cities
on the shores of Nippon unguarded by shoals. Can the Shogunate defend
them? If not, what of the prestige of the Shogunate in the eyes of
those who conspire to overthrow the rule of the Tokugawas?”

Even Midzuano Echizen-no-kami betrayed his astonishment at so audacious
a rejoinder. Perhaps he was stung by the consciousness of guilt, or
rather, by the fear of exposure. He leaned across and whispered to
the nearest magistrate. The latter made a signal with his fan, and
commanded: “Enough. There is no need of enforced examination. The
prisoners have made sufficient confession. They are remanded into the
charge of Shimadzu Satsuma-no-kami, to be brought before the High Court
to-morrow for sentence.”

“For sentence!” I cried, too indignant and angry to feel thankful for
our escape from all attempts at torture.

Yoritomo clattered across the pit pavement, and led me to the foot of
the steps. Satsuma and the swordbearers had risen. We shook off our
clogs, and mounted the steps, to follow the Daimio out of that chamber
of judicial torment.




CHAPTER XVIII--THE SHADOW OF DEATH


When we came out into the portico Satsuma girded on his own sword and,
in the face of the _hatamoto_ officials, ordered our swords and dirks
to be returned to us. We were in his charge and not yet under sentence.
Next he called Yuki, the _ronin_, before him, and ascertained that the
injuries suffered by the brave man from the torture, though fortunately
not of a permanent character, disabled him from walking any distance.
The Daimio demanded the use of a _kago_ from the _hatamotos_, and
ordered that the injured man should be carried before us. With the
_kago_, the _hatamotos_ fetched the sword and dirk which had been taken
from Yuki upon his imprisonment.

Yoritomo and I now entered our _norimons_, across which the symbolic
nets were again flung, and the procession marched slowly out on its
way to the nearest Satsuma _yashiki_. I surmised that the court and
the Council of Elders had thought to flatter the Daimio by entrusting
him with the charge of the heir and the guest of the Prince of Owari.
If so, they had proved their ignorance of his warm friendship for
Yoritomo, and must have been both puzzled and chagrined at his
courteous bearing towards the self-confessed breakers of the law.

On the other hand, I jumped to the rash conclusion that the great
Daimio would interpose himself between us and our enemies, and, if
necessary, even defy the court. When we entered one of the lesser
Satsuma _yashikis_, within the official quarter, our gaoler-host
could not have welcomed us beneath his roof with greater state and
warmer hospitality had we been visiting _daimios_. Yoritomo, still in
mourning, could not be present at entertainments. But I was free to
witness the clumsy contests of the Daimio’s huge and bloated wrestlers,
with which he sought to amuse me while his cooks prepared a feast in my
honor.

After a formal banquet graced by the exquisite dancing of _geishas_,
I was shown to the apartment assigned to our use, much exhilarated by
the merriment of the girls and the many thimblefuls of hot _sake_ that
they had served me. Though the hour was close upon midnight, I found my
friend kneeling beside his silken bedquilts, with his palms clasped in
prayerful meditation.

“_Mon Dieu!_ what a long face!” I laughed. “Get up and dance a hornpipe
with me, Tomo-bomo! Jig till the lamps tumble! In the words of Perry’s
great brother, ‘We have met the enemy, and they are ours!’”

“You do not understand, brother,” he replied, in a tone that brought my
dancing feet to a sudden stand. “It would appear that we have escaped
torture in our examination. You forget the many tortures inflicted with
the death penalty.”

“Death penalty!” I cried, clutching the revolver through the folds of
my robe.

“There is only one certain way of escape open--a ball for you; for me
_hara-kiri_,” he murmured.

I stared in bewilderment. “Now? But Satsuma is your friend. He will
stand between--”

“He cannot save us. Even he dare not venture to oppose the Shogunate in
such a matter.”

“But--”

“Our only chance for life is that the Shogun will take action. The
sentence of the court must be confirmed by the seal of the Council of
Elders.”

“Midzuano has that ready, up his sleeve,” I interrupted, with forced
flippancy. “So we are to forestall him by the personal application of
ball and blade?”

“Not now, brother,--not until the last extremity. The Shogun may
interpose even after we have been led out to the execution ground.”

“But they will search and bind us--we will be unable to avoid the
torture and shame!” I exclaimed.

“I must risk all, for the chance of sealing my memorial with my blood.
For you there is the hope of dying in company with your Princess.”

“Of living and wedding her!” I cried. “Yet the risk of waiting till the
last!--They will surely search and bind us!”

“Wait,” he replied, and he sat for some moments in profound thought. At
the end he clapped his hands, and called to the attendant who appeared:
“The presence of Yuki the _ronin_ is desired.”

I seated myself beside my friend, and waited with such patience
as I could command. Yoritomo returned to his prayers. Presently a
screen slipped open, and Yuki entered, dressed in new silk garments
and already somewhat restored to strength by the food and skilful
treatment. Though just roused from the midst of sleep, he came to us
smiling, and kowtowed with courtly politeness.

“Ten thousand felicitous years to Yoritomo Sama and to the _tojin_
lord!” he murmured. “Humble thanks are offered to the courageous
swordsmen who saved from shame the daughter of Minamoto Iyeyoshi my
lord!”

“The heart of the brave _samurai_ is loyal even in disgrace!” commended
Yoritomo. “Has Satsuma-no-kami yet offered to receive the _ronin_ among
his retainers?”

“Offer has not been made, my lord.”

“Your parents survive? You have an heir?”

Yuki bowed to each question. Yoritomo nodded and continued: “Blessed is
the _samurai_ who can give his life to lift his parents from beggary
to honored affluence; whose heir has full cause to stand before the
mortuary tablet of his father with grateful reverence! Offer is made to
receive the family of Yuki the _ronin_ into the service of Owari.”

Yuki kowtowed. “The condescension of my lord is above the
acknowledgment of empty words. Command the _ronin_ to return into the
hands of the torturers! His gratitude may not be expressed by the
sacrifice of mere life.”

“Service, not martyrdom, is required,” replied Yoritomo. He drew the
revolver from his bosom and handed it to the _ronin_. “Bear this in
hiding with the dirk of Satsuma. To-morrow, when we come from the
court, be at hand. If we are led out to execution, follow. Whatever the
strength of the executioner’s guard, your part is to strike when I call
to you; to cut our bonds, and hold back the _hatamotos_ while we make
use of dirk and pistol.”

“There will be no mistake. Loyal service is the joy of a _samurai_,”
responded Yuki.

Yoritomo crossed over to a small writing table, wrote swiftly, and
marked the paper with his seal. He returned and handed the writing to
the _ronin_. “At sunrise go with your family to the Superior Yashiki of
Owari, and present this to my august father.”

Yuki raised the writing to his forehead, kowtowed, and withdrew.

“What a man!” I exclaimed, in English. “Still suffering from the
hellish work of the torturers, yet willing to rush to certain death at
a word!”

“Filial piety is the supreme virtue,” replied Yoritomo. “He will serve
his parents, and assure the survival of his family.”

“But why not reward him for what he has already done? He has suffered
enough. Why not instead call upon one or more of your own _samurais_?”

“Their deed would be attributed to my father, and he will have enough
to withstand as it is. Upon him alone will rest the burden of barring
the return of Mito to power.”

“Upon him! and he disheartened by the death of your brother and
yourself! You see no hope for us, Tomo?”

“Not disheartened, but strengthened by the desire for vengeance. Come,
we must rest.”

“Rest?” I exclaimed. “When to-morrow brings us death, if not torture! I
had trusted to the power and friendship of our host. But now--”

“You have sacrificed yourself for the good of an alien people, brother.”

“Not altogether alien, Tomo. I have found myself strangely drawn to
your people and customs--only this torture--But I suppose that has
its place in testing men’s souls. Look at this heroic Yuki! If by any
chance we escape, Tomo, I want that man for my retainer!”

“If we escape--_Namu Amida Butsu!_” murmured my friend, and slipping
off his outer robe, he crept under the silken coverlet of the bed.

“_Namu Amida_--” he repeated, and fell asleep in the midst of the
prayer.

Between his tranquillizing example and the soporific after-effect of
the _sake_ I had drunk, I was soon as sound asleep as Yoritomo, and
enjoyed a profound and refreshing slumber until late the following
morning.

An hour before noon we were roused and waited upon by polite
attendants. Having been bathed, dressed, and served with food, all
with a marked observance of ceremonial leisure, we were ushered out to
our waiting _norimons_. In the portico our host greeted us with utmost
gravity, and stated that every effort of Yoritomo’s father to reach the
Shogun by message or in person had been blocked by Midzuano.

My friend smiled. “It would seem, Nariakira, that I am to go a little
sooner than I had expected. Do not grieve for me. You know that I
had already given my life for the cause before I came to you in your
daimiate. Consider only what effort can be made to save my noble
_tojin_ brother.”

“There is always hope until the sword falls,” said the Daimio. “You may
yet be saved together.”

“I am doomed,” replied Yoritomo. “They will execute me, if only as the
son of my father,--as the heir of Owari. But Woroto is a stranger to
the opposing clans. They should be satisfied to send him to Nagasaki
for the Dutch ship to bear away, as it has borne many of the American
sailors.”

“Not so fast, Tomo!” I put in. “For one thing, I shipped with you for
the cruise. I’m not going to desert now because we’re on a lee shore.
For another thing, the Mito party is not going to forgive my share in
defeating Keiki’s plot.”

“If any way of escape could be found,” said the Daimio, “Woroto Sama
would be cordially welcomed at the Castle of Kagoshima. I would rejoice
to receive and honor as a teacher of my _samurais_ a _tojin_ lord of
such prowess and learning.”

“My grateful thanks to the Daimio of Satsuma! But I have cast in my lot
with my friend and brother Yoritomo Sama.”

“The answer of a true _samurai_!” commended the Daimio.

Yoritomo flashed me a swift glance of affectionate acknowledgment, and
turned to enter his _norimon_. A few minutes later we were being borne
again through the official quarter as netted prisoners in the stately
cortege of our host.

Near the _yashiki_ of the court I caught sight of a _samurai_ crouched
in the shadow of the wall. He wore a deep-brimmed hat and was writing a
poem on a long scroll. Though he did not look up, I knew that Yuki the
_ronin_ was at hand to perform his part.

We entered the _yashiki_ and, having handed over our swords and
dirks, were at once conducted before the magistrate. To my surprise
and relief, the court was convened in an audience chamber, not in the
horrible trial room. As before, Midzuano Echizen-no-kami, the Chief of
the Council of Elders, sat at the left of the magistrates. Satsuma was
ushered to a place of equal honor.

My relief was short-lived. I caught the dull cold stare of Midzuano.
Guards with man-catching hooks and forks closed in behind us. We were
led to the sill of the raised floor upon which sat the judges and
_daimios_.

“Kneel down! Kowtow!” commanded one of the secretaries.

“To the servants of the Shogun, the servant of the Mikado!” called
Yoritomo, kneeling and bowing his forehead to the floor.

I knelt, but sat erect on my heels, a still greater insult to the
Shogunate than my friend’s naming of the Shogun as the servant of the
Mikado. There was an angry murmuring among the judges. But Midzuano sat
unmoved and whispered quietly to his servile mouthpiece. He was far
more desirous of our destruction than our disgrace, and Satsuma had
shown sympathy for us. It was expedient to regard the feelings of the
greatest of clan lords.

The magistrate beside Midzuano stilled the heated discussion of his
colleagues, and addressed us: “The son of Owari dono has confirmed the
evidence of his treason by his insolent reference to the great Tycoon.
The white barbarian has proved his uncouth ignorance of etiquette. Let
the sentences against the prisoners be read.”

One of the secretaries lifted a scroll to his forehead, and read:
“Yoritomo, son of Owari dono: Whereas, contrary to the explicit wording
of the ancient edict, you voluntarily departed from the shores of Dai
Nippon and returned, bearing the forbidden knowledge of the _tojin_
peoples, the sentence of the Court is that, for this traitorous
conduct, you shall be borne to Bell Grove in bonds, there to be bound
to a cross and transfixed with spears, and after death your head shall
be struck off and exposed on a pole.”

In the midst of the hush that followed the reading, Yoritomo smiled,
bowed, and called out in a clear voice: “The favor of the high
magistrates will be remembered by Owari’s heir.”

The judges glanced furtively at Midzuano, plainly troubled by the
menace beneath the suavely ironical words. The Chief Counsellor sat
cold and unmoved. Another secretary raised a scroll to his forehead,
and read:

“The _tojin_ called Adamisu Woroto: Whereas, contrary to the explicit
wording of the ancient edict, you, a _tojin_, entered the domain of the
Sei-i-tai Shogun to spy upon Dai Nippon, and whereas you have confessed
to discharging a firearm within the bounds of Yedo, each of which
crimes is worthy of death, the sentence of the Court is that you shall
be borne to Bell Grove in bonds, there to be boiled to death in oil--”

I heard no more of the hideous sentence. The sound of the reader’s
voice dwindled to a drone like the singing of insects. I swayed
forward, dizzy and pallid. To be boiled alive!--I forgot Yuki, but I
remembered the revolver in my bosom. A cold fury of despair seized upon
me. I would end all, now while I had the chance first to send to hell
that corpse-eyed Chief Counsellor.

My hand stole in between the folds of my robe. Not a moment too soon to
stop me, I heard Yoritomo’s piercing whisper: “Wait! Not now--not now!”

The magistrates were rising to leave the hall of audience. But
Midzuano remained seated. I paused with my hand gripped on the butt of
my revolver. They were minor officials,--mere tools in the hands of our
enemies. The man who had dictated their actions still lingered. I could
wait.

Midzuano drew from his sleeve a written scroll and a seal, and called
for a brush and ink. One of the secretaries who had remained brought
a tray of inks and brushes. Midzuano took up a brush, dipped it in a
saucer of freshly ground ink, and unrolled the scroll.

Satsuma turned his powerful face squarely about to the Chief
Counsellor. “Is Midzuano Echizen-no-kami in such haste to issue the
warrant of the Council of Elders confirming the sentence against the
prisoners?” he demanded.

“Too great zeal cannot be shown in ridding the land of spies and
traitors,” replied Midzuano, and he filled in a blank space in the
warrant with swift strokes of his brush.

“A word of counsel to the Counsellor,” interposed Yoritomo.

Two of the guards sprang before him. Midzuano waved them aside. He did
not lack courage and courtesy. “The condemned men are free to speak,”
he said.

“Midzuano knows that two of the charges against the _tojin_ prisoner
are false,” said Yoritomo. “Woroto Sama is not a spy, and no more a
member of the evil sect than are the Dutch at Nagasaki, who have not
been required to tread upon the cross for a long period. Regarding
the third charge, the act confessed, though against the letter of the
Shogun’s law, was committed to save the Shogun’s daughter from the
shame of captivity. The warships of the prisoner’s august ruler will
soon appear off the coast of Nippon. Advice is given that the prisoner
be honorably delivered over to the exalted commander of the American
fleet!”

“Nagasaki is far from Yedo. The hairy barbarians will hear nothing
regarding their countryman,” replied Midzuano, and he signed the
warrant.

“The counsellor is wise,” I jeered. “He is well advised to stop the
mouths of those who might tell of his share in the _ronin_ plot against
the Princess.”

Midzuano looked down the room at me with his dead-alive stare for a
full half-minute.

“A false move, brother,” whispered Yoritomo. “Say no more!”

Midzuano picked up the seal. As he stamped it in the ink, the floor
quivered as if before the precursor of an earthquake. An instant later
the air resounded with the clangorous boom of a mighty bell. It was the
alarm note of the great bell at the Temple of Zozoji. Midzuano paused
with the seal suspended above our death warrant.

There was a scurry in the anteroom, and a voice cried shrilly: “The
barbarians!--the barbarians have come! Woe to Nippon! The black ships
enter Yedo Bay!”

Other bells were joining the clamor of their harsher notes to the
sonorous thunder from Zozoji.

Without a trace of hesitancy or emotion, Midzuano brought the suspended
seal down upon the warrant. The man was _samurai_ bred. He straightened
and beckoned to the captain of the _hatamoto_ guard. Perry had
come--and in the same hour, this cold-blooded Counsellor would drag us
out to shameful execution! I began to draw my revolver.

“Wait, brother! Not yet!” entreated Yoritomo, above the thunderous
tocsin of the alarm bells.

The captain knelt to receive the warrant. I glanced about to assure
myself that the guard was not approaching to seize us. Once in their
grip, only Yuki would stand between me and a hideous death. The risk
of his failure was too great. I could now be certain of myself and of
Midzuano as well.

A _hatamoto_ was approaching us from the rear. I half drew my revolver.
A second glance showed me that the man was not one of the guard, but
Gengo, the new court chamberlain. He walked arrogantly up the chamber
to the place of highest honor, before the _tokonoma_, raised a scroll
to his forehead, and kowtowed with his back to all in the room. Beams
and floors were shaking and screens rattling in their slots with the
boom of temple bells and the wild clang of firebells in every quarter
of Yedo. The alarm was sweeping over the city like a tidal wave. Yet
not a man about us stirred. Every eye was fixed upon the messenger of
the Shogun.

Gengo rose, faced about, and displayed the great vermilion seal of his
master upon the scroll. All in the room, from the humblest _samurai_
among the attendants to the _daimios_ of Satsuma and Echizen, kowtowed
before the emblem. Gengo swelled with pride.

“Give heed to the command of His Highness the Tycoon!” he shouted above
the booming of the bells, and he cried out the contents of the scroll:
“All proceedings against Yoritomo, son of Owari dono, and Woroto Sama
the _tojin_, are annulled. The prisoners are freed within the outermost
boundaries of Yedo, upon the recognizance of Owari dono. Strict
obedience is required. Minamoto Iyeyoshi.”




CHAPTER XIX--THE GARDEN OF AZAI


The draught was a bitter one for Midzuano Echizen-no kami. He thrust
the death warrant into his bosom, bowed punctiliously to Gengo and
Satsuma, and rose to depart, with the excuse that he must call a
meeting of the Council of Elders to consider the threatened invasion of
the barbarians. Gengo the chamberlain withdrew immediately afterwards,
too puffed with importance to acknowledge the nod of Satsuma.

With the disappearance of the Shogun’s messenger, the alarm and
confusion outside the audience chamber seized upon the _hatamotos_
about us. Giving way to the terror which drove in upon them with the
din of the bells and wild cries from all parts of the _yashiki_, the
guardsmen flung open the screens and rushed out in a panic of fear.

The Daimio rose with stately composure, and signed us to follow him. We
went out, escorted only by our Satsuma swordbearers and the _hatamoto_
official who, as bearer of the Daimio’s sword, had been restrained by
his duty from joining the flight of his fellow-retainers.

The harsh clang of the firebells had now ceased, and the boom of the
temple bells reverberated at less frequent intervals, but the funereal
solemnity of the tolling served only to intensify to highest pitch the
panic effect of the first wild tocsin. To the terrified Japanese it was
the knell of doom for Yedo. Excited _hatamotos_ ran about at random
through the rooms and corridors of the _yashiki_, their faces distorted
with fury and despair, while from the women’s quarters shrill voices
pierced the frail walls of the palace with shrieks of terror. With fear
run riot in the _yashiki_ of the High Court, what must be the panic
beyond the moats of the official quarter, among the million denizens of
the lower city!

In the midst of the wild flurry a scowling _hatamoto_ rushed at me,
with furious imprecations. But as his blade flashed out Yoritomo flung
me headlong away from the stroke, and my Satsuma swordbearer rushed to
my defence. My assailant barely saved his head by a dexterous parry.
Before he could strike in turn, the Daimio’s swordbearer called out
a sharp command. At the voice of his superior officer, the assassin
leaped back and sheathed his sword. My defender looked to his lord.

Satsuma frowned at the _hatamoto_, and said sternly: “So great an
insult cannot be endured even in the _yashiki_ of the High Court.”

“No!” I cried, springing up between the man and the blade that circled
to cut him down. The Satsuma man checked his stroke in mid-air.
“Sheathe your sword!” I commanded. “The _hatamoto_ attacked me because
of mistaken loyalty. Let the _samurais_ of Nippon learn that my
countrymen come in peace and friendship, not to kill or conquer.”

The _hatamoto_ dropped on his knees and kowtowed to me. But Satsuma
shook his head doubtfully and signed to the swordbearers. “We will
prepare against other efforts of mistaken loyalty.”

The bearers handed over our swords, and we passed on out to the
portico. The courtyard was crowded with shouting _hatamotos_. But the
Satsuma men of our cortege stood as we had left them, too sternly
intent upon their duty to give way to the general fear and flurry. At
a word from the Daimio, the nets that had been used on the _norimons_
of Yoritomo and myself were flung aside. We seated ourselves, and the
procession left the _yashiki_ with all its usual stateliness of parade,
though at a quickened pace.

A few yards beyond the gateway Yuki was kneeling at the edge of the
street-moat to watch us pass. I saw him lean forward and stare at our
_norimons_, then relax and sit back on his heels. He had perceived from
the strain upon our bearers that our _norimons_ were occupied. Turning
a corner some distance beyond, I looked back and saw the _ronin_
walking after the rear of the procession, with a woman close behind him.

The streets of the official quarter swarmed with _hatamotos_ and the
_samurais_ of various _daimios_, rushing about, afoot or mounted, some
without aim or purpose, others racing with all possible speed and
directness to fulfil the commands of their lords. In the midst of the
turmoil a captain of the palace guard galloped up to the procession
with an order for Satsuma to wait upon the Shogun. The Daimio
immediately detached a number of his retainers to escort us to Owari
Yashiki, and ordered the cortege back to the Sakaruda Gate, which had
just been passed.

The sun was setting as we advanced again along the great causeway,
skirting the well-remembered scarp of the citadel moat. This time,
however, my attention was directed, not towards the moat and the mighty
rampart on the far side, but to my left, whence sounded the wild din
and turmoil of a city in panic.

We swung up a <DW72>. From the crest, far away to the west-southwest, I
caught sight of Fuji-yama’s grand cone rising in purple majesty through
the twilight, while to the southward the dark sky was streaked with
upshooting red and blue meteors,--the signal rockets sent up from every
headland along the bay shores. Not Yedo alone was panic-stricken.

In vain I strained my eyes to discern the glimmer of ship lights on
the vast stretch of the gulf. But it was easy to imagine the majestic
sight of the great steam frigates _Susquehanna_ and _Mississippi_ lying
at anchor with their consorts, in the lower bay. I pictured the tiers
of gunports triced open for action, and the grim guns lurking within,
charged and shotted against treacherous attack. For a moment I felt a
pang of longing, of home-sickness--but only for a moment. I had cast in
my lot with Yoritomo.

A horseman dashed up the <DW72> after us, and drew rein beside our
party, with a loud command to halt. The Satsuma men came to a sudden
stand. I peered out and saw that the rider was Gengo the court
chamberlain. He caught sight of me between the parted curtains, and
bowed low across the barbed mane of his horse.

“The presence of Woroto Sama is required at the palace,” he called.

At a word from me, my bearers ranged up alongside the other _norimon_,
until I was within arm’s-length of my friend’s out-peering face.

“You heard, Tomo,” I said in English. “What does it mean?”

He fixed a keen gaze upon Gengo, and demanded: “Does the command
include both Woroto Sama and myself?”

Gengo bowed low as he replied: “The honored heir of Owari is still in
mourning. The presence of Woroto Sama is alone required.”

“At once?”

“Woroto Sama should mount his led-horse.”

“You bear a written order?”

“The matter is urgent. Time was lacking to write an order.”

Yoritomo met my expectant look with an anxious frown. “It is hard to
tell, brother,” he answered me in English. “Had he brought a written
command--Yet in all this wild alarm, even the castle must be in a
turmoil. They may want your assurance that the Commodore comes in
peace.”

“Any risk to tell them that!” I cried, and I called to my escort:
“Open! Fetch sandals and my led-horse!”

In the confusion of my quick scramble out of the _norimon_ and into the
high-peaked saddle, some one pressed a little square of paper into my
hand. As I set my feet deep in the huge stirrups, I looked about and
saw Yuki slipping out from among the Satsuma men. Gengo was wheeling
around the other way. My fiery little stallion plunged free from his
grooms, and to gain a better grip of the bridle I thrust Yuki’s note
into my bosom. A moment later and I was racing madly back along the
causeway, with Gengo a length in the lead, yelling for all to clear the
road. After me ran the Satsuma grooms who had charge of my horse.

Down the <DW72> we tore at breakneck speed, through the midst of the
swarming _samurais_. Nimbly as they leaped aside at Gengo’s commands,
we must inevitably have run over more than one, had the roadway been
less broad or the distance greater. A scant minute brought us to the
bridge of the Sakaruda Gate. A _daimio’s_ procession was coming down to
the bridge from the east. Regardless of its standards, we cut in ahead
and galloped across the bridge.

At the gateway Gengo leaped off and ran forward to speak with the gate
warden. The latter entered into a dispute which, though soon settled
by Gengo, gave my grooms time to come panting across the bridge after
us. Gengo hastened back to me, and cried out with imperative urgency:
“Woroto Sama cannot pass unless on foot, yet haste is required!”

I thought it no time for insistence upon dignity. Carried away by the
possibility of persuading the Shogun to receive my countrymen with
cordiality, I sprang off as the Satsuma men grasped my stallion’s
bridle.

“Lead on!” I cried.

He signed to the Satsuma men to return with the stallion. “To your
_yashiki_. A _norimon_ will be provided for the _tojin_ lord,” he
explained, and as the grooms hastened away, he led his own horse
forward to place him in the charge of a palace groom.

The thought flashed upon me that in the heat and excitement of the
panic the sight of my _tojin_ eyes might cause the blades of other
assassins to leap from their scabbards, or at best cause serious delays
in our advance. I squinted my eyes, and followed Gengo with my chin on
my breast. Though the gate watch had been doubled, neither my height
nor the whiteness of my forehead was noticed by the crowd of chattering
_hatamotos_ through which we forced our way under the great gateway,
across the court, and below the inner gateway on the right.

As we issued into a broad plaza within, Gengo turned on his heel. For a
moment I fancied I saw chagrin and bitter disappointment in his narrow
eyes. But then his face shone with the blandest of smiles, and I told
myself I had been deceived by the gathering twilight.

“Woroto Sama is wise to walk humbly,” he whispered. “Let him continue
so, and he will be conducted safely past all these.”

I followed the gesture that took in the hundreds of palace retainers
before us, and replied: “Lead on.”

He turned again and walked swiftly along the edge of an inner moat
of the citadel. I followed through the midst of the guards and other
palace attendants, still unchallenged and unheeded. Presently Gengo led
me across a bridge to a gateway whose guards seemed to have deserted
their post. After pausing to peer about in an odd manner, my guide
hurried me through the gateway with feverish haste. I found myself
in one of the palace gardens. We advanced quickly along a narrow
clean-swept path, between coppices tenanted only by birds, and our
course was so full of irregular twists and turns that I soon lost our
bearings.

After a few minutes we came to a small pagoda-roofed kiosk, or
summer-house, in the midst of a grove of gnarled old cherry trees. It
was the first building I had seen in the garden, though more than once
I had heard voices, which led me to believe that we had passed other
houses. Gengo stopped at the edge of the kiosk veranda, and kowtowed.

“Woroto Sama will be pleased to wait here,” he said.

Before I could reply, he hurried on along the path. Within the toss
of a biscuit, he turned a bend and disappeared. I seated myself on
the edge of the veranda, and waited. About me was the peaceful hush
of the woods with its twittering birds. The turmoil of the terrified
city barely reached me over the treetops. But my mood jarred with this
sylvan quietude. I was burning with impatience to reach the Shogun and
protest the absurdity of the wild panic that had seized upon his people.

I sprang up and paced half way to the next turn and back again,
observing with surprise that objects were still distinctly visible even
in the shadow of the coppice. We had come so quickly from where I had
parted with Yoritomo that a full quarter-hour of twilight yet remained.
Gengo could not miss his way for lack of light. Again I paced towards
the turn and back. As I rounded the kiosk I glanced down the path by
which we had come. At the last bend stood an armored _hatamoto_ with
drawn sword.

My first thought was that the man must be a foreguard of the Shogun. I
waved my hand to him. In the same instant he whirled up his sword, and
called fiercely: “The _tojin_! the _tojin_!--At the kiosk! Upon him!”

“Kill the barbarian! kill! kill!” yelled voices behind him, and as the
leader rushed towards me, other swordsmen charged around the bend after
him, half a score or more in the first bunch.

Between revolver and sword I might possibly have checked and stood
off that number, but still others yelled in the path behind them,--and
there was utmost need to avoid a clash with the Shogun’s retainers. I
turned and ran up the path, hoping to overtake Gengo. The _hatamotos_
redoubled their yells, and dashed after me. I twisted around the turn,
and saw before me, less than a hundred yards away, a number of lancemen
charging to cut off my retreat.

The silent stealth of this rear attack was more appalling than the open
charge of the other party. Had these lancemen come a few seconds sooner
I would have been taken by surprise and pierced by their long shafts
without warning. Even as it was, I had no time for second thought. At
the view-cry of the lancemen, I leaped the hedge of clipped privet on
my right, and plunged straight into the coppice beyond.

Fortunately my sandals were bound on firmly, and the coppice, while
dense enough to screen me after a dozen yards, was of willowy shrubs
that did not catch my loose garments or bar my advance. A louder
outburst of yells told me that the two parties of pursuers had met, and
from the crashing that followed, I knew that they were beating through
the coppice after me in quickly scattering formation. Had I doubled,
they would have run me down in the first minute.

I kept straight on, trusting to the gathering gloom to hide the traces
of my flight, and to the noise of the pursuit to drown the thud of my
iron-shod sandals on the turf. Had the coppice continued I might have
gained enough to slip around one of their flanks and make my way back
by the path, out of the enclosure.

But within fifty yards I burst out of the thicket into an open garden
that lay about a large lotus pond. Upon an island in the centre of the
pond stood a kiosk, approached from the left end of the pond over a
narrow high-arched bridge of bamboo. Beyond, towering high among the
treetops, rose the white roof-crest of a large edifice. Beneath that
crest there was a possibility that I might find a palace official able
and willing to check my pursuers and conduct me to the Shogun.

Without a pause, I dashed across the garden, veering to pass around
the left end of the pond. My pursuers were closer upon me than I
had thought. The leaders, who had been running silently through the
coppice, burst out almost on my heels. The exultant note of their
view-cry sent me clumping down towards the shore of the pond at
redoubled speed.

[Illustration: “IS THIS LOYAL SERVICE?” SHE ASKED]

For a while I gained rapidly on the _hatamotos_, the mass of whom broke
cover soon after their leaders. Their exultant cries changed to furious
imprecations as they perceived that I was outrunning them. But as
I plunged down to the pond bank, a little short of the bridge, I was
dismayed to find that one of the thongs of my right sandal had burst.
A few steps more would find the sandal loose. I could not stop to
refasten it, nor was there time to slash the thongs of both sandals and
run on in stockinged feet.

The high arch of the bridge caught my despairing glance. I swung around
the shore-post and clattered up the sharp ascent to the round of the
arch. The bridge was very narrow. They could approach me no more than
two abreast. I would pick them off at the foot so long as my cartridges
lasted and then do what I might with my sword to sell my life dearly.

As I gained the top of the bridge I saw a woman dart from the far end
into the kiosk. But the foremost of my pursuers were already at the
pond bank, and I whirled about, with drawn revolver, to face them. For
all their fierce eagerness, the sight of the threatening muzzle brought
them to a halt. They had heard of the defeat of the _ronins_. The
leaders checked those who followed, and all gathered at the foot of the
bridge, yelling imprecations at the _tojin_.

“Murderers,” I shouted, “set foot on this bridge, and you die! Your
master the Shogun sent for me. He waits for me now. Go, fetch Gengo the
chamberlain.”

“Liar!--Fetch bowmen instead!” cried one of the leaders of the mob.

“Bowmen and musketeers!” cried another.

“Down with the bridge!” yelled a third leader.

The response was instant. A dozen men caught up the cry and sprang into
the pond to hack at the frail supports of the bridge with their swords.
I sighted my revolver at the foremost. But before I could fire, several
pointed up and cried to their fellows: “Hold! hold!”

A moment later all were kneeling, even those in the shallow water of
the pond. Something brushed softly against my sleeve. I turned half
about. Beside me stood the Princess Azai. Her hands were folded within
the long sleeves of her scarlet _kimono_, and she was gazing down upon
the mob as tranquilly as if contemplating the irises in the pool.

When she spoke her voice was barely audible above the labored
breathing of the _hatamotos_. “Is this loyal service?” she asked. “Let
explanation be made why you seek to murder the honored friend of your
lord.”

“The august lady errs,” ventured one of the leaders. “We seek to rid
the august lady’s garden from a defiling beast,--that _tojin_ devil!”

“Is it error to speak highly of the august lord who saved your master’s
daughter from the shame of _ronin_ capture? The presence of Woroto Sama
honors the garden.”

“The black ships of the barbarians glide up the bay against wind and
tide, propelled by evil magic!” cried another _hatamoto_. “In the
morning they will destroy all Yedo with their cannon. This _tojin_ is
their spy, august lady. Give him to us!”

“That is a double lie,” I rejoined, “a lie born of cowardice. Every man
among you knows that the black ships cannot approach near enough to
Yedo to throw a cannon ball into the city.”

“Spy!” hissed the mob. “The court found you guilty!”

“And the Shogun annulled the sentence! Find Gengo, and learn the truth.”

“There is no need, my lord,” said Azai, and she bowed low to the
kneeling _hatamotos_. “Permission is given to withdraw.”

The men upon the bank kowtowed. Those in the water waded ashore. All
set off across the garden, without so much as a murmur.




CHAPTER XX--LOVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS


The Princess turned slowly about to face me, with no change in the
quiet composure of her bearing. But as her soft eyes met mine their
long lashes drooped and the delicate rose tint of her cheeks deepened
to scarlet. She sank to her knees and bowed with exquisite grace.

“The august lord is implored to pardon the rudeness of the
_hatamotos_!” she murmured.

“The _tojin_ implores pardon for intruding upon the privacy of the
august lady!” I replied.

She bent forward. “The thong of my lord’s sandal is loose. Permit me to
fasten it.”

I stepped back hastily and knelt on one knee to tie the thong myself.

“The request cannot be granted,” I said. “In my land it is etiquette
for lords to fasten the sandals of ladies; not the reverse.”

“How contrary to all reason and propriety!” she exclaimed, and she
gazed up at me with a look of timid wonderment.

I rose and offered her my hand, momentarily forgetful of etiquette.
She sprang up, with a repellent gesture and a sharp little cry: “No!
Setsu!”

“He sought to touch my august lady!” hissed a voice behind me.

I wheeled and confronted the younger of Azai’s _samurai_ women,
standing very near me, with her hand on the hilt of her dirk. I looked
steadily into her angry eyes, and smiled at her through the gloom.

“O Setsu San will believe that no rudeness was intended by the ignorant
_tojin_” I said. “In his land courtesy requires a lord to offer his
hand and assist a lady to rise.”

O Setsu San bowed to hide her amazement, and murmured to her mistress:
“Grant permission for me to conduct the _tojin_ lord from the
enclosure. The presence of a stranger is not permissible.”

“Gengo the chamberlain brought me into this garden and left me at
the summer-house yonder,” I explained, pointing towards the coppice.
“My understanding was that he went to fetch the Shogun or some high
official. Hardly had he gone when the _hatamotos_ appeared and charged
upon me without provocation.”

“They are the guard from the nearest gate,” said Azai. “Such
rudeness may not be disregarded. Command will be sent them to commit
_hara-kiri_.”

“No!” I protested. “They erred through overzealous loyalty, misled, I
suspect, by the same plotters who set the _ronins_ upon your cortege.”

“Keiki!” murmured O Setsu San, with subtle intuition.

“Keiki--and others. But I intrude upon the privacy of the Princess.
Tell me which way I should go to leave the enclosure.”

“Had Gengo orders to bring you into the presence of my august father?”
inquired Azai.

“He stated that my presence was required at the palace. Was I wrong in
believing that the Shogun had sent for me?”

Azai looked earnestly at her lady-in-waiting.

“Should Woroto Sama attempt to pass out alone, he would be slain!”

“Grant permission for me to lead him across into the palace,” said O
Setsu San.

“Would your presence serve to shield the august lord from the
_hatamotos_?” replied the Princess. “I myself will conduct him.”

“Impossible!” gasped Setsu, in open dismay. “Even for the daughter of
the Shogun to have come between the angry _hatamotos_ and the _tojin
sama_ is unbelievable!”

“O Setsu San will be so kind as to bring my clogs,” murmured the
Princess with gentle courtesy.

For the first time I noticed that the little silk-clad foot peeping
from under the edge of her _kimono_ was without clog or sandal. When
Setsu ran in to tell of the chase of the _tojin_, her mistress had
darted out and up the bridge to my rescue without stopping for footwear.

“Princess,” I said, “O Setsu San is right. I cannot accept the offer.”

“My lord will not refuse me the favor,” she murmured, with a smile
irresistibly sweet and naive. “The kind O Setsu San hastens to fetch my
clogs.”

Perceiving the inflexible will beneath the soft accents of her
mistress, the _samurai_ lady turned to patter down the bridge. I was
alone with the Princess,--probably the first man to be alone with
an unwedded daughter of the Shogun for more than two centuries! I
dropped on one knee to look into her modestly lowered eyes. Through the
gathering darkness I saw a deep blush mantle her pale cheeks as with
girlish bashfulness she raised one of her sleeves to hide her face.

“Azai!” I murmured. “Is the _tojin_ so frightful an object to you?”

She dropped her sleeve and gazed at me wide-eyed, in instant
forgetfulness of self. “Pardon the rudeness!” she exclaimed. “The
august lord should not humble himself by kneeling to a girl!”

“Azai, forgive me for the great rudeness, but in my country men love
and honor pure maidens as they love and honor their mothers, and it
is the custom to speak of that love even before marriage. Little
Princess, I have been told that your august father and the Prince of
Owari arranged for you to wed my friend Yoritomo Sama. But my friend
has vowed to become a monk at Zozoji, and he has told me that my soul
shone in your eyes. Azai, I love you with a love higher and deeper than
any man of Nippon bears towards his wife and mother!”

She knelt and bowed low to me. “My lord,” she whispered, “it is
unbelievable that so great a love could be given a mere girl!”

“Your soul is in my eyes, Azai! Say that you love me!”

“My lord, I should rejoice to be accepted as the humblest serving-maid
in all your _yashikis_!”

“You love me!” I cried, and drawing her up by one of her tiny plump
hands, I bent close. “In my land, august lady, it is required to seal
the confession of love in this manner.”

At the touch of my lips to her rosebud mouth she drew back with a
startled sob. But I resisted her gentle efforts to withdraw her hand.

“Do you not trust me, Azai?” I asked, bending to watch her downcast
face in the dim light.

“Shame has overcome me!” she sobbed. “Nowhere is it written that man
and woman should hold one another’s hands or touch lips together.”

“If that is hateful to the Princess--”

“Not hateful! but blissful--blissful beyond words. That is the shame.
I do what is very, very wrong, yet am glad. I am a most wicked and
depraved girl! Shame overcomes me!”

“Forgive me, Azai! Through my selfish fault I have brought grief upon
the maiden whom I love more than life. I will go now, and never trouble
you again.”

I freed her hand and rose, but in the same instant she was erect before
me, her little hands clutching the bosom of my robes.

“Thou! thou!” she whispered. “Do not go in anger, else I shall die!”

I crushed her to me and rained kisses upon her upturned face, in a
passion of adoration. For a few brief moments of ecstasy I held her,
and she made no attempt to free herself, but lay upon my breast like
a captive dove, quivering and bewildered. Then, all too soon for my
blissful intoxication, her cheeks paled from scarlet to ivory white and
her fluttering little heart beat against mine with sudden steadiness.

“My lord,” she said, “there is no time to be lost. Setsu comes with a
lantern. We must act at once. Here below the centre of the bridge the
pond is deeper. We will leap in together and grasp the lotus roots at
the bottom.”

“Leap off?--grasp the lotus roots?” I repeated.

“My lord lover is of noble blood! A thousand pardons! But Setsu comes
quickly. Make haste to strike me through the neck with your dirk. You
will still have time to commit _hara-kiri_.”

The word was a flash of clear light through the fog of my bewilderment.

“No!” I cried. “We will live, to be united in this life!”

“That cannot be, my lord!”

“I will win and wed you, in the teeth of all Nippon!”

“My lord, I--” Her whisper thrilled with quick alarm. “Free
me--Setsu--she’ll kill you!--disgrace--a girl’s dirk!”

I released her, and turned to the upward hastening Setsu as the light
of her paper lantern glowed upon us through the darkness.

“Pardon, august ones!” she called. “The charcoal had burnt out and the
tinder was misplaced. I could come no sooner.”

“You have done well to come so soon,” murmured Azai.

O Setsu raised her lantern and peered at me under it as she bowed. Her
utter devotion to the Princess could not be doubted. I felt a sudden
impulse to risk all in her keeping.

“Does O Setsu San desire the death of her Princess?” I asked.

The girl grasped at her dirk, and cast a swift glance from me to Azai.
“Does the _tojin sama_ threaten?” she demanded.

“Only you do that,” I replied. “Strike me, and your dirk will pierce
through my heart to hers.”

The girl stepped nearer to her mistress and stared at her dismayed.

“The truth is now known to you,” whispered Azai. “We love.”

Again Setsu grasped her dirk. “Only an evil _tojin_ would dare speak of
such a matter to the Shogun’s daughter!”

Death was nearer to me than when the _hatamoto_ struck at me in the
_yashiki_ of the High Court.

“Through my heart, to her heart!” I repeated.

The girl glanced doubtfully to Azai. I forced a smile. “The Princess
has proposed that she and I should unite ourselves by passing through
the gate of death. I have answered that I will wed her in this life.”

“The _tojin_ is unwilling to give proof as to the trueness of his
love,” she jeered.

To this there was only one answer that could convince her. I knelt and
placed the point of my dirk to my heart.

“The _tojin_ belief is that sincerity comes from the heart,” I said.
“Say the word, and I will prove my love without asking the maiden to
sacrifice herself to join me. I trust her soul to find mine when the
time comes for her to leave this life.”

There was no pretence in my words. I had lived too close to Yoritomo
to escape the influence of his Buddhistic philosophy and his _samurai_
contempt for death. My love for my little Madonna Princess was greater
than my love of life, and I knew that only a love equal to my own could
have enabled her to overcome the extreme modesty and reserve of her
breeding. I believed that death would unite us in the next life, if not
in many future lives; while, if Setsu opposed me, I could not hope to
win my darling in this life.

“Say the word, girl!” I repeated.

“Wait! wait, my lord!” cried Azai, and she knelt beside me. “First free
me, that I may go with you.”

“You will follow when your time comes,” I said. “A _tojin_ may kill the
woman he loves only to save her from a fate worse than death.”

“Life without you, my lord!--what harsher fate?”

A steel blade flashed in her upraising hand. I caught her wrist, as she
drew back and stabbed the point at her throat.

“Take her away, Setsu!” I begged. “She must live and be happy. She is
very young.”

“The men of Nippon do not love as my lord loves!” murmured the
_samurai_ girl. “We will go before with the light. Let him follow at
a little distance. The darkness deepens. He will not be seen until we
come to the gate.”

Azai rose and slipped on the tiny high clogs of gold lacquer that were
held for her by the kneeling girl. She bowed to me from the miniature
height with entrancing grace.

“I beg my lord to rise and sheathe his dirk until it is needed. We now
go to my father.”

She turned and pattered quickly down the bridge to the pond bank, while
Setsu, following half a step behind, held the lantern in such a manner
as to shed no light to the rear. I slipped my dirk into its sheath and
descended after them, my thoughts in a whirl of conflicting emotions.

From the edge of the pond the little Princess led the way through a
shrubbery, along a winding path, towards the edifice I had seen in my
flight before the _hatamotos_. We soon came in sight of the lanterns
strung along the deep verandas of the building. But Azai turned off to
the right, and tripped away down a side path that skirted around her
palace.

A short walk brought us into a broad avenue that ran up to a high
bridge across one of the inner moats of the citadel. Setsu hastened on
towards the gateway of the bridge. Azai paused for me to overtake her.
In the garden path there had been no one to meet or pass; now, however,
there rose the question of facing the guard at the gate. When I came
up close beside the Princess I perceived the outline of her little
hands before her bosom, clasped palm to palm in prayer.

“We stop here, my lord,” she whispered. “Setsu goes ahead to see who is
on guard.”

“Azai,” I replied, “for you to appear with me is too great a sacrifice
of your dignity. Press your lips to mine, and say farewell. I will go
on alone.”

She caught at my sleeve. “Wait, my lord! I will go with you. There is
only this little time left us. When my father learns, I fear he will
forbid me even to dream of you. They have told me that I shall be
required to wed Keiki if Midzuano’s counsel prevails.”

“You would not wed the man who set the _ronins_ upon you!”

“A good daughter should obey with docility when her father chooses her
husband. Yet I have never before heard of a lady meeting a lord and
loving before marriage, as I love my lord!”

“Little maiden!” I exclaimed, “you again confess that you love me! How
can you speak of wedding another?”

“My lord wonders? Yet he knows that the supreme duty of a woman is
willing obedience,--first to her father, then to her husband, and
last of all to her eldest son. I know that my august father holds me
in higher regard than is deserved by so worthless and contemptible a
creature as a young girl, and because of his gracious condescension I
owe him the utmost of gratitude and obedience.”

“You will wed Keiki if your father commands?” I asked.

Her voice quavered. “I pray to Kwannon to aid me! If so great a trial
comes upon me, I fear I must fail in the one great virtue; I must
oppose the will of my father!”

“You will refuse Keiki, and wait for me, Azai?”

“I will wait for you in the life beyond--”

“Not that!” I exclaimed in dismay, “not that, Azai! Wait for me here,
in this life!”

“I will try, my lord. Look! Setsu waves her lantern. We can pass in
safety. But first--if my lord desires to press his lips upon mine, I--I
will not seek to escape.”

Half a minute later she sought to release my embrace with her gentle
fingers.

“My lord,” she whispered tremulously, “I never knew that it was so
delightful to love! It is very wicked to speak so foolishly, yet I wish
that I might stand forever with my lord as we stand now. But Setsu
turns back. We must go.”




CHAPTER XXI--JARRING COUNSELLORS


Setsu met us midway, but turned again the moment the glow of her
lantern fell upon her advancing mistress. Azai joined her, while I fell
back into the darkness. When the maidens came within the narrow circle
of light shed by the gateway lanterns, Setsu signed me to stop. They
went on a few steps, and entered the gate lodge. After a short wait,
Setsu reappeared and beckoned to me.

As I advanced she stepped back through an opening in the wooden night
shutters of the veranda. I hastened forward, but paused at the edge of
the veranda, hesitating whether I should loosen my sandals. Across from
me the shadows of a man and a woman were silhouetted on the white paper
of the wall screens by the lamplight. The shadow of the woman bowed and
glided off to the right.

The man’s shadow moved a little to the left, and the screen on which
it was cast slid aside. Before me stood a white-bearded _hatamoto_ in
helmet and cuirass. Half unconscious of the act, I put my hand on my
swordhilt. The _hatamoto_ kowtowed.

“Command has been given that my lord is to be conducted into the
presence of the Shogun,” he murmured.

I signed him to rise. He slipped back into the lodge, and came out
again to kneel and offer me a deep-brimmed hat of plaited rattan. I set
it on my head, while he stepped into a pair of clogs and turned to lead
me out through the gateway. I looked for a last vision of my little
Princess, but she failed to reappear, and I had sufficient discretion
to refrain from asking questions.

We advanced under the gate roof, our presence loudly announced by the
scuffle of my sandals and the clang of my escort’s iron-shod clogs on
the stone flagging. A number of helmeted guards started out at us from
either side. But they fell back on the instant, and their ready salutes
told me that my companion was the captain of the gate. Without a pause,
we passed on through and out across the high bridge that spanned the
moat. From the centre of the arch I could look over at the lantern-hung
verandas of the palace.

At the far side of the bridge we came to a second gateway, the heavy
doors of which were closed and barred. My escort spoke to one of the
guards who peered out at us from the projecting porter’s window, and
after a short delay a small side wicket was unbarred for us. We crept
through, and passed between two groups of silent guards, and up a short
avenue of cryptomerias to the nearest wing of the palace.

After leaving the gate we met no one until we had reached the palace
veranda and removed our footwear to enter. As we crossed the polished
planks one of the screens of the unlighted room within slid open before
an out-hurrying official. At sight of me the man halted abruptly where
the glow of the porch lanterns shone full upon his face. It was Gengo
the chamberlain. Never had I seen a man more startled. He stood with
jaw dropped and eyes distended, glaring as if I were a ghost or demon.

Politely ignoring the strange conduct of his superior officer, the gate
captain saluted and smilingly stated his errand: “Command has been
given that my lord is to be conducted into the presence of the Shogun.”

Gengo sank down and kowtowed at my feet. “Pardon is implored for the
inexcusable carelessness of my lord’s humble servant!” he mumbled. “It
was necessary to leave my lord alone in the garden. I returned with
utmost haste, but my lord had vanished, and I could not find him. I was
returning even now to make search. The Shogun has summoned my lord.”

He rose and bowed me to follow him. I signed to the old gate captain,
who appeared to consider the final words of the chamberlain as a
dismissal.

“Come with me to the threshold of the audience chamber,” I said.

Gengo nodded to the guardsman and smiled blandly. “The commands of my
lord are the pleasure of his servants,” he murmured.

The readiness of his assent lessened my suspicion of the fellow. But
as we entered the dark interior I took the precaution of keeping near
the captain. I could not tell for certain whether the chamberlain had
knowingly led me into an ambush in the garden. Yet if innocent, why
had he been so startled at my appearance? At first thought his terror
seemed an unmistakable confession of guilt. Then I remembered his fear
in the presence of the Shogun, and coupled it with his present haste
and his no less feverish eagerness in fetching me to the citadel. Was
it not probable that he had blundered his orders in the confusion of
the panic, and now feared that I would make complaint?

One thing alone was certain: This time he was intent on avoiding
all mistakes, voluntary or involuntary. Straight as the lay of the
rooms and corridors would permit, he led the way through the wing
of the palace, and around the end of an inner garden court. A few
steps more and we came into a dimly lighted anteroom, where guards
and chamberlains crouched in waiting, flushed and bright-eyed with
excitement, but silent as death. Beyond sounded a murmuring of low
voices.

Gengo pointed to my sword and dirk. I drew them from my girdle
with their scabbards and handed them to the old gate captain. The
chamberlain whispered to a fellow-official who was kneeling close
beside the wall at the upper end of the room. The latter at once drew
open one of the screens, and Gengo entered on hands and knees.

I stepped forward to follow him. The doorkeeper whispered a startled
command for me to kneel. But rather than crawl into the presence of
their ruler in the posture of a dog, I preferred that the Japanese
should consider me ignorant or even insolent. To the horror of the
doorkeeper, I strode into the audience chamber proudly erect.

The large room before me was flooded with the soft rays of many lamps
and lanterns. In the centre of the apartment the Shogun sat upon a
low dais, close before which, to right and left, were grouped the few
persons in attendance. I saw the long aristocratic face of the Prince
of Owari and Satsuma’s heavy German visage on the left of the throne.
Across from them knelt Midzuano the Chief Counsellor and three others,
whose faces were turned from me. I gathered that the Shogun had called
together an informal council of the leaders of both factions, in the
hope of uniting them in the face of the supposed peril to all.

Unable to wait for the slow crawl of Gengo, I stepped past him up the
room, and, heedless of Midzuano’s imperative gesture to fall upon hands
and knees, crossed swiftly over the intervening mats to the dais.
As I knelt to kowtow, the man beside Midzuano turned, and I saw the
beautiful vindictive face of young Keiki.

I rose and slipped aside towards Satsuma. Keiki and Midzuano were
glancing up at the Shogun with eager expectancy beneath their court
smiles. The outrageous conduct of the barbarian had laid him open to
severe punishment. The two other men, who were unknown to me, regarded
me in a neutral manner. I deepened my smile, and looked up into the
gloomy face of Iyeyoshi.

“The _tojin_ lord comes quickly in response to our summons,” he said in
a colorless tone, and he signed to Gengo to withdraw.

“Your Highness would have found me in attendance much sooner, had I
not been led astray in the palace gardens,” I replied, keeping a side
glance on Midzuano and Keiki. The latter flushed with a momentary
outflashing of chagrin; the Chief Counsellor stared at me with his
dull unblinking gaze, and gave no sign.

“Led astray in the gardens?” questioned the Shogun.

“At sunset, Your Highness, on my way to Owari Yashiki from the High
Court, Gengo overtook me, with word that my presence was required at
the palace.”

“At sunset?--Command was not sent until after the arrival of Owari
dono.”

“Your Highness,” murmured Midzuano, “foreseeing the need for the
presence of the _tojin_, command was sent by your humble counsellor.
The _tojin_ owes the credit of his quick appearance before Your
Highness to the forethought of one whom he unjustly considers an enemy.
I venture to speak because my sole desire is the safety and honor of
the Shogunate. All friends of Nippon must forget past differences and
unite in the face of the invading barbarians.”

The man’s adroitness astonished me. In a few words he had claimed
credit for foresight, moderation, and patriotism, had accused me
of cherishing undeserved enmity against him, and had diverted the
attention of all to the burning question of the American expedition in
such manner as to rouse suspicion against me and increase their fear
and hatred of the supposed invaders. He need have had no apprehension
that I would complain of the treacherous attack in the garden. Keiki’s
vindictive look had quickened my suspicions to moral certainty; but
this was not the time to speak of a matter that involved Azai.

“Your Highness,” I said, deepening my smile, “the wise Chief Counsellor
has spoken well according to his limited information. He should not be
blamed if, at such a time of panic and confusion, he permits inquietude
to so disturb his sound judgment that he states what is not true. It is
a false rumor that says the Americans have come to invade Nippon.”

“False?” cried Keiki, “false?--when the black ships have entered Yedo
Bay in defiance of the edict!”

“They come in peace. The Dutch told the Shogunate to expect the
expedition.”

“The Dutch did not say that the American ships would come to Yedo Bay,”
said the older of the two strange _daimios_ who sat between me and
Keiki.

“How should the Dutch know?” interposed Satsuma in a voice resonant
with depth and power. “The Dutch are a little people. Can they foresee
the actions of a great people? The Americans have shown boldness and
wisdom in coming direct to Yedo Bay. Nagasaki is a long way from
Nippon.”

“Does the Daimio of Satsuma favor the mission of the barbarians?”
demanded Keiki.

“I favor calmness and reasonable consideration of the purposes of the
_tojin_ visitors. I do not shriek for the destruction of envoys who,
according to my friend Woroto Sama, come in peace and friendship.”

“Is it friendly for them to force their way into the Bay of Yedo?”
insisted Keiki.

“Nagasaki is a gate half open, but far away from the ear of His
Highness,” said Owari. “The _tojin_ peoples know that the ancient laws
forbid all communication whatever. If the Shogunate sets aside the
edict of non-intercourse, it may as well set aside the edict forbidding
the entrance of _tojin_ ships into other ports than Nagasaki.”

“The ancient laws are immutable. They may not be set aside,” murmured
Midzuano.

“Have I heard that the Council of Elders has punished those who study
the Dutch learning or those who teach the history of Nippon?” demanded
Satsuma. “Both are crimes forbidden under penalty of death. Yet a
Prince of Mito caused the history to be printed.”

“Let the _tojin_ lord speak,” interposed Iyeyoshi. “I have commanded
your attendance before me to advise on the coming of the black
ships.--Answer truthfully, _tojin_! Rumor says that the fleet of your
people is greater than the fleet of Kublai Khan.”

“Your Highness,” I answered, “messengers will soon bring you the exact
count of the ships in the fleet of the American envoy. Others may have
joined those which I saw assembled in China, yet I can state with
certainty that, all told, they will number less than ten. I place the
count at five or six.”

“Less than ten!” repeated Keiki. “Give command, Your Highness! The
clans of Mito and Hitotsubashi will unaided board the black ships and
destroy the hairy barbarians with our swords!”

The vaunt was too absurd for me to contain my amusement. I chuckled
openly.

“The _tojin sama_ mocks,” protested the _daimio_ beside me. “Has he not
heard how the swordsmen of Nippon destroyed the vast fleet of Kublai
Khan?”

“Abe Ise-no-kami speaks to the point,” commented Midzuano. “Can Woroto
Sama refute him?”

“Without aspersing in the slightest degree the prowess of Nippon’s
brave _samurai_,” I answered, “it is well to give the gods credit for
their share in the destruction of the Mongol fleet. I have heard that
the larger number of the war junks were wrecked or foundered in a great
typhoon.”

“We will implore the gods to send another such typhoon,” retorted Keiki.

“The warships of my people are not clumsy junks,” I replied. “They
drive into the teeth of the storm with no sails set upon their masts.
I have myself twice outridden typhoons in the black ships.”

“Grant leave, Your Highness, for Mito to destroy the insolent
barbarians!” cried Keiki.

“If my countrymen might know beforehand that the Mito clan were seeking
battle on their own quarrel and not as representing Nippon, Your
Highness could do no better than to let them attack,” I said. “The
result would provide a valuable lesson for the other frogs in the well.
My countrymen come in peace, desirous of honorable friendship with the
people of Dai Nippon. But they are not swordless tradesmen.”

“Nor are the barbarians _samurai_ bred,” retorted Keiki. “Only five
years have passed since two American warships ventured to approach Yedo
Bay. The report cannot be doubted that their great _tojin_ lord was
flung back into his boat by a common sailor of Nippon when he sought to
come aboard the ship of the Japanese commander.”

“The shame of that insult is upon Nippon,” I said, keeping to my
court smile, though my face burned with hot anger at the jibe. “The
august ruler of America had given strict command that the people of
Nippon should be shown utmost courtesy and friendliness. The American
commander was urgently asked to come aboard the junk to receive
the letter of His Highness. As a token of honor to His Highness,
he came alongside the junk and was boarding the vessel when the
outrage occurred. Believing that the insult was the act of the sailor
alone, Commodore Biddle restrained his just resentment, and left the
punishment of the sailor to the laws of Nippon. We have a saying that
only savages and persons of low intellect mistake moderation for fear.”

“Woroto speaks wisely,” said the Shogun. “All have now spoken except Ii
Kamon-no-kami. What has Naosuke to say?”

The _daimio_ between Abe and Keiki bowed forward to respond. Though a
man still under forty, the intellect and power in his smooth face was
quite sufficient to explain to me the respectful attention with which
all awaited his words.

“Your Highness,” he said, “advice is humbly offered that too little is
now known for final decision. The counsel of Owari dono and Satsuma to
inquire the purpose of the American envoy is thought wise,--no less
the counsel of Midzuano and Keiki to assemble a force of _samurai_ and
artillery against attack. The course of wisdom is for all parties to
unite their strength under Your Highness.”

“The time has come for all loyal subjects to join together, forgetful
of past enmities,” purred Midzuano. “It is the time to bind up old
wounds and cover old scars. For the sake of common preservation,
humble request is made that Owari dono join in petitioning for the
freedom of one who would prove a tower of strength to Nippon,--the wise
and brave Rekko Prince of Mito.”

The Prince of Owari bowed, with a smile as suave as the subtle
counsellor’s. “It is certain that Midzuano has at heart only the
honor and glory of His Highness,” he murmured. “Owari claims a still
higher degree of loyalty, if such be possible. The present moment is
one of confusion and uncertainty. All men respect the counsel of Ii
Kamon-no-kami. He has said that too little is now known for final
decision.”

I saw Keiki blink his narrow lids to hide the fierce flash of his eyes.
Midzuano turned with an indifferent bearing to look down the chamber.
The Shogun made a slight sign. I glanced about and saw Gengo creeping
forward on his knees, with a scroll upraised before him on a tray.
He kowtowed and murmured almost inaudibly: “Report to the Council of
Elders from Yezaimon, Governor of Uraga.”

Iyeyoshi signed him towards Midzuano, who took the scroll, and at a nod
from the Shogun, read the message aloud.

  “To the august Council of Elders: Report is hereby humbly submitted
  that shortly after midday four warships of the hairy barbarians,
  two being of vast size, entered the mouth of the inner bay and,
  without sail, proceeded against wind and tide to an anchorage
  within close view of Uraga. Being boarded by the second in command
  at Uraga, his request that the black ships proceed to Nagasaki
  was peremptorily denied. Demand was made that all guard-boats be
  withdrawn. The barbarian commander is said to be of such exalted
  rank that only _daimios_ may be admitted into his presence. He
  comes as an envoy from the _tojin_ country called the United States
  of America. He bears a letter from the ruler of America to His
  Highness the Shogun, alleged to contain requests for friendship and
  intercourse. Statement is made that if such letter is not honorably
  received at Uraga, the black ships will proceed up the bay and
  deliver the letter at Yedo. The American warships are very powerful
  and are armed with many cannon of immense size.

            “YEZAIMON, Governor of Uraga.
            “NAKASHIMA, Vice-governor of Uraga.”

As the reader settled back on his heels and rolled up the scroll, all
turned to the Shogun. He spoke with quick decision: “The counsel of Ii
Kamon-no-kami is accepted. Let _samurais_ be assembled by the _daimios_
in command along the bay, to guard against surprise. To receive the
communication of the ruler of America is against the ancient edict.
So grave a matter as setting aside the edict requires deliberate
consideration. Let the officials at Uraga negotiate with the _tojin_
envoy until a decision may be reached by my counsellors. Permission is
given to withdraw.”

We kowtowed and glided from the audience chamber past an increeping
group of chamberlains. In the anteroom, when I received back my sword
and dirk from the old gate captain, Keiki eyed him sharply, but was
called away by Midzuano. Ii Kamon-no-kami and Abe Ise-no-kami followed
the Prince, Satsuma, and myself through another exit, and asked me many
politely worded questions as we clattered along on our high clogs.

Leaving the palace enclosure by one of the lesser bridges, we crossed
the outer enclosure of the citadel to the Sakaruda Gate through a small
army of grotesquely armored _hatamotos_. It was the first time that I
had seen Japanese in full war-harness, and bizarre as was the effect of
their dish helmets, wing-like shoulder brassards, and the padded robes
under their plate and chain mail, I must confess that they presented a
most formidable appearance even to one acquainted with modern firearms.

Outside the Sakaruda Gate I was relieved to find Yoritomo waiting for
us with a guard of half a thousand Owari retainers, all clad in armor
as complete as that of the _hatamotos_. He himself wore a wondrous suit
of gilded armor that glittered resplendent in the light of the swaying
lanterns. He rode an armored stallion, but had brought a _norimon_ for
me.

The need of this escort became clear when we marched away through
the official quarter. I had left the broad streets swarming with a
silk-clad panic-stricken mob. I came back to find them all but jammed
with mailed and helmetted _samurais_ whose wild fear had given place
to the fury of despair. Many among them,--for the most part Mito
retainers,--wore their armor shrouded with white mourning robes, in
token of devotion to death in battle.

Ii and Abe had turned aside to their _yashikis_, which were near at
hand, eastward from the gate. We moved in the opposite direction, and
having escorted Satsuma and his cortege to his _yashiki_, finally won
our way through the crowded streets to the outer moat and across into
Owari Yashiki.

A few minutes later I was alone in my apartments with Yoritomo,
relating all that had befallen me since our parting at sunset.
Throughout the account my friend listened with intense interest, but
with no comment except an exclamation of profound astonishment that the
Princess should have confessed her love to me.

When I had quite finished, he shook his head in a puzzled manner, and
said: “In all the temples and at thousands of _samurai_ garden shrines,
prayers are being made for the gods to send a great wind against the
_tojins_. If all the _tojins_ are as favored by the gods as one I know,
there will be no typhoon.”

“I have won the favor of Azai. How can I fail to possess the favor of
the gods?” I replied, not altogether in jest.

He clanked his golden armor in an impatient gesture. “_Namida!_ We
speak of women and love, when the fate of Nippon hangs in the balance!
There is one thing you have not told me. What was the message Yuki
handed to you when you were mounting your horse? He says that a
_geisha_ gave it to him for me. He did not presume to read it, but as
he could not reach my _norimon_ through the midst of the Satsuma men,
he gave the note to you, not knowing that you cannot read Japanese.”

I searched in my bosom, and drew out a crumpled bit of paper. As
Yoritomo smoothed it on the palm of his steel gauntlet, he nodded.
“The writing of Kohana. You are right in suspecting that the attack in
the garden enclosure of the Princess was not due to chance. It was an
ambush laid by Keiki and Midzuano. They hoped you would be cut down
by the _hatamotos_ as you entered the citadel. That failing, Gengo
deliberately misled you into the forbidden enclosure of the women,
that Midzuano might set the guards of the inner gate upon you. The
guards did not know it was a plot. They were loyally seeking to avenge
the outrage committed by one of the hairy barbarians who had violated
the sacred enclosure of the palace women. None other than Azai or the
Shoguness could have saved you.”

“Kohana’s note!” I exclaimed. “Does it tell all that?”

“Between the lines, as you say,” he answered; and he read the writing,
“‘Gengo has taken pay of Keiki.’”




CHAPTER XXII--TEA WITH THE TYCOON


There followed four days of anxious waiting. Though the Prince went
daily to the palace, my presence was not commanded, and in the
continued state of public stress and turmoil, it was thought best that
Yoritomo and I should keep close within the _yashiki_. The Mito faction
had given wide publication to a garbled account of our trial, which
libelled us with the stigma of confessed spies. Had we appeared in the
streets of the official quarter before excess of fury had exhausted the
rancor and excitement of the _samurais_, we should have been hacked to
pieces by our enemies and their dupes.

Throughout the vast extent of the lower city the panic continued
without cessation. Day and night the bay-front populace streamed inland
by thousands, bearing upon back and shoulder their household goods,
young children, and aged mothers. Skirting along the outer moat of the
official quarter, the bulk of the refugees from the southern half of
Yedo poured past Owari Yashiki in an endless mob, all alike possessed
by the one frantic desire to place themselves beyond reach of the magic
_tojin_ cannon.

Yet vast as was the multitude of townsfolk that poured out of Yedo,
fully a third were replaced by the _hatamotos_ and _samurais_ that
rushed in to the defence of the Shogun’s capitol, while reports were
received that the _daimios_ down the bay had assembled ten thousand
armor-clad men within the first two days. The clans were responding to
the call of the Shogunate by lining up to present a solid front to the
barbarians.

Had there been confirmation of the first wild rumor that the black
ships numbered sixty and their guns six hundred, or had Commodore Perry
attempted a forceful landing, the heat of patriotic loyalty would have
fused even the icy venom of the hatred between Owari and Mito. But the
Commodore, though firm to arrogance, took utmost care to avoid all acts
of violence, and his squadron was not large enough to awe the Mito
faction into forgetfulness of their desire to overthrow the Shogunate.

At last, after much debate and intrigue, the Prince and Satsuma, backed
by Ii Kamon-no-kami, won a denial of the demand of Keiki and Midzuano
for immediate hostilities. The American envoy having resolutely
refused to go to Nagasaki and having again threatened to ascend the
bay, Iyeyoshi reluctantly appointed two of the lesser _daimios_ as
commissioners to receive the letter of the President of the United
States.

Together with the news of this victory, the Prince brought from the
palace the Shogun’s command for Yoritomo to break the seclusion of his
mourning and proceed to Uraga. The duty assigned him was secretly to
check the interpreters, and make a full report of all that occurred
during the ceremony of receiving the _tojin_ letter. He was forbidden,
on pain of death, to enter into any communication with the barbarians.

This was during the afternoon of July the eleventh. Yoritomo and I sat
up late that night discussing the situation. He pointed out the extreme
precariousness of my standing as a supposed _tojin_ spy in the opinion
of all who favored Mito. I replied that with the risk doubled, and only
half my present slender chance of winning my little Princess, I should
still prefer Yedo to the safety of the warships. He then offered to
smuggle a message from me to the Commodore, so that the Shogunate might
be warned to protect me from harm. I objected that I did not wish to
be delivered over to my countrymen and taken out of Japan; that the
discovery of such an attempt to communicate would mean ruin, alike to
us and to his plans; and that I was willing to face the risk I had
brought upon myself by coming to Japan with him.

So it was that my friend set off down the bay the next morning in one
of the swift government guard-boats, pledged to silence regarding my
presence in Yedo. Had he not given me his word, all the watchfulness
of the dozen _hatamoto_ attendants and spies who accompanied him would
have failed to prevent his communicating with Commodore Perry.

His departure, I must confess, left me more than lonely. The Prince
continued to spend his days at the palace, either opposing Midzuano and
Keiki in private audience, or planning with the Household to checkmate
the intrigues of the Council and its supporters to bring about an
attack on the black ships.

At last, about noon of the fifteenth, Fujimaro, my chamberlain,
informed me that I was commanded to appear before the Shogun. An armed
escort was provided for me, with Yuki, now my swordbearer, in command,
and I was borne to the citadel at a speed that in less strenuous times
would have disgraced the House of Owari. Had the identity of the
_norimon’s_ occupant been suspected by the war-accoutred _samurais_ who
still thronged the streets of the official quarter, I doubt whether we
should have reached our destination without a bloody fight.

To avoid such an untimely conflict among the clans, instructions had
been given to admit me in my _norimon_, as on my first visit, through
the Heanzo Gate, at the head of Kojimachi Street. My guards, with the
exception of Yuki and Fujimaro, were required to wait outside the gate.
Within the bastion my bearers halted and set down the _norimon_. I
peered out to ask Yuki the reason for the halt. He had stepped aside,
and in his place I saw Gengo bowing and smiling with irreproachable
suavity.

“Proceed across the garden,” I commanded.

“Pardon, my lord,” murmured the fellow. “It is required that my lord
should descend and come with me unattended.”

“I have been commanded to appear before His Highness,” I said. “How
can I trust to the guidance of one who once lost me in a certain other
garden?”

He faced me squarely with no other look than contrition in his eyes.
“My lord covers me with well-merited shame,” he replied. “Many others
than myself were dazed by the great fear that fell upon all Yedo that
day; yet my lord does well to reproach me for my stupid blunder.”

“To save you the shame of repeating the error, I will ride through the
garden, as on my first visit.”

“The gods forbid!” he exclaimed, dropping on his knees. His voice sank
to a faint whisper. “My lord, it is not permissible--my lord must give
over his sword and dirk, and come with me unattended.”

I smiled. “The pleasure of waiting at deserted kiosks is not always
appreciated.”

“This time there will be no need to wait,” he whispered. “His Highness
is in the garden. If my lord doubts, let him demand the escort of the
gate captain. But he must leave his _norimon_, as I have explained.”

I felt the brace of pistol-butts within my bosom. This time I had come
fully prepared. “Open,” I called.

Yuki and Fujimaro sprang to assist me from the _norimon_. I thrust my
feet into the clogs held by them, and handed over my sword and dirk to
Yuki.

“I am ready,” I said.

The chamberlain started off with a look that told me he was puzzling to
surmise whether I was a blind fool or a very brave man. Either I had
been too obtuse to suspect his part in the ambush, or else, knowing
his treachery, I was, he supposed, following him unarmed into another
secluded garden. His open display of perplexity convinced me that he
now had no treachery in mind, else he would have kept closer control of
his expression.

Without a second backward glance, he led the way at a rapid pace up an
avenue of umbrella pines. Somewhat over a quarter of a mile brought us
to a narrow path that crossed the avenue at right angles. Gengo turned
to the left, up the new way. I felt of my revolvers, and clattered
after him. He came to a rockery bordered with dense groves, an ideal
place for an ambush. I stopped short. He went on a few steps, and
pointed around the far side of a huge rock. I gripped my revolvers and
advanced.

Beyond the boulder the rockery opened out around a little artificial
cliff, upon the crest of which was perched a small summer-house.
Through the latticed end of the building I perceived a figure in
black and yellow robes. I waved Gengo to lead on. We skirted around
to the right, and came upon half a hundred _hatamoto_ guards in full
war-harness. For a moment the sight of their flashing lance blades,
horned helmets, and steel mail gave me a lively fright.

I half halted, only to advance again as I saw that they were making way
for me, with respectful smiles and bows. Gengo passed on through their
midst, and ascended a narrow wooden stairway that led up the rear of
the cliff. Following close upon his heels, I swung up after him and
around the enclosed end of the building. Through a small window, a
yard or so short of the second corner, I caught a glimpse of a lady’s
coiffure.

The sight thrilled me with the thought of rapturous possibilities. I
hastened around into the low veranda of the kiosk’s front, dropping
my clogs at the edge in imitation of Gengo. A few steps more brought
us into the presence of the Shogun. His Highness was seated upon a
low divan, with Owari dono before him on his left, and Satsuma on his
right. As we rose from our salute, Gengo placed a cushion for me beside
the Prince, and silently withdrew.

The Shogun favored me with a slight relaxation of his austere frown.
“Woroto Sama has displayed commendable diligence in responding to our
command,” he said.

“The will of Minamoto Iyeyoshi is the pleasure of those who desire to
serve him,” I responded.

Owari and Satsuma exchanged glances approving the politeness of my
phrasing. Iyeyoshi nodded, and made a sign to the Prince, who drew
forward a small rosewood case richly ornamented with gold. I saw at
a glance that the designs were not Japanese--I thrilled at sight of
the well-remembered eagles! From the box the Prince handed to me an
official document written in English and sealed in gold with the great
seal of the United States of America. I raised the document to my
forehead and kowtowed.

“The letter of the President!” I murmured.

“Translate,” commanded the Shogun, taking up a paper written in
classical Chinese ideographs.

The Prince unrolled a similar paper, while Satsuma opened a Dutch
writing. I perceived that I had been summoned for the purpose
of cross-checking the translations of Yoritomo and the official
interpreters. I rose to my knees and began reading the document in my
best Japanese:

“‘Millard Fillmore, President of the United States of America, to his
Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Japan. Great and good friend--’”

Iyeyoshi checked me with a gesture. “A difference! It is here rendered,
‘His Exalted Highness the Tycoon.’ You say, ‘His Highness the Shogun.’”

“The error is mine, Your Highness,” I explained. “The terms may not be
translated literally. Their intent is to express supreme rulership.”

“In such case,” said Satsuma, “Mito may be expected to claim that the
message is addressed to the Mikado.”

“I regularly received investiture as Shogun from the Mikado,” replied
Iyeyoshi, frowning. “The rulership of Nippon is in my hands, according
to law and custom. I am not the first Shogun to be addressed as
‘Tycoon’ and ‘O-gimi.’”

“The letter is properly received by Your Highness,” observed the
Prince. “The Mikados have chosen to maintain their sacred seclusion
for generation after generation. It is for Your Highness to defend the
domains of the present descendant of the Sun Goddess and inaugurate a
glorious cycle for Dai Nippon by opening the land to enlightenment.”

“The bonds of ancient laws are not to be broken without deliberate
consideration,” replied the Shogun, and he signed to me to proceed.

I read on slowly through the letter’s courteous expression of
friendship and of desire for commercial intercourse, the arguments
regarding the mutual advantages of trade, and the need of protection
to the shipwrecked sailors of our whalers and other ships. At almost
every line I was questioned and cross-questioned, above all when I came
to the suggestion that the laws might be suspended and intercourse
tested as an experiment for a limited period. This proposal received
the hearty approval of both the Prince and Satsuma, and they urged
its acceptance upon the Shogun. He asked me numerous questions about
treaties between the Western nations, and then, without replying to his
advisers, commanded me to proceed.

As I finished the reading and returned the letter to its case, the
Shogun turned upon Satsuma with a deepening of his frown. “You speak as
counsellor for the barbarians. You have yet to refute the ten reasons
for war set forth in the memorial of Rekko, Prince of Mito.”

The Daimio took a scroll from his sleeve, opened it, and ran a finger
down the vertical lines of writing as he spoke his comments: “Your
Highness, it is true that in the past the armies of Nippon have been
victorious in foreign lands, but the _tojins_ do not come as invaders.
It is no disgrace to enter into honorable treaty with peaceful envoys.”

“And, possessed of _tojin_ cannon and ships, Nippon may again win
glorious victories in Korea and China,” added the Prince.

“Regarding the second statement,” went on Satsuma, “the _tojin_ letter
declares that religion is a matter apart from the policy of the
American Government. There is no intent to force the doctrines of the
evil sect upon us. As to the question of trading precious goods and
metals for those we do not want, the _tojin_ nations buy only what they
desire and sell what they please. We can do the same. Mito speaks of
the Chinese Opium War. If we accept the offer of friendly intercourse,
we can learn the ways of the _tojin_ and acquire skill in their methods
of warfare.”

“In one breath Mito says that we are not as brave and strong as our
ancestors, and in the next urges us to plunge into war with these
friendly envoys,” said Owari. “He defames the brave _samurais_ who have
rushed to the defence of our shores, and then asks if it is wise to
disappoint their ignorant desire for attack.”

“The interests of Dai Nippon are of greater moment than the interests
of the clans in control at Nagasaki,” added Satsuma.

“The haughty demeanor of the American admiral proves that the American
Government has honored Nippon by sending an envoy of exalted rank,”
argued the Prince. “Only the frogs in the well consider the presence
of the black ships an insult. It is the Mito faction that seeks to
undermine the fear and respect due the Government of Your Highness.
Should such disloyalty continue, ‘chance to rouse the case-dulled
spirit of our men’ will soon be presented by the need to chastise the
defamers of the Shogunate.”

“Enough,” said Iyeyoshi, relaxing his frown. “You have replied to the
memorial and in part refuted its statements. Nevertheless, the Daimio
of Kaga and many other powerful clan leaders support Mito. The black
ships soon sail. They will not return for a long period. We have ample
time to deliberate over our answer to the _tojin_ ruler. Letters will
be sent to all the _daimios_ and noted officials and counsellors in Dai
Nippon, commanding their advice.”

Satsuma bowed, more pleased, I fancied, than the Prince. “The
proceeding is without precedent, Your Highness, yet none may doubt that
it is the course of wisdom.”

The Shogun touched a small gong. A screen at the inner corner of the
veranda slid open, and O Setsu San kowtowed on the sill-beam. The
Shogun made a sign. The girl withdrew.

“Your Highness,” murmured the Prince. “Woroto Sama came to Nippon
sincerely desirous of rendering a service of friendship and good will.
Your Highness condescends to favor him, but Mito seeks his destruction.
There is yet time to send him aboard one of the black ships, if Your
Highness considers his presence in Yedo unpropitious.”

“Does Woroto wish to join his countrymen?” demanded the Shogun.

“The Land of the Gods is very pleasant to me, Your Highness,” I
answered. “I do not wish to go. I desire to remain until death.”

The Shogun gazed at me between doubt and friendliness. “The prayer of
Woroto is granted. He may remain in Yedo, at least until the return
of the black ships,--provided he is willing to risk the consequences
should the counsel of Mito prevail.”

I saw a slender figure bowing forward through the opening in the
screens, and a flood of color leaped into my face.

“Your Highness,” I cried, “I will gladly risk all! I thank you for your
gracious permission to remain!”

The Shogun stared piercingly into my flushed face; then turned with the
Prince and Satsuma to watch Azai, his face, like theirs, grave almost
to solemnity. With slow and graceful movements that followed one upon
the other with the precision of a formal ritual, my little Princess
entered with a brazier upon which the charcoal glowed in a tiny crater
of rock crystal. Setting this before us, she returned to fetch, one at
a time, tongs, kettle, dipper, tea canister, bowls, and various other
tiny utensils.

Throughout the bringing and arranging of this equipment the profound
silence was broken only by the occasional murmuring of set phrases.
Azai proceeded with utmost grace and delicacy, too intent upon the
correct performance of the tea ceremony to venture a glance at me. The
tea, crushed into a fine powder, was mixed in a bowl with boiling water
and beaten with a bamboo whisk that my darling rolled deftly between
her fingers.

The first bowlful of the tea porridge was served to the Shogun upon a
tray of unvarnished cypress wood, which was then set aside. But the
bowl was rinsed and filled with a second mixture, which was served to
the Prince on a gold-lacquered tray. Again the bowl was rinsed and
used to serve the soup-like tea to Satsuma on the same tray. Last of
all Azai rinsed the bowl and prepared my tea with the same delicate
precision and grace.

When she approached to serve me, I looked to see her blush or tremble.
I was yet to learn the full measure of a Japanese lady’s self-control.
Holding the tray on a level with her adorable little chin, she knelt
before me without the slightest trace of a quiver beneath her gracious
smile. The exquisitely delicate rose tint of her cheeks neither paled
nor deepened. Only once, as I set the emptied bowl back upon the tray,
her lowered lashes lifted for an instant, to disclose to me a glimpse
of the unfathomable tenderness and love in the depths of her lustrous
eyes.

With the same slowness and solemnity she drew back and proceeded to
carry out the brazier and service in set order, while her father, the
Prince, and the Daimio noted the last stages of the ritual with their
formal phrases. I sat in the meek attitude of a neophyte, but I fear I
gave little heed to the solemn ritual. All too soon Azai kowtowed and
disappeared. The quaint rite was at an end.

That she should have come and gone with only that one glance and never
a word for me, went far to lessen the joy of seeing her. My face was
grave when the Shogun looked down upon me. He nodded approvingly.
“Woroto Sama seems versed in the pleasant mystery of the tea ceremony.
It is known in his country?”

“I seek to learn, Your Highness. The ceremony is undeveloped in my
country. As yet the drinking of tea is for the most part confined to
our women.”

The word set loose upon me a flood of questions with regard to _tojin_
women and marriage. I answered as best I could. As I anticipated,
Satsuma and the Prince were no less shocked than the Shogun at the
freedom allowed Occidental women. But I perceived that the severity of
His Highness’s look softened when I dwelt upon the honor and respect
which we accord our wives. I recalled that statement of Kohana San that
Minamoto Iyeyoshi regarded his daughter with the fondness due a son.

“It is certain that the _tojin_ peoples reverse many of the rightful
rules of society and morals. Yet what has been said is of grave
interest,” he observed. “Woroto Sama is doubtless aware that in Nippon
a teacher is held in high honor as the temporary father of his pupils.
The children of the Sei-i-tai Shogun should not remain in ignorance of
the _tojin_ world.”

I kowtowed to hide my eager delight, and waited in keen suspense.

“After the American envoy has sailed, your presence will be required.
Until then--” He dismissed me with a gesture.

I withdrew to rejoin Gengo, who was waiting at the corner of the kiosk.
As we passed the window a face appeared within, and I again met the
loving glance of my little Princess.




CHAPTER XXIII--LESSONS AND LOVE


My impatience over the delay of the expedition to sail at once may well
be imagined.

At last, on the morning of the eighteenth, Yoritomo returned home with
the welcome news that the squadron had weighed anchor and put out to
sea the previous day. He had much to say of the display on either side
when Commodore Perry landed at Gorihama, below Uraga, and delivered
over the President’s letter to Toda Idzu-no-kami and Ido Iwami-no-kami.
On the following day the black ships had excited much apprehension by
sailing up the bay almost to within sight of Yedo.

I listened to the account of my countrymen’s proceedings with an
indifference that astonished me. Thanks to my long intimacy with
my friend, the few weeks of my stay in his country had sufficed to
initiate me into the life and customs of his people. I was fascinated
by the _samurai_ spirit. Yet for all that, I might well have been
overcome with longing at the news of the departure of the expedition,
had it not been for my love for the little Princess. Yoritomo had made
me a friend to the Japanese; Azai made me a Japanese.

True to the Shogun’s word, the official report of the sailing of the
American squadron brought a prompt command for me to attend upon
Iyesada Sama and Azai Sama as instructor in _tojin_ learning. The time
appointed was early the following morning.

Half the night was spent listening to the advice of Yoritomo, who
feared that I might lose all by betraying my love in the presence of
others. In return for my promise to be as discreet as circumstances
would permit, he agreed to lay the matter before his father and seek to
interest him in my preposterous attempt to win the Princess.

Armed with the Shogun’s order, I set out at dawn, travelling incognito
but with the full retinue allowed me by the Prince. On the one side of
my _norimon_ walked Fujimaro, and on the other Yuki. The latter, now
fully recovered from his wounds and torture, carried himself with the
dignified assurance of the finest swordsman in Yedo.

Through my palanquin window I gazed out at the splendid fellow with
pride. He was my own personal retainer and not one of the servants of
the House of Owari loaned to me for the occasion. Legally he was no
more a member of the clan than myself. His family had been enrolled
among the Owari retainers, but he himself had expressed a preference
to be received into my service. The Prince had readily agreed to this
arrangement, though not because of any reluctance to accept among his
retainers a _ronin_ who had been expelled from the service of the
Shogun.

Yoritomo had said that it was ill-advised for me to take the former
_hatamoto_ to the palace. But I felt certain that the Shogun would not
consider the act an affront. Should he so regard it, I relied upon the
excuse of my _tojin_ ignorance and my need for a personal retainer.

The morning was still fresh when we entered the citadel by the Sakaruda
Gate. Having the Shogun’s order for passport, I rode through and did
not descend from my _norimon_ until on the point of crossing one of
the inner moats into the palace grounds. Here I was met by Gengo the
chamberlain, as ever suave to obsequiousness. He did not relish the
entry of his former captain into the palace, and suggested that Yuki
should remain with the rest of my escort. But with due regard to my
dignity as teacher of the Shogun’s children, I insisted upon the
attendance of both Yuki and Fujimaro.

My determination won the day. Gengo started off submissively, and
led us through the gardens of the O Shiro, to the enclosure of the
secondary palace set apart for the use of the Shogun’s heir. The
edifice, though small, was exquisitely finished in several woods,
inlaid in designs of odd beauty. I would have been quite willing,
however, to forego the pleasure of viewing the artistic decorations of
the waiting room as well as the enjoyment of the customary refreshment
that was served me. Yet one must needs cultivate patience if he would
dwell among an Oriental people.

Mid-morning found me still cooling my heels in the waiting room. At
last I suppose the Prince’s curiosity overcame his inertia. Gengo
reappeared, to conduct me into the presence of the heir apparent. Yuki
and Fujimaro followed me to the threshold of the audience chamber,
where I signed to Gengo to take my sword and bear it in for me. He
demurred, with the statement that to carry the sword of a _tojin_ into
the presence of Iyesada Sama was not permissible.

“Very well,” I replied. “Yuki will be my bearer.”

“Impossible. None other than my lord may enter.”

“Then I shall carry it in myself. I am here as the teacher of Iyesada
Sama. I demand the deference due a teacher.”

At this he took the sword from me, and knelt to enter the chamber of
audience. I walked after him erect. The slowness of our progress
up the long apartment gave me ample time to observe the place and
its occupants. All one side of the chamber was open upon a fantastic
garden of sand and rocks representing a volcanic seashore. Its
bare, verdureless stretch contrasted strongly with the richness and
ultra-delicacy of the apartment’s decorations.

My attention quickly centred upon the two persons seated before the
gorgeous _tokonoma_. One I recognized as Abe Ise-no-kami, the elder of
the two strange _daimios_ at the Shogun’s conference. He sat on the
left of a young man whose amiable but weak face answered to Yoritomo’s
descriptions of the epileptic heir apparent.

As I stalked up the room behind the creeping chamberlain, the Prince
and his companion regarded me with looks of surprise that quickly
deepened to resentment. The _tojin_ was presuming to swagger into the
presence of the Shogun’s son! But I had planned my course and was sure
of my ground. When within a short distance of the angry sitters, I
paused and gazed at the Prince in stern reproof.

“Is this the proper manner for a pupil to receive his teacher?” I
demanded. “Can it be that Iyesada has been misinformed as to the
purpose of my visit?”

The Prince turned to Abe with a look of bewilderment, as if seeking aid
and instruction. The Daimio rose and signed him to do the same.

“Woroto Sama is implored to pardon the rudeness,” he said. “Excuse is
offered that he was not distinctly announced as a teacher.”

I glanced down at the stooped figure of Gengo.

“The offence is forgotten. Mistakes occur even with the best of
intentions. I have come at the command of the Shogun to instruct his
son in _tojin_ learning.”

Abe whispered a few words to the Prince, who promptly stepped away from
his seat, and waved me to it with a graceful bow.

“My honorable teacher is entreated to repose himself,” he murmured, in
a voice so like his sister’s as to startle me.

I contrived to maintain my dignity, and seated myself in the place of
honor, with my sword at my right hand. As Gengo withdrew, the Prince
seated himself on my left, between me and Abe. After an exchange
of bows and formal greetings, I at once entered upon my duties by
inquiring the Prince’s knowledge of the outside world. It proved to be
scant and vague, yet gave me a basis upon which to build.

As a beginning, I gave a brief explanation of the earth’s relation to
the solar system. This, though quickly grasped by Abe, seemed beyond
the comprehension of the Prince, who complained that so strange a
statement could not be reconciled to the facts that Ama-terasu the Sun
Goddess had come down to Dai Nippon, and that Dai Nippon, the centre of
the universe, rested upon the back of the great fish.

When I sought to argue the matter, the Prince became excited and
insisted upon the truth of his myths with childish petulance. Abe
intervened, with tactful diplomacy, and I, perceiving the weakness
of the Prince’s mind, waived the dispute, and sought to divert the
attention of my pupil with descriptions of _tojin_ costume and
architecture.

This proved to be as successful as my first attempt had been
unfortunate. Iyesada at once grew tranquil and exhibited the utmost
curiosity over the absurdities of the hairy barbarians. I illustrated
my descriptions with sketches, which the Prince copied with remarkable
facility and precision.

Had I given way to the desire of my pupil, I should have continued with
him all day. But I had not come to the palace to waste all my time on
this unfortunate epileptic. At the end of two hours I informed him that
it was time to close the lesson. When he demurred, with a quick return
of petulance, I stated that it was inadvisable to teach him more at
this time, since I wished him to reduce to writing all the information
he had received.

Abe gravely commended my plan of instruction, and the Prince at once
deferred to his companion. I withdrew, having taught my pupil a few
valuable facts along with a mass of inconsequential chaff, and having
learned in turn that he was a capricious weakling, very much under the
influence of the quiet Abe Ise-no-kami.

With Gengo again for guide, we left the Prince’s enclosure and crossed
over into another walled subdivision of the citadel. Though I did not
recognize it as the garden in which I had met the Princess, the failure
may have been due to an approach from an opposite direction. Enough for
me that I was being conducted to my adorable little darling.

This time there was no delay. Yuki and Fujimaro were left in an
anteroom, and I was conducted to the seat of honor in the adjoining
reception chamber. The room, which was decorated with elegant
simplicity, overlooked a miniature landscape garden of rocks and ferns
and dwarfed trees.

Hardly had Gengo withdrawn to the anteroom when a side screen drew
aside to admit a dozen or more demure and graceful _samurai_ ladies.
They ranged themselves along the side of the room, midway down, and
kowtowed to me. As I nodded with the austerity becoming a _daimio_
in the presence of women, O Setsu San entered and knelt. Close
after appeared my little Princess, smiling yet demure, composed yet
graciously eager to welcome her august teacher.

Softly she glided out past her ladies-in-waiting and sank down before
me with her white forehead upon the mat. “Ten thousand felicitous years
to my Lord Woroto!” she murmured.

“The good wish of Azai Sama is acknowledged,” I replied. “The august
lady is requested to seat herself at the left hand of her teacher.”

“Pardon, my lord, but it is not permissible for a woman to sit in the
presence of one so vastly above her.”

“Let two boxes of this height be brought,” I ordered, holding my hand
at the height of a chair.

O Setsu San glided out, and returned in a few moments with a pair of
lacquered cases about the size of tea chests. I signed her to set them
down near the side of the room that faced the garden.

“As teacher of the _tojin_ learning and customs,” I explained, “I will
begin by showing the Princess the _tojin_ etiquette practised between a
gentleman and a lady. The Princess will be pleased to act as directed.”

I rose and offered her my hand. “May I have the pleasure of assisting
you to rise?”

Azai glanced up at me with a startled look. I smiled. “The august lady
is to take my hand, and say, ‘You are very kind.’”

“You are very kind, my lord!” she whispered, and half averting her
head, she entrusted one of her tiny hands to me.

I drew her up, stepped back, and swept her a bow in Occidental style.
“Permit me to conduct you to a seat.”

She looked at me in a puzzled manner, and I explained with utmost
gravity: “You will bow--no, not to the floor, only a little more than
I. In this fashion--so! that is better. Now place the fingers of one
hand upon my arm.”

The tips of her fingers touched the silk sleeve of my proffered arm
with the lightness of a perching butterfly. I escorted her to the
nearest chest, bowed, and turned back for a cushion. Placing it upon
the chest, I took her hand and assisted her to seat herself, facing the
garden. But when I drew the other chest nearer and was about to sit,
she stopped me with a quick little cry, and fluttered back to fetch me
my cushion from before the _tokonoma_. As she knelt to place it on my
chest I looked down at her with well-feigned severity.

“The august lady forgets that she is receiving a lesson.”

“Pardon, my lord! But could I permit my august teacher to seat himself
without his cushion?”

“The august lady will remember that she is receiving a lesson in
_tojin_ etiquette. Among my people the gentleman always attends upon
the lady.”

So preposterous a reversal of all the rules of propriety compelled
the bevy of ladies across the room from us to murmur in astonishment.
But Azai meekly permitted me to assist her again to her seat. Before
seating myself I assumed my austere manner and sought to forestall
criticism by another explanation: “The august lady is now to converse
freely, as to an equal, on music and art and flower arrangements and
the amusements permitted young ladies.”

I glanced across at the ladies-in-waiting. Quickly as they lowered
their eyes, I caught their stare of mingled curiosity, wonder, and
merriment. Only Setsu was regarding me with a frown. She was not
pleased with the game I was playing in the face of all present and
perhaps of some not present. It is easy to make a peep-hole through a
paper screen.

But I had gone too far to withdraw. I seated myself, and, with a wave
of my hand towards the garden, murmured ardently: “Azai! we must make
gestures and pretend to be talking of flowers and art, but you know
what my heart burns to say to you!”

“My lord! Love is surely a gift of the gods! All these days I have
been wrapped about as it were in a dream of wonder and delight! How is
it possible that so low and mean a creature as I can be loved by my
lord?”

“Is an angel a low or mean creature? Little Princess, because you are
in the world, the sun is bright, the moon silvery. The stars twinkle
with joy when you smile up into the gloomy sky. I have no need to see
the cherry blossoms of Nippon--I have seen you! When you speak I fancy
the nightingale is singing!”

“My lord,” she whispered, “such praise is as far above my worthlessness
as the sun above the abyss. May Kwannon grant me the joy of serving my
lord for the space of seven existences!”

“For all time, Azai--we shall be linked together in mutual love and
service! We are fated to be united throughout eternity.”

“My lord!” she murmured, and she turned to bend to me, her dark eyes
beaming with unutterable love and devotion.

“Look to the front!” I warned her, and again I pointed to the garden
as if remarking upon one of the dwarfed trees. She recovered her
composure on the instant. Yet I perceived that the situation was more
difficult than I had the right to require of her. I turned to the rear
and remarked: “Among my people it is customary for ladies to entertain
visitors with music.”

Azai turned about also, and made a sign to Setsu. The girl went out
with a companion and brought in a _koto_, an instrument resembling a
large horizontal harp or zithern. This was an agreeable surprise to me.
So far I had heard only the _samisens_ of the _geisha_, and their notes
are particularly discordant to Occidental ears.

Now I was to hear the instrument of the _samurai_ ladies, played by
none other than Azai herself. She adjusted the ivory plectrums upon
her plump little fingers and, kneeling beside the _koto_, began to
play. Though mostly in the minor key and full of quick transitions that
were often discordant to me, her music had many passages of plaintive
sweetness. My enjoyment may have been due in part to the personality of
the player, for the Occidental ear is not attuned to Oriental music.
Yet the _koto_ is certainly far more harmonious than the twanging
_samisen_.

When the Princess finished playing, I called for writing materials, and
attempted by means of words and drawings to describe the harpsichord
and pianoforte. I used one of the chests as a table for drawing my
figures, and it was necessary for Azai to kneel across from me that
she might bend near enough to follow the lines I drew to illustrate my
explanations. It was natural that our glances should meet. I saw my
soul in her sweet eyes.

In the midst, one of the wall screens at the foot of the room was flung
open, and Gengo the chamberlain entered, insolently erect.

“His Highness the Tycoon commands the presence of the _tojin_,” he
announced.

“Kwannon!” gasped Azai, and she sprang up to interpose her slender
figure between me and the chamberlain. “My lord--I fear! Should it
mean--the worst--I will rejoin my lord!”

“Not that--not that!” I protested.

“Without my lord I could not live! If my lord goes from this life, I
will follow!”

Her eyes glowed up into mine with that light of utter devotion. If I
died, she also would die. There was no hope of dissuading her. I bowed
in formal leave. She kowtowed with her ladies. I advanced to Gengo and
passed out without a backward glance.




CHAPTER XXIV--ENSNARED


In the anteroom my austerity subdued Gengo to his usual obsequiousness.
He bowed low before my glance, and ushered me out with the utmost
deference. But as we recrossed into the enclosure of the main palace he
halted and signed to Yuki and Fujimaro to turn aside.

“Rejoin your fellow-retainers,” he commanded.

“No. Follow me,” I interposed.

“It is not permissible,” stated the chamberlain.

“It was permissible when I came with the Prince of Owari.”

“The _tojin sama_ is not Owari dono.”

“The Shogun has summoned me. My attendants accompany me to the waiting
room. Lead on.”

Again my stern composure overcame his servile nature. He led us through
the garden to one of the side entrances of the palace. In the first
room three other officials appeared and called upon my attendants to
halt. Fujimaro and Yuki stopped and kowtowed. I gave over my sword and
dirk to Yuki, and proceeded with Gengo and one of the other officials.

Hastening along a broad corridor, we soon came to a room full of
armed guards, who crouched in a peculiar posture, with hands on their
swordhilts, as though about to leap up. The room was without screens
along the hall, but was closed on the side adjoining the Shogun’s
audience chamber, into which the corridor opened a few paces farther
on. At the threshold the second official halted. Gengo kowtowed and
began to crawl up the mats of the audience hall.

The Shogun was seated on a low dais, behind which a group of guards
crouched in the same posture as those in the anteroom. Before the
Shogun, on the right, knelt five officials. Of these, the nearest one
to the dais was Midzuano Echizen-no-kami, from which I inferred that
the four others were his fellow-members of the Council of Elders. All
turned and stared at me as I stalked up the chamber after Gengo. But
the Shogun sat with eyes downcast, contemplating the fan which he held
unopened upon his lap.

Several mats short of the dais Gengo kowtowed and drew aside. I
advanced much nearer, kowtowed, and rose to my knees to face the
Shogun. My heart sank. His gloomy eyes were fixed upon me in a menacing
stare. It was evident that he was greatly angered at me, and Midzuano
was present to spur him on to extremes. I contrived to smile and utter
a courtier’s phrase: “Your Highness has commanded. The _tojin_ hastens
to render service.”

“The _tojin_ is ill advised to use the word ‘service,’” rejoined the
Shogun harshly. “It is said that Woroto has taken into his service Yuki
the _ronin_. Such an act cannot be regarded other than as a reflection
upon my justice.”

“Your Highness,” I replied, “it is the glory of Japanese justice
that deeds are considered in the light of motives and circumstances.
Doubtless the members of the august Elder Council have sought to
persuade Your Highness that I made Yuki my swordbearer with the
deliberate intent to affront the Sei-i-tai Shogun. In such matters,
Your Highness, certain classes of the _tojin_ peoples are very
plain-spoken. On my honor as a man of highest birth among my people, I
say that if such an allegation has been made, it is a malicious lie and
slander.”

“The _tojin_ speaks with an excess of heat,” murmured the Chief
Counsellor. “Let him give proof that he is slandered.”

“First let my defamer give proof of the charge against me,” I retorted.

“You do not deny having taken the _ronin_ into your service,” said the
Shogun.

“In the midst of my trial before the High Court, Your Highness, the
Daimio of Satsuma interposed to save Yuki from further torture, and
honored him with a priceless gift. Does Midzuano charge the Daimio with
affronting Your Highness?”

“The Lord of Satsuma did not take the _ronin_ into his service.”

“For the reason, Your Highness, that I spoke first. Ask the Daimio if
he does not regret his delay. Yet any thought of aspersion upon the
justice of Your Highness was as far from my mind as from the Daimio’s.
And in justice to a most loyal subject, I must declare that among
all the _hatamotos_ there is none truer than Yuki. In the hour of
humiliation the brave man bowed to the justice of his lord without a
murmur. So devoted was his loyalty that he endured torture rather than
testify against those who had saved the daughter of Your Highness from
_ronin_ capture.”

The Shogun bent towards me with sudden deepening of his frown.
“Insolent barbarian! do you dare speak of your artifice?”

“My artifice, Your Highness?”

“Can you deny that the attack of the _ronins_ was a prearranged plot by
which you and Yoritomo profited?” demanded Midzuano.

The subtle intriguer was actually charging us with the villainy of his
own party. The sudden springing of the snare caused me to hesitate.

“Answer!” cried the Shogun. “You and your accomplices knew beforehand
of the plot.”

“We knew beforehand that Keiki had plotted the attack--”

“Keiki?”

“He set the Mito _ronins_ upon the cortege of the Princess, expecting
to rescue her at the last moment, and so gain the favor of Your
Highness.”

“Did I not foretell to Your Highness that they would seek to divert
the charge of guilt from themselves by some such incredible tale?”
murmured the Chief Counsellor. “Keiki Sama did not appear until after
the massacre. But this _tojin_ and his fellow-spy followed the cortege
in disguise from beyond the outer moat. If they knew beforehand of the
intended attack and were innocent of complicity, why did they not warn
the cortege?”

To refute such subtleness was beyond me. The best I could do was to
assume a bold front.

“As a kinsman of Owari, I do not choose to answer the queries of the
partisan of Mito,” I declared.

“Not even to explain why you held off until the _ronins_ had
slaughtered the _hatamotos_, and why the _ronins_ fled before two men
when they had slain a score?” interrogated Midzuano.

“Give me a sword and confront me with a Mito partisan in full armor,” I
rejoined. “One reason for the fleeing of the _ronins_ will shortly be
made apparent.”

“Enough of the _ronin_ attack and of Yuki the _ronin_,” said the
Shogun. “There remains a matter that more nearly concerns my honor.
Gengo will repeat his account of the outrageous conduct of the _tojin_
in the palace of the Princess.”

I flushed crimson with rage. The treacherous chamberlain had stolen out
during my instruction of Azai, to aid Midzuano in setting this snare
for my destruction. I met the gaze of the Shogun with a look as angry
as his own, and said with deliberate reproof: “In my land men of noble
blood do not publicly discuss matters concerning ladies.”

He made a sign with his fan, and commanded: “All others than Midzuano
will withdraw beyond earshot.”

“The matter is between Your Highness and myself,” I said. “My life is
in the hand of Minamoto Iyeyoshi. Rather than speak in the presence of
a third person, I am prepared to die without benefit of medicine.”

The Shogun again signed with his fan. Midzuano rose to his knees and
shuffled away after the others. I was left alone in front of the dais,
still too angry to flinch before the Shogun’s frown and the menace of
his eyes.

“Your Highness has condemned me without a hearing,” I charged. “Is that
the boasted justice of Dai Nippon?”

“Such insolence is of itself worthy of death!” he exclaimed.

“Your Highness,” I replied, “I come of a family so proud that it is a
degradation for me to kowtow even before the exalted ruler of Nippon,
yet my desire to serve has caused me to humble myself.”

“The rudeness of the _tojin_ might be forgiven on the plea of his
ignorance. Not so an insult to the Princess my daughter.”

“Your Highness has listened to the lying tales of my enemies. I would
sooner strike off my right hand than insult the Princess Azai. Your
Highness does ill to heed the malicious slanders of those who condemned
me on false charges and who, when baffled by the command of Your
Highness, laid an ambush for me in the garden of the Princess.”

“In the garden of the Princess!--ambush!” he repeated.

“Upon the first day of the panic,” I said, and I gave him a concise
account of all that had occurred from the interruption of my passage to
Owari Yashiki by Gengo to my rescue by the Princess on the bridge.

“_Namida!_” he muttered, when I came to a pause. “I cannot put to
torture a man whom she saved.”

“Your Highness,” I replied, hastening to take advantage of this
betrayal of tenderness, “the happiness of a child is one of the fondest
wishes of a parent. I ask permission to speak openly, after the manner
of my people.”

He studied me for some moments, between curiosity and rankling anger.
Curiosity won. “Speak according to the manner of your people,” he
commanded.

I bowed. “Let Your Highness bear in mind that whatever I say, though
contrary to Japanese etiquette, is spoken with utmost deference and
respect for yourself and the Princess Azai.”

“Speak,” he repeated, masking his anger behind an inscrutable calm.

“In the first place,” I began, “Your Highness should know that Yoritomo
Sama, my friend and brother in spirit, has vowed to enter the monastery
of Zozoji. Your Highness may recall the statement of Azai Sama, made
upon the occasion of my first audience with Your Highness. In the chief
temple of Shiba, below the image of the Goddess of Mercy, was where the
Princess and I first gazed into each other’s eyes.”

The Shogun started, and a threatening flash shot from his sombre eyes.
But again he masked all feeling behind a look of inquisitorial coldness.

I continued: “Is it an error to believe that my meetings with the
august lady have been guided by a higher cause than human will or blind
chance? As I have said, we first saw one another before Kwannon, in the
sanctuary of the temple. Our second meeting was in the midst of battle
and slaughter; the third in the presence of Your Highness, when I was
received as the kinsman of Owari dono and as a _daimio_ of the first
class; the fourth in her garden, when she saved me from the treacherous
plot of my enemies--”

“Proof is yet to be made that either Keiki or Midzuano knew of the
attack. You have yourself stated Gengo’s claim that he was confused by
reason of the great terror which lay upon all. The gate watch had only
to discover your presence in the forbidden enclosure, to charge upon
you.”

“I have presented the facts so far as I know them, Your Highness. What
I now wish to make clear is how Fate has brought together myself and
the august lady. Twice Your Highness called upon your daughter to serve
the _tojin_ guest. It cannot be that Your Highness failed to perceive
that her soul shone in my eyes--”

“_Namida!_” he broke in. “For far less presumption men have been sawn
asunder--crucified!--burned!”

“Is the presumption so great when consideration is taken of the honor
accorded me by Your Highness? As the acknowledged peer of the Prince of
Owari and the Daimio of Satsuma--”

“Hairy barbarian!” he flung at me.

“Your Highness has read the memorial of Yoritomo Sama,” I replied. “My
people are as vastly above your people in some respects as your people
are above mine in others. Another matter--who may say whence our souls
come and whither they go? My friend Yoritomo contends that the august
lady and I must have loved one another in a previous incarnation. This
I do not know, but I do know that I have seen my soul in the eyes of
the Princess.”

His face darkened with a sudden return of anger, but his voice was
constrained to a false calmness: “It is now perceived that the _tojin_
is a madman. Permission is granted him to withdraw.”

“Your Highness!” I protested. “The happiness of the Princess--”

“Her happiness and honor will be safe in the keeping of her husband.
She shall wed Keiki, the son of Mito.”

“Keiki?” I cried. “The man who sought to disgrace her?”

“Does the _tojin_ still hold to that lie? Enough! His punishment will
be considered, and command sent in due time.--Go!”

There was no hope for me in the cold menace of his look. Yet I did not
give way to any outward display of the fear and despair that was within
me. Sustained by the pride of race and blood, I forced a smile, and
kowtowed and withdrew, complying with the most punctilious requirements
of court etiquette.




CHAPTER XXV--HARA-KIRI


Not until I stood in my own apartments in Owari Yashiki, alone with
Yoritomo, did I give way to the tempest within my soul. Even then the
frailness of the walls compelled me to speak with lowered voice, but
my pent-up rage and despair vented themselves in a flood of bitter
complaint. Never had I seen my friend so concerned. Yet it was the
outcome he had predicted, and he could give me no hope.

“I grieve for you, Worth,” he said. “You have learned the truth. The
remotest suggestion of your desire would seem madness to Iyeyoshi.”

“But she loves me--”

“The daughters of _daimios_ and shoguns are presumed not to love until
after marriage. Your statement to him that she loved you was most
unfortunate. Even a _samurai_ of the lowest rank would consider such
a declaration an aspersion upon his family honor. Had it not been for
that--”

“Forgive me, Tomo! I have played into the hands of your enemies--I have
endangered all your plans! The tyrant will not stop at punishing me. He
will wreak his anger upon those who have harbored the hated _tojin_.
I shall leave Owari Yashiki at once and turn _ronin_, taking with me
Yuki. Neither of us shall continue to bring danger upon the House of
Owari.”

For some moments he sat silent, regarding me with a smile of womanly
tenderness. When he replied he spoke as if quoting from the Chinese
classics: “Far better is death in the consciousness of honor than a
grovelling prosperity. The laws of hospitality are sacred: they may not
be violated. A house that cannot stand upright should fall.”

“The House of Owari bears the weight of the contest against Mito,” I
argued. “The enemies of Owari seek to use the harboring of the _tojin_
as a lever to overthrow the real friends of Nippon.”

“It is of no avail, Worth,” he said. “Your sacrifice would result in
no good. If we are not strong enough to shelter you, we are not strong
enough to resist Mito. The matter is in my hands, not yours. Let
writing materials be brought.”

“What would you do?” I demanded, seized with a premonition of his
purpose.

He smiled almost gayly. “The time has come for me to give myself for
the success of my mission.”

“Tomo,” I cried, “not that! not that!”

“What is death?” he argued. “A passing from blind form to unhampered
spirit; a freeing of the bonds of earthly desire. Other and higher
incarnations await him who has sought to overcome self.”

“Tomo, I have brought you to this fearful thought--I can never forgive
myself!”

“You have nothing to forgive, Worth. You are in no manner responsible
for what I am about to do. That was determined upon by me before I so
much as saw your ship in Kagoshima Bay. How often have I told you that
my life has been vowed?”

“Yet it might not have been required! It is my selfishness that is
forcing you to this dreadful decision. At the best I am a condemned
man. It is my right to do what little I can to free the House of Owari
from blame.”

“The House of Owari stands or falls in honor. To thrust you out as a
_ronin_ would stain that honor, and it would rightfully be considered
as evidence of weakness. No, brother! There is one chance, and only
one, to check the intrigues of Mito.”

I shuddered. “So dreadful a death, Tomo! Could I but take your place!”

“I am _samurai_ bred. It is a privilege to offer one’s life in a great
cause. You, I fear, will have the harder task. I shall ask you to
perform for me the service of best friend.”

“You mean--?”

“You will act as my chief second in the ceremony.”

“No! no!” I cried, quivering with horror. “If you cannot be turned from
your dreadful sacrifice, let Yuki--but I--the very thought--my God!”

“Yuki is your retainer. I will accept him as my inferior second. You
are my friend and equal. I ask you to perform the highest office of
friendship.”

“No!” I protested. “The very thought is too terrible! I cannot endure
it.”

“The chief second is not always required to act,” he said. “I may have
the fortitude to dispense with assistance. Will you not render me
this great service of friendship? It is the custom. You will win the
gratitude of my father, the grateful respect of the Owari clansmen.
Promise me the favor.”

“Tomo! you know how abhorrent to all my Western ideas--”

“It is the highest office of friendship. My brother, you admire the
_samurai_ spirit because it is in your blood. No _samurai_ will flinch
when duty demands. You are my friend, my kinsman. You will serve me,
Worth! With my sword in your hands, I will undertake the ceremony
certain of an honorable outcome. Remember, you are now a son of Dai
Nippon.”

“You insist?--Good God!”

“In honor to your dearest friend--”

“I am only a _tojin_. They will call my service a dishonor.”

“You have been received by Iyeyoshi as the equal of Satsuma. I have no
other friend. Will you fail me in my need?”

“My God!” I cried. “How can I?”

“I speak only of friendship. I will not urge your assent on the ground
of consideration for my father. For the sake of Dai Nippon, I went out
into your _tojin_ world and returned to die. You chose to return with
me, brother. Will you now forsake me in my need?”

Suddenly the veil of horror parted before me, and I saw the intended
sacrifice with the eyes of my friend. Iyeyoshi had been duped by the
wiles of the reactionaries. The Mito party, if not quickly checkmated,
would turn the Shogunate against all progress and greet the American
expedition upon its return with an attack no less vicious than futile.
After that, war and reprisals; bombardments by the black ships,
rebellion, internecine war, and a weakened Government; harsh demands by
the domineering _tojin_ powers--possibly a conquest!

What more inspiring than the thought that all might be averted by the
giving of one life? My friend was about to offer himself as a willing
sacrifice for the good of his country. It was my privilege to ease the
ordeal for him and to lend an added dignity to the ceremony. What did
it matter if my Occidental prejudices were shocked and horrified at
the part required of me? To the Japanese it was an almost sacred duty.
He had well said that it was the highest service a man could render a
friend.

“I--will serve--you, Tomo!” I gasped.

He sprang up, beaming. “There is no time to lose. Send Yuki to
Shinagawa for Kohana. I must see my father and prepare a declaratory
testament to be presented to the Shogun. Fujimaro will make all the
necessary arrangements. Until the time comes, brother--”

He turned to go, but I sprang before him to grasp his hand. “Tomo! must
it really be? Is there no other way?”

“Your sorrow is my sole regret,” he replied. “All others whom I love
will rejoice with me in my deed.”

To this I had no reply. He gave my hand a responsive grip, and hastened
out. I sank down, overcome with a wave of returning grief and horror.
But he had said there was need for haste. I sat up and clapped sharply
for Fujimaro and Yuki. They entered and bowed to receive my urgent
commands. Yuki rushed out to ride posthaste to Shinagawa, Fujimaro to
make arrangements for the ceremony of _hara-kiri_. I was left alone
with my anguish.

Twilight approached. My attendants came with lamps and the evening
meal. I could not eat, and I dared not refresh myself with _sake_.
There was need for me to retain perfect control of mind and body. I
could do nothing but suffer and wait for the terrible moment, hiding my
pain as best I could behind a mask of austerity.

At last Yuki came to announce his return with Kohana San. I ordered
the _geisha_ brought in and Yoritomo notified. As the girl kowtowed
before me I saw by her pallor that she had been told. Yet she had the
fortitude to smile and murmur the usual complimentary greetings. Only
once I caught her gaze and read in her agonized eyes the grief and
despair which etiquette compelled her to conceal.

Soon Yoritomo entered, gravely serene, yet radiant with the solemn joy
of self-sacrifice. His final testament was in the hands of his father.
All was now in readiness for him to undergo the ultimate test of
sincerity. When he seated himself beside me Kohana prostrated herself
at his feet. He regarded her with the tender compassion of a saint for
a suffering child.

“Kohana is of _samurai_ blood,” he said. “She knows that death is a
small matter.”

“The servant implores the honorable joy of following her lord!” she
murmured.

“Greater service is asked,” he replied. “Those whom I leave behind may
still profit by the craft of Kohana.”

“Must I then linger?” she sobbed. The weakness was only of a moment’s
duration. She looked up, her face bright with the same glory of
self-sacrifice that shone in the serene countenance of my friend. “The
will of my lord is the joy of his servant!”

Yuki kowtowed to me and whispered: “My lord, now is our time for
purification.”

I rose and followed him to the bath, leaving Yoritomo and his beloved
to say their farewells alone. When we returned, purified by the water
and attired in ceremonial costume of _hakama_ trousers and hempen
winged jackets, I found my visitors gone. In their place Fujimaro
waited to hand me my friend’s sword. The time had almost come.

To make certain of my part, I asked a number of questions and agreed
upon a signal from Yuki. Fujimaro then led us to the wing of the palace
in which a chamber had been set apart for the ceremony. In the centre
of the room the mats were covered with a spread of white silk, upon
which in turn were laid two red quilts. At each corner of the quilts
stood a single whitewood candlestick with its hollow-wick taper. The
only other lights in the room were two candles beside a pair of
bench-like seats, five or six paces distant from the quilts.

Chancing to glance behind a set of white folding screens that stood
across from the seats, I saw my friend’s dirk lying upon a tray of
unvarnished cypress wood. There were other objects beside the tray.
I looked hastily away. Having assured ourselves that all was in
readiness, Yuki and I went out into a side room, and waited.

We heard soft footsteps in the chamber. After a few minutes Yoritomo
came down a corridor, accompanied by several chamberlains. He had
already taken leave of his father and mother, and was dressed in the
prescribed ceremonial costume of white linen. Kohana had gone, and the
Prince did not appear. Fujimaro entered and together with the other
chamberlains kowtowed while Yuki and I conducted our principal into the
chamber.

We found the witnesses to the ceremony seated upon the benches. Great
as was my anguish, I thrilled with momentary pleasure when I recognized
Ii Kamon-no-kami and the great Daimio of Satsuma. Not even Mito might
doubt the testimony of such witnesses.

Yuki kowtowed. Yoritomo and I bowed low, and the _daimios_ rose to
return the salute. The _daimios_ resumed their seats. Yoritomo seated
himself on knees and heels in the centre of the quilts, facing so that
the witnesses were before him on his left. I took up my position behind
him and drew his sword as Fujimaro had directed me. Yuki brought the
tray with the dirk from behind the screen, and knelt to present it.

Yoritomo bowed to the _daimios_, loosened his robes, and took the dirk
from the tray. Yuki kowtowed in a position that enabled him to watch
the fatal stroke and give me the signal. Yoritomo tucked the ends of
his sleeves under his knees, that his body might not fall backward.

I stood in my place, rigid with horror. Fortunately I could not see his
face or the frightful stroke. That at least I was spared. All I saw
was the dear form of my friend bending over under the agony--to fail
him now would mean a prolongation of his atrocious pain, possibly the
fearful disgrace of an outcry--Yuki signed to me. I struck. Never had I
aimed a truer blow!

The next I knew I was holding my sleeve before my eyes, and some one
was leading me from the chamber of death.




CHAPTER XXVI--HOVERING HAWKS


All night I lay tossing in the anguish of my grief, unable to sleep and
forget. Morning found me distraught and fast losing my senses in the
delirium of fever.

When I reawakened to consciousness I found myself in a large room that
opened upon an entrancing view of the _yashiki_ gardens. There had been
a heavy rain, and a flood of morning sun rays were streaming through
the gray clouds to scintillate among the foliage with iridescent
splendors. This, I believe, was what had roused me. I turned my head
for a better look, and discovered that I was strangely weak. Then I
remembered, and I no longer saw the magic glory of the gem-flashing
garden. I groaned and sank back upon my silken quilts.

Gentle fingers stroked my forehead. I opened my eyes and gazed up into
the soft eyes of the quaintly beautiful little lady Tokiwa--his mother!
How could she endure the sight of him who had held the sword!--Again I
groaned and closed my eyes.

A man’s voice murmured a prayer for me to give heed. I looked up and
saw a benevolent old man with huge grotesque eyes. He bent forward
tremulously, and I perceived that the supposed eyes were Chinese
goggles. He kowtowed and, quivering and sweating with fear, offered me
a bowl of medicine. I took a sip of the nauseating draught, and thrust
the bowl from me in violent loathing. The physician drew back before my
angry gesture, gray with fear.

“It is required that the august lord should receive treatment,” he
murmured.

“It is my mind, not my body, that is sick,” I rejoined. “Go!”

He crept away in trembling obedience. The Princess Tokiwa bent over
me to stroke my forehead with her soothing fingers. I shrank from her
touch and threw my arm across my eyes.

“August lady,” I cried, “how can you bear to come near the
_tojin_?--Forgive me!”

“Forgive?” she asked, in evident wonderment. “Not forgiveness but
gratitude is due the august lord. The House of Owari is the debtor of
Woroto Sama.”

I stared at her incredulously. Was it possible that even she could
feel gratitude towards the man who had held the sword? She was his
mother!--Yet I could not mistake the expression of her gentle face.
It is not alone the men of Nippon’s nobility who are _samurai_ bred.
There was profound grief in the depths of her dark eyes, but it was
a grief crowned with the glory of her son’s heroic martyrdom, and
in her sight I was illumined by the reflection of his glory. In the
realization of that fact my conscience was appeased. The terrible
feeling of blood-guilt passed from me and I was healed.

“August lady,” I whispered, “the customs of the _tojin_ world are far
different from the customs of Dai Nippon. I served my friend according
to his wish. It has made me a Japanese.”

She beamed upon me with a radiant smile, utterly unconscious of my real
meaning.

“Is not Woroto Sama a kinsman of Owari?” she murmured. “Though he came
from beyond the seas, he has proved that he is _samurai_ bred. No
longer will the clan of Owari think of him as a man of _tojin_ birth.”

“It is true, august lady. I am now Japanese. The country of my brother
Yoritomo is now my country, and his mission is my mission.” I sat up.
“See! My strength returns at the very thought. Let Yuki be sent to me.
He and I have alike incurred the displeasure of the Shogun. We will
become _ronins_.”

“Is the august lord angered that he would shame the hospitality of
Owari?” she protested.

“I have brought danger upon the family of my friend and kinsman!” was
my answer.

She rose and glided from the room. I turned to creep to a rack upon
which my clothes were hanging, but when I began dressing myself I found
that I could hardly stand. Trailing my girdle behind me, I tottered
back to my bed and sank down upon it. Before I could recover sufficient
energy to finish my dressing, the Prince entered and seated himself
close beside me.

When we had exchanged salutes, he regarded me gravely and asked: “Has
my guest been affronted that he should wish to leave my roof?”

“The presence of the _tojin_ threatens the House of Owari with
disaster.”

“Should Iyeyoshi command the punishment of my guest, I must submit.
Otherwise I would sooner cast out my grandson than permit my guest to
go from my gate a _ronin_.”

“What is my life against the winning of that for which a far more
precious life has been given?”

“The honor of Owari forbids,” he replied, in a tone of finality that
checked all further protest. His manner softened to the familiarity of
a father addressing a son. “Woroto may not be aware of the time that
has elapsed since he fell sick. The last writing of one who has gone
from us has been presented to the Shogun, and the witnesses have given
their evidence of the proof of sincerity. The welfare of his friend and
kinsman was not forgotten by the testator.”

“He mentioned me in so solemn a document?” I exclaimed.

“Your fate and the fate of Nippon together await the decision of
Iyeyoshi. To-morrow is the funeral. After that I go to the palace.”

“To-morrow?” I murmured. “Have I lain here so long?”

“There have been no delays,” he answered. “You will wish to accompany
the cortege to Uyeno. You must now eat and sleep, that your strength
may return.”

He withdrew, and presently Tokiwa Sama entered bearing a tray of
nourishing food prepared by her own hands. I ate, and sank into a
refreshing sleep. At nightfall she roused me for a second meal, and
after a time I again fell asleep. At dawn I wakened hungry and much
restored in strength.

Fujimaro appeared to conduct me to my bath, from which I returned to
find a dainty breakfast that had been sent by Tokiwa Sama. While I
was eating Yuki came in from a night trip to Shinagawa. He had made
it on the pretence of a carousal, but in reality to spy upon the Mito
_samurais_ and to ascertain whether all was well with Kohana. The girl
had returned home the night of Yoritomo’s death.

Yuki learned that her visit had been made without detection by our
enemies. Not only was she safe,--she had gained some information. Yuki
brought from her a message of warning, which Fujimaro read for me: “The
way of the departed winds past the eyrie of falcons. The seabird should
keep to his nest.”

“The Superior Mito Yashiki lies on the road to Uyeno,” explained Yuki.

“They would not dare to desecrate the funeral cortege by an attack?” I
exclaimed.

“What Mito does not dare is yet to be seen. My lord and his escort will
wear steel within their linen robes,” said Yuki, and he hastened out to
fetch me a mail cuirass and a cap-like helmet, while Fujimaro brought
me a mourning costume of white linen.

Leaving me to the chamberlain, Yuki withdrew to prepare himself and
my retinue against treacherous attack. I was dressed and conducted by
Fujimaro to a room in which I had often honored the ancestors of Owari
by bowing to the Shinto god-shelf. But the shelf and its tablets were
now hidden by a curtain of white paper.

We passed on into the chamber where the dead lay before the lighted
candles of the Buddhist family shrine. Neither the Prince nor the
Princess were present. I was received by the chief mourner, a grave and
decorous-mannered boy of twelve, the son of Yoritomo’s elder brother. I
had expected to see the square coffin or great red urn in which, as a
rule, persons of noble rank are buried. But my friend was recumbent in
a long lacquered case, the head of which was placed to the north.

A napkin lay across his neck. The serene smile on the face was so
characteristic that I could have fancied he was asleep had it not been
for the vermilion with which the coffin was in great part filled. The
chamber was crowded with friends and relatives of the family, but I saw
none of them. I looked at my dearest friend, and drew back to kneel
among the other mourners, my eyes dim with the starting tears.

My arrival had been late. A Buddhist priest with a little bell entered.
After a brief ceremony _etas_ came in to bear out the corpse. None
other than a pariah might touch the dead. All passed out into the open
and formed the funeral cortege, led by the priest with his bell and
next a boy carrying the _ihai_, or memorial tablet, of the deceased.
All the men followed with the chief mourner, bearing flowers and
symbolic banners. The coffin was borne after us on the shoulders of the
_etas_ in the reversed position of a _norimon_. Last of all came the
women mourners.

The procession was very long. Before the rear left Owari Yashiki, the
van was far outstretched on the causeway that led along the bank of the
outer moat towards Mito Yashiki. Slowly and solemnly we paced along
the deserted roadway, beside the still waters in which marvellous lotus
blossoms reared aloft their great blue-green pads. A mile brought us to
the bridge across the Yodogawa where it flows into the moat.

The causeway now turned with the moat from northeast to east and
skirted the long walls of Mito Yashiki. Yuki and his men pressed up
close beside me, and grasped their swords within the white robes. But
the _yashiki_ seemed as deserted as was the street before the funeral
cortege of the son of Owari. Not a face appeared at one of all the
long row of grated windows. The great gates were closed, and no warder
peered from the porter’s window.

We passed by in a solemn silence broken only by the tinkle of the
priest’s bell and the scuffle of heavy sandals. The Mito men had
respected the dead, not, I surmised, through any desire to honor Owari,
but because an attack on the cortege would have been considered little
less than sacrilegious by the other clans.

With no thought of danger to divert me from grief, the long march on
to Uyeno seemed to drag out to dreary infinity. Yet at last we passed
up the wide Hirokoji Street and through the Black Gate of Uyeno. Park
and mortuary chapels and monasteries were not unlike those of Shiba,
and the great temple of To-yei-zan hardly less grand than Zozoji. But
I had no heart for such wonders as the vast stone lantern and vaster
bronze Buddha, the myriad-handed image of Kwannon, and the beautiful
paintings, arabesques, and sculptures of gates and ceilings. The tombs
and temples of shoguns were nothing to me. I was looking upon the
coffin of my friend.

When the gorgeously robed priests had ended their chanted ritual, I
rose in turn with the other mourners, to bow before the coffin and lay
incense upon the smoking censer and withdraw to my place. When all had
taken the last farewell, the _etas_ bore him into the tomb.

“My lord,” murmured Yuki, “it is ill advised for us to linger. We
should return without delay to the outer moat, and cross over through
the official quarter. To repass Mito Yashiki would be to incur great
risk.”

“What!” I demanded. “Are we to skulk from our enemies on our return
from _his_ funeral? Let others do as they choose. We return as we came.”

His eyes flashed with martial fire. “My lord speaks as a true
_samurai_! His attendants will go with him gladly.”

“The hawks poise. Do not go, my lord,” whispered a voice behind me.

“Kohana!” I exclaimed, and I turned about swiftly. I saw her slender
figure gliding in amongst a group of the women mourners. In a moment I
had lost sight of her. Yuki sprang to overtake her, but I stopped him
with a gesture.

“Come,” I said. “Let the hawks swoop. They will find heron beaks
awaiting them.”

Fifty men, all mail-clad under their white robes, followed me out
through the Black Gate and down Hirokoji Street. Our sandals were bound
on tight, and we swung along at a brisk road pace that promised to
carry us past Mito Yashiki a good half-hour before sundown. We had no
wish either to slip by unseen or to be ambushed in the dark.

The quickness of our return did not take the Mito men by surprise. They
had watchmen in a tower at the corner of the _yashiki_, who signalled
our approach. When we came opposite the great gate it was open, and
Keiki stood in the entrance with a band of Mito and Hitotsubashi
retainers, all in full armor. Keiki shone resplendent in a grotesque
harness of green and red and gold that gave him the appearance of
an iridescent-scaled insect. His helmet closed across his face in a
hideous mask.

Keiki’s swordbearer clanked out into the roadway to intercept us, his
mail apron lending to his gait a ludicrous appearance of waddling.
But there was nothing ludicrous in his purpose. Yuki sprang before me
and exchanged a formal bow with the challenger. A moment later their
swords flashed out. Yuki was the first swordsman of Yedo, but his
opponent was a close second.

For a long two minutes their swords clashed in terrific blows, stroke
upon stroke, with lightning swiftness. One of the shoulder-brassards of
the challenger fell clanging on the hard ground, shorn off by Yuki’s
blade. In turn Yuki’s mail barely saved him from a half-parried blow.
Had he worn no armor he must have been killed by that master cut. Twice
they wounded one another with frightful slashes that shore through
brass and steel and silk wadding to the flesh, yet each time failed to
maim or kill.

The crest of the challenger’s helmet was a pear-shaped ornament. At
the height of the combat the man stooped forward with the force of a
supreme stroke. Yuki glanced the whistling blade, and struck back a
tremendous downward blow that split the pear in half and cleft down
through the helmet. The challenger fell as if struck by a thunderbolt.

My men raised a jeering shout, but Keiki advanced alone, and they fell
silent again. The young lord strutted out within a few paces of me, and
called tauntingly: “Does the barbarian consider the day ill-omened for
Hitotsubashi? If so, let him take the place of his _ronin_ dog.”

“There is a _tojin_ saying that meets the situation,” I replied. “It
is to the effect that any cur may be expected to yap before his own
kennel. Mito Yashiki swarms with retainers ready to pour out and
overwhelm my small band. Keiki and his followers are in full armor. I
refuse to be tricked. If I draw sword, it means death to me, whether
or not Keiki dies first. Such being the scheme, I will even the odds
in this manner”--I drew both my revolvers--“the life of Keiki is in
my hand. He will do well to let the mourners of Yoritomo Sama pass in
peace.”

The uplifting muzzles of my heavy pistols were arguments to convince
the most sceptical. He drew back three or four paces. I signed to my
men to march on, but Yuki waited beside me. When the rear had passed,
we turned our backs upon Keiki and swung away after the others. Keiki
and his men watched us go, without uttering a word or attempting a
single hostile movement, though the champion of Mito lay outstretched
in the public highway and his blood called for vengeance upon Owari.

“The hawks have darted upon the heron beaks--and swooped back to their
eyrie!” I exclaimed. “You are not seriously hurt, Yuki?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Not yet?”

He glanced up at the high, barred windows of the _yashiki_, from
which helmeted heads were peering down upon us. I looked back at the
gate. Keiki and his men were withdrawing into the _yashiki_. There was
something ominous in their quick retreat and in the silence of the
out-peering retainers at the windows. I called upon the men to hasten.
They swung into a half trot.

A barbed arrow whistled past my cheek and across Yuki’s shoulder.
Another struck my breast and fell blunted from my mail. Yuki sprang to
my right side with upraised sword.

“Run!” he shouted. “The long hawks swoop!”

He clipped a whirring shaft in mid-air with a dexterous stroke, and
dragged me forward into the midst of the men. A storm of arrows burst
upon us, streaming down through the barred windows. We broke into
headlong flight. Beyond the farther corner of the _yashiki_ was safety,
and the distance was not great. But the barbed shafts flew thick and
fast. Had it not been for our armor I doubt if a single one of us would
have won through.

A man beside me plunged backward, struck through the throat. I would
have paused, but Yuki dragged me onward. The man was dead. We, too,
would be slain if we lingered. More than once Yuki clipped in the air
arrows that might have pierced between my steel collar and helmet.
Other arrows bruised my flesh through steel and padding. I was the
central object of the cowardly attack. The tempered steel of my
_daimio_ armor alone saved me from death. Another of my men fell dead,
and several were wounded by shafts, many of which were intended for
myself. We rushed on up the road, each wounded man between two of his
fellows.

We passed the corner of the _yashiki_. The deadly shower was
slackening. A bolt-headed arrow pierced my upper left arm from the
rear. Yuki sprang behind to shield me with his body. But it was the
last shot.

As, a little farther on, we checked our flight, Yuki said with grim
humor: “My lord now knows what hawks were meant by Kohana. They have
made us pay two men for one. It was well the Mito men did not think
sooner of the armor-piercing arrows, else my lord would have been
riddled.”

Without pausing in his stride, he snapped the arrow that had passed
half through my arm, and drew the end from the wound, and a minute
later it was tightly bandaged. The other wounded men received the same
rough, efficient surgery, but one died in the very gateway of Owari
Yashiki.




CHAPTER XXVII--SON BY ADOPTION


Dawn of the following day found the Prince of Owari at the palace,
to make complaint against the dastardly attack of the Mito men. He
returned shortly after noon, and within the hour sent word that he
would come to see me in my apartments. Fujimaro, who brought the
message, knew nothing as to the result of the visit to the Shogun.

The mingled dread and half-hearted hope with which I awaited the Prince
may well be imagined. Was I to be sentenced to a horrible death, or
merely sent out of the country? Had Yoritomo’s sacrifice won against
suspicion and reaction, or were Owari and the cause of progress to go
down to ruin and destruction with myself? Since I had lost my little
Princess, I could think of my own fate with a degree of indifference.
But that the cause for which my dear friend had given his life should
fail--what bitterness!

The Prince entered with austere stateliness, only to drop from the
formal to the familiar at the first view of my bandaged arm. He waved
all our attendants to leave, and sank down beside me, with a look of
kindly concern. “You are in pain! Your arm--did Yuki say whether the
arrow had a poisoned head?”

“No, no, my lord. The wound is already healing. I feel no pain from
that. The Shogun! Tell me!--Does the House of Owari still stand
unshaken?”

“As firmly as Fuji-yama.”

“And the schemes of Mito?”

He smiled and stroked his slender white beard. “Rekko continues to
dwell in his Inferior Yashiki. Keiki has paid a heavy price for the
pierced arm of my guest. An attack with deadly weapons within the
bounds of Yedo is an outrage upon the dignity of the Shogun.”

“His Highness once more inclines to your counsel?”

“The offering of him who has gone from us has not been without avail,
and Keiki’s false move has forced the last bar of the gate for us. Your
offence is pardoned.”

“That is small matter. Has there been an acceptance of policies
memorialized by the departed?”

“Many _daimios_ have yet to present their answers to the letters
of inquiry sent out by the Shogunate. The majority may be against
intercourse with the _tojin_ peoples, yet Satsuma and Ii have joined me
in urging a temporary treaty for the opening of a few ports. When all
answers have been received, His Highness will command the Council of
Elders to announce the acceptance of our policy.”

“_Banzai!_” I cried. “Let intercourse be established for a time, and
even the frogs in the well will be compelled to see light.”

“The talk of a temporary treaty is a compromise to bring over those
who waver between the two camps. I have talked too much with you and
with him who has gone to doubt now that ports once opened will ever
be closed.” He looked at me with a quizzical smile. “Once a _tojin_
enters, it is difficult to be rid of him.”

“You say I am forgiven?”

“One way has been suggested to rid the land from the _tojin_. That is
to make him not a _tojin_.”

“Not a _tojin_? You mean death!”

“Death to _tojin_ kin and country. I recalled to the Shogun the
precedent of the wise _tojin_ Anjin Sama.”

“That! Can I also become a Japanese?”

“If you wed a Japanese wife.”

“Wed?--I cannot do that! You know there is only one maiden in all
Japan--in all the world!”

“It is true that the maiden to whom you refer cannot be given to any
other than one of exalted rank.”

“And I can wed none other.”

“The heart of Iyeyoshi has been troubled. He questioned the maiden,
and found that the words of the _tojin_ were true. Yet how could the
Sei-i-tai Shogun give his daughter to a _tojin_?”

I stared at the Prince, aflame with an ardent hope that overpowered me.
“He--you say that he--Speak!”

“The heir of Owari is a fitting husband for the daughter of the Shogun.
You know the arrangement regarding him who has gone from us. There now
remains only the son of his elder brother. I have long since reached
the age when it is customary to lay aside the burden of the title and
of the clan administration. The boy is too young. In such cases it
is not unusual to adopt an elder son to bear the burden of the title
until such time as it is thought best for him to retire in favor of the
younger heir.”

“My lord!” I gasped, “you cannot mean--?”

“Iyeyoshi’s heart is touched by the grief of his daughter. He is
willing to do so much to assure her happiness. My kinsman guest has
a true heart--he is to be trusted. When an heir succeeds during the
lifetime of his father, he bends to the guidance of the retired
_daimio_. There is no more to be said. The decision is now with Woroto.”

I kowtowed to him. For several moments I could not speak, for I was
utterly overcome with the great joy and unable to believe that such
good fortune could be mine. The serene face of Yoritomo appeared before
my mental vision. It was as if he had returned to serve me as guardian
spirit.

“Father of my brother!--my father!” I murmured. I could say no more.

“Woroto--my son!”

I looked up and saw his haughty eyes glistening with tears. We gazed
deep into one another’s souls. My brother had gone from me, but I had
found a father.

He rose and left me.

Soon, however, the screens parted to admit that sweetest and quaintest
and dearest of dames, Tokiwa Sama. She glided across to kowtow to me,
demurely radiant. I had found not only a father, but a mother--and such
a mother! Could I but have gathered her up in my arms and poured out my
heart to her!

Instead we talked with decorous restraint of various little details
of home life,--matters trifling and altogether inconsequential in
themselves yet charged with a world of meaning to me. I was received
into the intimacy of the home life; I had become a member of the family.

Never had I chafed more at the convention that forbade all reference
to romantic love. Freed from that taboo, pronounced by an over-rigid
etiquette, I knew my dainty little adopted mother would have been an
ideal confidante. Her dear face glowed with sympathy and love, which,
being unable to express in words or caresses, she could convey to me
only by looks and the exquisite courtesy of her manner.

So it was, I was accepted as the son and heir of Owari in the hearts
of my second parents, before my adoption according to the forms of the
law. The legal adoption was not a simple affair of routine, as I had
fancied. Though proposed by the Shogun himself, it was blocked for
some weeks by the intrigues of the Mito party and the opposition of
the Elder Council. Unaware of the motive behind the Shogun’s supposed
caprice,--a motive that made resistance futile,--our enemies worked
zealously to prevent the acceptance of the barbarian as heir of one of
the August Three Families.

In the end our opponents even went so far as to appeal to that
mysterious superlord the Mikado. For this act custom would have
justified Iyeyoshi in punishing them with utmost severity. But he was
not averse to showing them that the power of the Shogun, their master,
over the Kyoto court was unbroken, and so the matter was delayed for
some weeks. In ordinary circumstances, the dense ignorance and bigotry
of the imperial court regarding the _tojin_ world would have insured
a certain verdict against me. But the Shogun brought heavy pressure to
bear. It was a difficult matter to deny the express desire of one who
had the power to enforce compliance. Also I suspect that the difficulty
was glossed over by a flat denial of my _tojin_ blood and a strong
insistence upon my kinship to the House of Owari.

Pending the sanction of the Mikado, I was required to remain within the
bounds of the _yashiki_. But it was a confinement far from irksome in
view of the extreme sultriness of the midsummer weather and the charm
of the _yashiki_ gardens.

Yuki, however, roved at will about the city in the disguise of a
_ronin_, spying upon the Mito men. Soon after the funeral I had sent
him to Shinagawa with a message for Kohana San. But the _geisha_ had
not been seen since my glimpse of her at Uyeno. She had not returned to
her home, and was not to be found. Our first thought was that she might
have killed herself for love of Yoritomo. Yet this seemed improbable
when we recalled to mind his command for her to live and serve those
whom he left behind.

At last, during the solemn Festival of the Dead, which was celebrated
in mid August, Yuki learned that the girl was a prisoner in
Hitotsubashi Yashiki. Keiki had lured her into his palace, and had
either induced or forced her to become one of the many concubines
allowed a high noble by custom and law. From this last, Yuki reasoned
that Keiki could not possibly have discovered her devotion to our
cause, else she would surely have been tortured, instead of being
honored with the rank of concubine. When I expressed my surprise that
her love for Yoritomo had not caused her to commit _hara-kiri_, Yuki
was no less surprised that I had failed to grasp her motive. For love
of her dead lord, she had submitted to a fate that to her was worse
than death.

“With the permission of my lord,” he added, “I will continue to haunt
the vicinity of Keiki’s _yashiki_. None is more crafty than a _geisha_.
She will be watching for an opportunity to send us word of the schemes
and intrigues of the Mito party.”




CHAPTER XXVIII--HIGH TREASON


The day after Yuki’s discovery, word at last came from Kyoto,
sanctioning the Prince of Owari’s adoption of his kinsman as son
and heir. After that, little time was required to comply with law
and custom. The opposition of the Mito faction was paralyzed by the
sanction of the Mikado. It was a striking instance of the paradoxical
nature of the government of this strange land.

In theory, the Mikado was the sacred and absolute Emperor, and the
Shogun only the first among his secondary class of nobles. In fact,
he was little more than a figurehead in the hands of the Shogunate,
and his sanction of government measures was usually given as a matter
of course. A strong Shogun, such as Iyeyoshi, could even enforce
compliance against the wishes of so powerful an opposition as the Mito
party backed by the reluctance of the _kuge_, or Kyoto nobles. Yet
without the Mikado’s sanction, however obtained, the Shogun would have
become a rebel, with no other means than sheer military force to hold
in subjection the great non-Tokugawa _daimios_.

One may well imagine the chagrin of the Mito faction over their
failure to block my official adoption as the heir of Owari, and their
fury when they learned of the Prince’s retirement in my favor. Last of
all, the discovery that the Shogun was about to announce his decision
in favor of a temporary treaty with the hairy barbarians must have
goaded them to madness.

The final ceremony of my accession to the title and position of Prince
of Owari was an audience by the Shogun. Before this, in the presence
of the counsellors and other high officials of the clan,--many of whom
had journeyed from the Province of Owari for the occasion,--my adopted
father had abdicated his office of clan chief, and I had received the
homage of the _samurais_. The day appointed for my formal audience was
August the twenty-fifth.

Though surfeited with the irksome etiquette and honors of my exalted
rank, I looked forward to the audience with keenest impatience. The
Prince--as I shall continue to call him--had assured me that it was the
last step in my elevation, and vastly more important than my marriage.
To me it was important only because it must precede my marriage.

As a necessary result of the ascent that brought me within reach of
my silvery moon,--my all but unattainable Princess,--I could endure
and even welcome the austere state of my exalted position. Of itself,
however, there was no relish to me in the homage of my clan, and far
less in the thought of rendering homage to my lord the Shogun. My
princely rank was a ceremonial strait-jacket which bound me about with
countless rules of etiquette and restricted my every act and word to
certain prescribed forms. To a man who was not to the manner born, the
result was little short of torture.

Yet I would gladly have endured even greater discomfort for the sake
of winning Azai. The vision of her pure and lovely face was before my
eyes night and day. It sustained me throughout the dreary hours of
ceremonies, and appeared beside the serene face of Yoritomo when I made
the required offerings and prayers before the memorial tablets of the
family shrines.

At last the day appointed for my audience arrived. I was roused long
before dawn, and my little lady mother herself came to overlook every
detail of my costume. By dawn my lantern-illumined cortege, marching
with all the solemn parade of a state progress, had crossed the
official quarter to the Sakaruda Gate.

With me were the clan counsellors and a powerful guard of retainers in
full armor. Yuki had reported too fully upon the virulent wrath of the
Mito men for us to chance an attack unprepared. But Yuki was not with
me, though I had chosen him to lead my escort. I was concerned for his
safety, for he had gone out on another of his spying ventures, and had
not returned when expected.

At the Sakaruda Gate those of my escort who wore armor remained outside
the citadel. I was carried through in my _norimon_, accompanied by my
counsellors and chamberlains, my standard bearers, and other ceremonial
attendants with led-horses and paraphernalia. But when we arrived
before the Gejo Gate, the state entrance to the Inner Castle, I was
required to leave my _norimon_ and cross the bridge of the inner moat
afoot, escorted only by a few of my highest retainers. The Abbot of
Zozoji, who was a prince of the Mikado’s family, alone could ride in
through the Gejo Gate. That honor was denied even the heads of the
August Three Families, the highest of all the _daimios_.

Within the gate I crossed a court to the grand portico of the palace,
where I was met by Gengo and another of the court chamberlains. Even
my counsellors kowtowed to these servants of the Shogun, who in turn
kowtowed to me. Trailing their court trousers behind them, they
conducted me to a waiting-room, where I was served with powdered tea
gruel, and attired in court hat, gauze-winged jacket, and seven-foot
court trousers of yellow silk.

After the refreshment, I left my attendants and was conducted by Gengo
and his fellow chamberlain along a hall lined with kowtowing retainers,
and past an anteroom in which five or six score _daimios_ of the lower
rank knelt in profound silence. Shortly beyond we came to the raised
threshold of the audience hall. My ushers kowtowed and crept in on
hands and knees. I followed in the same abject posture. It was the
custom of the country and the price I must pay for Azai.

The throne was a square lacquered stool, placed upon a dais two feet
high. Though the Shogun was dressed with no more richness than on the
occasions of my informal audiences, the stateliness of his appearance
was vastly increased by this simple throne and the mat curtain that
hung down before him to the level of his bell-shaped hat. On his left,
three or four yards down the room, kowtowed Midzuano and the other
members of the Elder Council. Behind the dais a number of _hatamotos_
knelt with their hands upon their swordhilts as if in the act of
springing up to attack me.

At the prescribed distance from the throne my ushers parted for me
to creep forward between them and kowtow in homage to my lord. The
hush was oppressive. I waited, prostrate, until a faint sibilation
from the courtiers told me that the Shogun had given the signal for
my withdrawal. My audience was at an end. Without raising my head,
I crept around and out the way I had come, in the wake of my abject
ushers.

Upon my return to the waiting-room I was served a banquet of nearly a
hundred dishes. I could do no more than taste my favorite dish of each
course, after which all were set aside by the attendants, to be taken
to Owari Yashiki. An hour passed, and my solitary feast was fairly
under way, when Gengo entered and bowed before me, with a flask of
_sake_ held above his forehead.

“From the Tycoon to the Prince of Owari,” he murmured.

I kowtowed. “Humble thanks are offered for the gift of the august
ruler!--Let the wine be heated.”

“It is the wish of His Highness that the Prince test the flavor of the
_sake_ both cold and hot,” replied the chamberlain, as he handed the
flask to an attendant.

I bowed assent. “The will of His Highness is the pleasure--”

“Stay, my lord!” called a voice in the entrance. “Cold _sake_ is not
always wholesome.”

At the first word I had glanced down the room and perceived Yuki
standing erect on the threshold. The attendants stared about at him, no
less astonished than myself. His dress was disarranged, and his look so
strange that at first I thought he had been over-drinking. Fujimaro
spoke to him warningly, and he sank down to kowtow. No drunken man
could have saluted in such manner. The truth flashed upon me.

“Approach,” I commanded. “You bring a message?”

He sprang up, with a sharp exclamation: “Look! The fox has gone!”

I looked about, and saw that Gengo had disappeared. In the moment’s
pause when all eyes were fixed upon the kneeling Yuki, the chamberlain
had glided to the side wall and slipped out. Yuki came swiftly up the
room through the midst of the palace attendants, and pointed to the man
with the flask of _sake_.

“Do not open the flask!” he commanded, and he knelt to offer me a
tattered, crumpled scroll. “The _geisha_, my lord--To the Shogun!
Demand that Gengo drink this _sake_!”

I bent forward to whisper a question: “You suspect poison?”

“Not alone for my lord! Hasten! I fear the worst! Keiki and
Midzuano--Gengo the tool--”

But I was already up and crossing the room.

“Bring the _sake_ flask!” I commanded. “Conduct me to the Shogun. I
must see the Shogun at once!”

Some of the attendants murmured protests. But their superior had
caught the alarm. He signed to the man with the _sake_ flask, and led
us swiftly out into the corridor and up it past the audience hall. The
Shogun had retired to more private apartments. We hastened on through
a suite of rooms. Suddenly a palace guard blocked our way. My escort
whispered to him excitedly. The guard stepped aside.

We entered an anteroom and glided hastily across through the midst
of the waiting attendants. At the upper wall we were again halted,
while my request for an immediate audience was sent in to the Shogun.
I waited in an agony of suspense. One moment after another dragged
past. Unable to endure the uncertainty, I thrust my finger through
the screen, and peered in. The official to whom my request had been
whispered still crouched on the opposite side of the screen, waiting
for the Shogun’s signal to advance.

I stared up the room to where Iyeyoshi sat at ease between Midzuano and
the Daimio of Satsuma. As I looked, Gengo glided in with a tea bowl
upon a tray, and knelt to present the drink to his lord. The suspicion
of his hideous purpose struck me dumb with horror. The Shogun reached
out and lifted the bowl from the tray. At that my hands spoke for my
stricken tongue. I flung aside the screen that was before me and threw
out my arm in a warning gesture.

Iyeyoshi paused with the bowl at his lips, and stared at me in frowning
resentment. I pointed downward. The Shogun glanced from me to the
cringing figure of Gengo. Instantly he dashed the bowl and its contents
into the face of the chamberlain.

No man of _samurai_ blood might endure such an insult even from the
Sei-i-tai Shogun. The poisoner flared out in mad fury. With amazing
swiftness he drew a dirk and bounded upon Iyeyoshi. The Shogun flung
himself to one side. But Gengo struck with deadly aim. His dirk plunged
down through the base of the Shogun’s neck the full twelve inches of
the blade.

With a roar of fury, Satsuma leaped up to catch the dying man and
interpose his own body for the second stroke. But Gengo was already
springing back, well aware that the one blow had done the awful deed.
We were already rushing in, my companions shrieking for the guards.
Midzuano sat as if turned to stone. Gengo dropped down almost beside
the Counsellor, to make an end of himself. The murderer was _samurai_
bred. Swiftly as I rushed forward, I could not seize him in time to
stay his dirk from the fatal cross stroke. He sank prostrate on his
face, groaning.

[Illustration: GENGO STRUCK WITH DEADLY AIM]

From all sides _hatamotos_ with bared swords rushed in, drawn by
the shrieks for help. As I knelt with Satsuma beside our dead lord,
Midzuano leaped up and pointed to us, with a terrible cry: “Strike!
The Shogun is slain! Kill the traitors!”

An instant’s hesitancy and we should have been hacked in pieces by the
upraised swords. Satsuma sprang to his feet, his great form swelling
with wrath, his heavy face dark with menace. Without a word, he pointed
one hand at the dying assassin and the other at Midzuano.

“Strike!” commanded the Chief Counsellor, and his dull eyes lighted
with cold malevolence.

“Strike!” echoed Satsuma, still pointing.

The _hatamotos_ glared at us in deadly rage, yet stood motionless,
checked by the power of the great Daimio. I rose beside him, and
signed to the attendant with the _sake_ flask. He pointed to the dying
chamberlain, and called loudly: “Midzuano lies! Gengo is the traitor.
He first brought this flask to the Prince of Owari; then came to serve
the Shogun. His Highness had cause to suspect poison. He flung the bowl
into the face of the traitor, who drew and struck.”

“The Counsellor is challenged to drink from the flask brought to me by
Gengo,” I added.

“They are all traitors.--Kill them together!” cried Midzuano.

I held out Kohana’s scroll to the nearest _hatamoto_, with a laconic
command: “Read!”

The man took the blotched writing and began to read, while all in the
room bent to listen.

“‘Kwannon direct this safely into the hands of a loyal _samurai_! Evil
traitors plot to poison the Shogun and the Prince of Owari, on the
day that the Prince goes to the palace. They cannot endure that His
Highness should favor a treaty with the barbarians. Gengo is their
tool. All the _daimios_ in the conspiracy are not known to the writer,
but the names of the leaders are, first--’”

With a sudden clutch, Midzuano plucked the scroll out of the hand of
the _hatamoto_ and thrust it into his bosom.

“The Chief of the Elder Council commands at such a crisis,” he
proclaimed with astounding effrontery. “It is not expedient to publish
the names of the criminals until they have been apprehended. Let the
Council be summoned to meet me at my _yashiki_.”

Even Satsuma was disconcerted by such consummate assurance and
audacity. Before either of us could recover wit enough to utter a
protest, the Counsellor passed through the midst of the _hatamotos_
and out of the hall. But though he went unopposed, his going was none
the less in effect a retreat. Freed from his malign influence, the
_hatamotos_ at once yielded to the spell of Satsuma’s magnetism and
power. The great Daimio pointed to the body of Gengo, which no longer
writhed on the mats.

“Tokugawa men,” he called in his deep and sonorous voice, “you have
heard. There lies the tool of the traitors who seek the overthrow of
the Shogunate. I charge the Chief Counsellor with complicity. Minamoto
Iyeyoshi has gone from us without benefit of medicine. Let Minamoto
Iyesada the Shogun be notified of his accession to the rulership. All
men have faith in the loyalty and wisdom of Abe Ise-no-kami and Ii
Kamon-no-kami. Send for them, that they may advise His Highness.”

“The loyalty of Satsuma is undoubted,” called one of the court
officials. “He also should advise Iyesada Sama.”

“That is for Abe and Ii. My task is to check the plot of the traitors.
Obey no orders from Midzuano and the Council of Elders unless approved
by Iyesada Sama. Let all gates of the citadel and the inner moat be
doubly guarded. Announce only that Iyeyoshi Sama has been wounded by a
traitor. I go to watch the _yashiki_ of the Chief Counsellor. Until I
have received the commands of the Shogun, no man shall enter or leave
the gate of Midzuano. There is need for utmost haste!” He turned to
fling out his hand over the bloody corpse of Iyeyoshi--“Vengeance upon
the traitors!”

“Vengeance!” shouted the _hatamotos_, and they rushed from the room in
fierce eagerness to obey the Daimio’s directions.

Satsuma signed for me to accompany him, and as we hastened out,
unattended, he gave me my orders with courteous indirectness: “Ii is
with us; Abe at least neutral. Keiki and Midzuano are the hands of old
Mito. Without them he cannot strike. I will seek to hold Midzuano.”

“Owari will hold Keiki if the Mito men do not overwhelm us!” I
responded.

“Old Mito will either strike at once, or draw in his claws and wait for
another opening. Announce that Iyeyoshi has been wounded by a Mito man.
That will rally to us the greater number of the three hundred thousand
_samurais_ who have flocked to Yedo.”

“Wounded?--And slain?” I said.

“Only wounded. The city must be kept in doubt until sanction of
Iyesada’s accession has been received from the Mikado. It will be well
for your august father to join his counsel to that of Abe and Ii.--Here
is your waiting-room.”

I nodded farewell, and darted into the banquet room, where my retainers
sat in decorous quiet, keenly alert to the stir and commotion that
desecrated the solemn hush of the palace, yet all unaware of its
terrible cause. I told them that, instigated by the Mito faction, my
would-be poisoner had wounded the Shogun, a deed worthy of the days of
the Ashikaga Shoguns.

Silencing their horrified outcries with a gesture, I gave my seal to
Yuki, and commanded him to ride at full speed to Owari Yashiki and
bring a force to assist me in the blockade of Keiki’s residence. He
rushed out without an instant’s delay, while I followed with the utmost
haste that my princely dignity would permit.




CHAPTER XXIX--INTRIGUE


Within the hour Satsuma had Midzuano trapped in his _yashiki_, and I
was closing in upon Keiki. The Mito men gathered rapidly, with the
evident purpose of driving us off or cutting their way through to their
Hitotsubashi allies. But the timely arrival of Yuki with a thousand
Owari retainers compelled the enemy to draw back for reinforcements.
Before these could come up, the rumor of the attack upon the Shogun
had spread throughout the official quarter, and so vast a number of
loyal _samurais_ swarmed to my support that the Mito men barely averted
destruction by a quick retreat across the outer moat to their Superior
Yashiki.

A word from me would have precipitated an attack that must have
resulted in the certain destruction of Keiki. But Yuki and my
counsellors alike advised me against a course of action that would
undoubtedly result in a conflagration not alone of fire. The death of
Keiki by the sword would be the signal for civil war. Even the Prince
of Owari had no right to punish the Shogunate’s enemies without the
command of the Shogun.

The most I could do was to lay siege to the fortified dwelling of the
plotter, that no message might pass between him and the old Prince, his
father. All through the day we waited, lined up about the _yashiki_,
and backed by the dense throngs of _hatamotos_ and loyal _samurais_,
that came and went, yet were always too numerous to be driven back by a
sortie of the Hitotsubashi men or scattered before an attack by Mito.
Keiki’s retainers wisely kept close and made no display of weapons at
the _yashiki_ windows. My men were held by my command, but there were
times when an arrow or even a gibe would have stung our allies to an
instant storming of the traitor’s stronghold.

Late in the afternoon my adopted father sent a message commending my
actions, and asking me to hold my position until notified by Iyesada,
with whom he was advising. At nightfall we lighted bamboo torches and
vast numbers of lanterns, that neither Keiki nor any messenger might
escape past us in the darkness.

A violent storm, accompanied by a deluge of rain and a display of
lightning most unusual in Japan, swept over the city during the night,
the wind at one time blowing a full gale. But though we were in the
midst of the typhoon season, the storm failed to augment to hurricane
force. The ardor of more than half of our volunteer allies was quenched
by the downpour and the turmoil of the elements. Appalled by the
seeming anger of the gods, they deserted us in great numbers. Yet
enough remained for the watch to be maintained with utmost vigilance
throughout storm and night.

Dawn brought us a clearing sky and lulling wind. At sunrise a rumor
reached us that Midzuano had committed _hara-kiri_. An hour later an
order from the palace, signed by Iyesada and countersigned by Abe
Ise-no-kami, commanded me to withdraw my forces. Uncertain whether to
obey, I despatched a messenger to Satsuma for instructions. Before the
man could return, my adopted father came to me in his _norimon_ and
directed me to comply with Iyesada’s command.

Once again old Mito and his accomplices had escaped the penalty of
treason. Midzuano had destroyed Kohana’s message, and with a false
fidelity in the very face of death, had left a testament to the effect
that he committed _hara-kiri_ in proof of his own innocence and the
loyalty of his friends. With consummate adroitness he had converted
what would have been taken as a confession of guilt into a shield to
hide his shame and a mask for the crime of his fellow-conspirators.

Without proof positive, Abe Ise-no-kami, who had already been appointed
to the office of the dead Counsellor, was of too cautious a temperament
to proceed to extremes. To assure himself a majority, he had favored
a reorganization of the Council of Elders. Otherwise the regime of
Iyesada promised better opportunity for the success of Mito than had
the iron rule of Iyeyoshi. The father had been a strong man, who could
command the fear and respect of all the great _daimios_; the son was an
amiable, capricious weakling. Abe, though astute, was over-cautious and
lacked the force and magnetism of a leader. His would be a policy of
expediency.

Such were the bitter comments of my father as we sat in Owari Yashiki,
breaking our fast on the dainty dishes served us by my quaint little
mother. Divining with subtle intuition the great fear that troubled her
son, Tokiwa Sama ventured to inquire what effect the murder of Iyeyoshi
would have on my marriage. The Prince confessed his inability to
foresee, but assured me that he would make every effort to obtain from
Abe and Iyesada a confirmation of the agreement.

With this he left us and returned to the palace,--to find Keiki already
in conference with the new Chief Counsellor. It was the beginning of a
ceaseless contest of influence and intrigue between Owari and Mito.

Sobered by the fate of his fellow-conspirator and guided no doubt by
the crafty counsel of his imprisoned father, Keiki restrained his
fiery temper and proved himself a master of subtlety. With every
move he expressed a heartfelt desire for an amicable adjustment of
differences and for the coalescence of all parties under the banner
of the Shogunate. This was his protestation even while his agents
were intriguing with the Kyoto court nobles to prevent the formal
investiture of Iyesada with the title and office of Sei-i-tai Shogun.

Meantime he had the audacity to demand the immediate release of his
father, my degradation and deportation as a _tojin_, and the marriage
of Azai to himself. Our only positive proposition was that the ports
should be opened for temporary intercourse. Against us the Mito faction
stirred up all the prejudices, fears, and passions of the proud
_samurai_ class.

Abe assumed a judicial attitude, and did all that lay in his power to
conciliate the contending factions. To please Mito, he authorized the
building of war junks, the drilling of an army, and the casting of
cannon. Plans for forts upon the shoals opposite Shinagawa were rushed
to completion and work begun.

To please Owari, he refused to take action against me, caused the
abrogation of the law that required persons suspected of Christianity
to tread upon the cross, held the question of releasing old Mito in
abeyance, and intimated that with regard to Azai he rather favored me
above Keiki, but would make no decision until the regular investiture
of Iyesada gave the new Shogun the prestige of the Mikadoic sanction.

The last of the answers of the _daimios_ to the letters of inquiry
sent out by Iyeyoshi were now coming in, and Abe compared them with
the others, with a politic inclination towards the weightier scale.
Yet decision was difficult. The vast majority of the counsellors were
uncertain and confused in their advice. Against a seeming weight of
opinion in favor of the ancient laws, the perplexed premier had to
consider the demands of the Russian admiral, Pontiatine, just received
from Nagasaki, the not improbable event of a visit from the powerful
Asiatic fleet of the British, and the future but certain return of
Commodore Perry.

The inevitable result was a continuance of the policy of compromise.
The Mito intrigues at Kyoto were delaying the investiture of Iyesada.
To secure the Mikadoic sanction the weak Chief Counsellor promised
Keiki the release of his father. To appease our party for this
concession to the enemy, Abe pledged his personal influence in favor
of a temporary treaty and engaged to secure the assent of the Mikado.
Keiki obtained an additional concession that old Rekko should be placed
in command of the defences of Yedo.

When the Prince heard of this last victory of Mito, he went to the
palace in a rage. Abe was most apologetic, but insisted that the
concession had been pledged under the seal of Iyesada, and could not be
withdrawn. As a peace offering he agreed to obtain Iyesada’s assent to
my marriage with Azai.




CHAPTER XXX--MY WEDDING EVE


When the Prince returned with this last news, I found that at heart
I was still very much a _tojin_. All thought of state affairs, the
interests of my new country and of my old country, were alike forgotten
in the selfish joy of my love. I was to wed my little Princess!

Blissful elation gave way to doubt and anxiety. The death of Iyeyoshi
had not yet been announced. Abe was waiting for the Mikado’s envoys.
When Iyesada had been duly confirmed in his rule, Iyeyoshi would be
officially declared dead and would be buried with all due pomp amongst
his forefathers either at Shiba or Uyeno. My fear was that, once the
period of mourning had begun, Azai might not be permitted to marry me
until the termination of the prescribed months of sorrow.

Though puzzled by my feverish impatience at the bare possibility of
delay, the Prince urged the matter upon Satsuma. The Daimio, no less
willing to please me than to disappoint Keiki, enlisted the assistance
of his adopted daughter, Iyesada’s wife. The lady was, I suspect,
delighted with the opportunity to remove from the palace one whose
influence was far greater than her own.

Abe found Iyesada not only willing but urgent to bind the House of
Owari to his interests by means of the marriage. Satsuma offered
himself as intermediator between the two families. Arrangements were
made under a mutual agreement that, in view of the circumstances,
the wedding should be conducted without display. An act accomplished
escapes opposition and a large share of the criticism otherwise uttered
in the hope of prevention.

The wishes of Azai were not consulted. She was told that she would be
wedded to me the following night. Presents were exchanged, and the
trousseau of my bride was brought at once to Owari Yashiki, in the
charge of Azai’s ladies-in-waiting. Even Tokiwa Sama was impressed by
the display of silk costumes and ornaments and artistic articles of
personal and household use arranged in the bridal apartments by the
ladies of the Princess. My own wardrobe was arranged by my mother and
her maids.

Propriety required that I should not view the trousseau of my bride
before the ceremony. But chance gave me one glimpse that stirred my
heart to deepest tenderness. While passing one of the inner garden
courts, I chanced to gaze across, and caught sight of a girl within
the opposite veranda. It was O Setsu San bearing in the favorite dolls
of her mistress.

I sought the seclusion of a grape arbor in the largest of the _yashiki_
gardens, and mused for hours upon the sweet innocence of my little
Princess bride. The thought of her childlike purity filled me with
adoration. I had won the love and trust of this young maiden who yet
played with her dolls. I must be very gentle with her.

Death had deprived her of a father’s fond care, marriage was to cut her
off from home and mother. By entering the family of Owari she was to
become as one dead to her own family. She had been the petted daughter
of an indulgent father; she was to become the wife and servant of a
husband and the humble subordinate of a mother-in-law, whose commands
must be obeyed.

Yet hers was a fate far better than the fate of most Japanese brides.
She loved me and knew that she was loved: others went to husbands
unknown to them, many without so much as the preliminary meeting common
among the lower classes. Tokiwa Sama I knew would be a mild tyrant to
the gentle daughter-in-law. As a concession to my _tojin_ prejudices,
if not because of the winsomeness of my bride, she would not deal
harshly with my wife.

This I knew because she had already made the amazing concession of
supporting me in a contest against custom. It was my earnest desire
that my bride should come to the wedding without the customary shaving
of eyebrows and blackening of teeth. I had laid great stress upon
this strange proposal. The matter had been carried up to Iyesada, and
precedent found for a postponement of the senseless blemishings until
after the marriage.

Though much astonishment was expressed over the betrayal of such absurd
prejudices by the Prince of Owari, Satsuma won over his daughter,
and Iyesada bent to the wish of his Shoguness. The Princess Azai was
ordered to comply with the whim of her future husband. For the time, at
least, I had saved the beauty of my darling.

The good news of this concession was brought to me by Satsuma on the
morning of my wedding day, and it added no little to my rapturous
anticipations. Overcome with joy, I went out into the gardens and
wandered about, neglectful of my duties, lost in a maze of blissful
visions. But presently the old Prince sought me out and sobered me with
his paternal reproof.

“Is it so that Woroto prepares himself for matrimony?” he asked. “On
the day of all days when a man should think reverently of the family,
my son has neglected to stand before the shrines of his forefathers.”

I kowtowed to the ground. “The rebuke of my august parent is just. I
will go at once.”

He restrained me with a gesture as I rose to hasten in. “Stay, my son.
It is well for you to realize that what you have set your heart upon
with such strange ardor is not certain of attainment even now.”

“Not certain!” I cried. “You bring ill news from the palace?”

“I have not been to the palace. From all I know, your day’s fortunes
are as bright as is this sky after the rain.”

“Yet you say--?”

“Have you then failed to grasp the characteristics of your new people,
Woroto? Do you forget that the times when we should most expect our
enemy to strike are the hours of our greatest joys and triumphs? Your
audience as Prince of Owari brought you the flask of poisoned _sake_.”

“_Namida!_” I murmured, seized with vague dread. “You have heard of
another plot! Keiki plans to rob me of my bride! Yuki has brought word
again from Kohana!”

“Nothing has been heard of any plot. Yuki brings no word from the
_geisha_. He committed the grave error of leaving in the street the
hollow arrow in which she shot out to him the message of the poison
plot. If it was picked up by the Mito men, we have the explanation why
no more arrows have dropped beside the _ronin_. The girl will render
no further service to Owari.”

“But the Shogun’s daughter--my bride?” I exclaimed, selfishly heedless
of whatever fate the _geisha_ may have suffered. “You think it possible
that Keiki will again attack her cortege?”

“Look for all evil from your foe when fortune seems fairest. Go now.
The gods await your prayers.”

I bowed, and with unfeigned gravity went in to set the daily offerings
before the Buddhist family shrine and murmur the daily invocation
before the Shinto tablets: “Ye forefathers of the generations, and of
our families, and of our kindred,--unto you, the founders of our homes,
we utter the gladness of our thanks.”

My duty as acting head of the household was fulfilled, but my disquiet
continued. I returned to the garden and roved about for hours, unable
to overcome the dread of impending disaster. As evening approached, my
alarm increased, though I knew that Fujimaro and Yuki had been sent
with a powerful escort to accompany the bride. When I was required to
go in to prepare for the ceremony, Tokiwa Sama sought to smile away my
dread. But I was in a fever of apprehension until announcement was made
that the bridal cortege was entering the great gate of the _yashiki_.

At this my dread gave way to joy no less unreasoning. I hastened in
my ceremonial costume to the position within the entrance where I was
to receive my bride. Outside, to right and left, two fires had been
lighted, and beside each an aged couple stood waiting with a rice
mortar. Near me was stationed one of the ladies-in-waiting with a
lantern, and other ladies stood behind her.

The armed escort had halted in the courtyard, and the bridal party
was already entering the inner enclosure. In the light of the gay
lanterns I saw the _norimon_ of the Princess, which had been turned
about end for end to symbolize her death to her family. It was borne
forward in the midst of the high officials of the palace household.
My chief retainers gathered before the entrance to meet and exchange
congratulations with the _hatamotos_. The old couples beside the fires
began to pound rice in their mortars and to call out felicitations: “A
thousand years!--Ten thousand years!”

The _norimon_, which had been placed upon the mats, was again raised
and borne in before me. The lady-in-waiting held her lantern for me. I
parted the curtain and looked in upon the lovely face of my bride. Her
pure young eyes met mine, aglow with the soft radiance of perfect love
and trust. For either to have spoken would have been most improper. But
we gazed deep into one another’s eyes.

The lady-in-waiting uttered a faint murmur. Azai blushed scarlet and
raised one of her sleeves before her face. With her free hand she
held out to me the bag of brocaded silk that contained her amulet or
talisman. As I took it from her, the _norimon_ was carried in past me,
led by the lady with the lantern. I handed the amulet bag to another
lady-in-waiting, and withdrew to my private rooms.

Even to my impatience the interval did not seem unduly prolonged before
I was requested to enter the ceremonial chamber. My attendants stopped
in the anteroom. I entered alone.

Azai sat in the place of honor, before the _tokonoma_, dressed in robes
of pure white silk, which had been sent to her in my name. Over her
head was draped a veil of white crepe. To all others the costume was
symbolic of death and mourning, to myself it was the emblem of bridal
purity.

According to immemorial custom, no relatives were present. Satsuma,
as our mediator, took the place of priest and magistrate, although he
now had nothing to say and nothing else to do than to sit with his
wife. Aside from this friendly couple, O Setsu San and others of the
ladies-in-waiting attended upon their mistress.

Food and _sake_ had been laid out in the _tokonoma_, which was
decorated with branches of pine and bamboo and cherry. When I had taken
my seat below and to one side of Azai, two of the ladies served us
with chestnuts, edible seaweed, and dried fish, bowing and murmuring
gracious words of compliment.

The _sake_ was in two wine flasks to which had been attached a pair
of butterflies, symbolic of our souls. These flasks and two heating
kettles were taken from the _tokonoma_ to the lower part of the room,
and the amber wine poured ceremoniously into one and then the other
kettle.

Three cups, placed one within the other on a tray, were brought to me
with the _sake_. I drank twice from the upper cup, poured a little
_sake_ from the full kettle into the empty one, and drank again from
the same cup. The service was now carried before Azai, who drank and
poured as I had done. The wine was returned to the _tokonoma_ and food
served to us.

Again the _sake_ was brought out, and we drank as before, except that
Azai was served first and used the second cup. For the second time the
_sake_ was returned to the _tokonoma_ and food served. Last of all, the
_sake_ was brought to us once more and I led, as at first, by drinking
from the third cup.

Throughout this mute yet solemn ceremony I was compelled to sit with
face half averted from my sweet bride. To look at her would have been
rude and unmannerly. I had to content myself with stolen side-glances
at her dainty head under its soft white veil. She held her eyes
modestly downcast.

I now rose and withdrew to one room, and Azai retired to another, while
our attendants were served with refreshments. I returned to take the
seat of honor. Immediately my little bride entered, no longer attired
in white, but in a kimono of soft dark silk. The veil had been removed,
and I saw that her hair was dressed after the fashion of married women.
She was now my wife.

As she nestled down in the place which had been mine, my parents and
the wedding guests entered to congratulate us and to join in the
feast that was served. For the time being austerity was laid aside,
and joy reigned supreme. Owari was providing for the perpetuation of
the family. It was proper for all relatives and friends to feast and
rejoice. Course followed course, and wit and poetry flowed as freely as
the amber rice-wine.

At last, close upon midnight, the feast drew to a close, and the
guests prepared to leave. I sat with my bride, receiving the final
congratulations and farewells. The more wearied of the guests hurried
off; the others prepared to follow. Soon the last would withdraw, and
we should be left alone with Satsuma and his wife, who were to conduct
us to the bridal chamber.

Suddenly I heard Yuki’s voice in the anteroom, raised in loud protest.
The Prince hastened out through the midst of the departing guests,
enraged at the unseemly disturbance. All followed his going with
startled looks. In the hush that fell upon us I heard voices murmuring
punctilious salutations.

The Prince reappeared, his face no longer flushed, but hard and cold.
He waved his fan towards Azai, and commanded in a harsh voice: “Lead
her out.”

But my darling had sensed the danger with quick intuition. She threw
herself before me and grasped at the edge of my robe. Over her bowed
head I caught sight of a grotesque, glittering figure on the threshold.
It was Keiki, in full armor.

My first thought was that the occasion had enabled the Mito men to
enter the _yashiki_ by stealth and overwhelm our retainers in their
quarters. Yet an attack, however sudden and stealthy, must have meant
some uproar of yells and clashing blades. We could not have failed to
hear the struggle, even had there been no other sounds than the shrieks
of the women.

As I rose, I perceived that the sword of our unwelcome visitor was
sheathed and in the hands of a bearer. There was no danger of immediate
violence. Yuki stood close at the shoulder of my enemy. Nevertheless
there was a grim menace in the glinting armor and hideous face-mask of
the son of Mito.

I bowed in response to his mocking salute, and attempted an ironical
greeting: “Keiki Sama comes late to my wedding feast. Yet food remains.
Let him be seated.”

“I come late and go soon,” he replied, in a tone that seemed to bring
a sneer to the brazen lips of his mask’s gaping maw. “I come late, but
still in time. Does the hairy barbarian grieve that I did not come
sooner?”

I turned inquiringly to the Prince. Before the enemy he could betray no
weakness. His voice sounded harsh and constrained: “Keiki Sama bears
the edict of the Mikado, which holds that Woroto is legally neither my
son nor Prince of Owari. He whom I have regarded as my son is declared
to be a criminal and a man of alien race. Keiki Sama bears the warrant
of Minamoto Iyesada and the Council of Elders to arrest Adamisu Woroto
and hold him in close confinement.”

Satsuma stepped forward. “Keiki Sama is requested to delay the
execution of his orders until dawn. The pledge of Satsuma is offered.”

“The pledge of Satsuma may not be scorned by any _daimio_ or son of
a _daimio_. Nevertheless the occasion does not permit of delay. The
command of the Shogun is imperative,” replied Keiki, and he displayed
his warrant with the great vermilion seal of Minamoto Iyesada.

“My Lord Woroto,” called Yuki, “your enemy has duped the Shogun with
evil lies. Are there no _samurais_ in Owari Yashiki?”

“The barbarian is welcome to call upon Owari to rebel against the will
of the Shogun,” mocked Keiki. “The august Rekko, Prince of Mito, now
commands the forces of the Shogunate. Ten thousand warriors surround
Owari Yashiki.”

I stooped before them all, and pressed my lips upon the bloodless lips
of Azai. “Farewell, my wife! We will meet on that other side!”

“You go, my lord!” she gasped.

“Better that the _tojin_ outcast should suffer than all Owari,” I
replied, and I loosened her clutching little fingers. No one should
share my fate.

She tottered up to follow me down the room. But Nature was more
merciful than Keiki. She swooned into the arms of my weeping mother.
The Prince averted his head, unable to mask his emotion. I advanced
swiftly past the guests that had lingered, and held out my sheathed
dirk to Keiki.

“Lead out, badger! The _tojin_ is ready,” I said.

“Go before, demon!” he commanded, enraged at the shameful name I gave
him.

Yuki had disappeared, but the Prince stepped to my side.

“Owari dono will escort to the portico him who was his son,” he said.

We walked out side by side, followed by Keiki and his swordbearer.
We went in silence. The Prince could offer me no hope, and it was no
time to give way to grief. In the portico we exchanged formal bows of
farewell. I passed on out.

Yuki approached, with his hands in his sleeves, and sought to edge
up beside me. I divined that he schemed to slip me one or both of my
revolvers. But Keiki was keen-eyed and vigilant. He thrust himself
between us. With the swordbearer on the other side, I walked out
through the state gate of Owari Yashiki, into the midst of the
mail-clad _samurais_ of Mito and Hitotsubashi.




CHAPTER XXXI--IN THE POWER OF MITO


At the command of Keiki, men with iron gloves seized me and stripped me
of my brocaded wedding robes. Bound hand and foot, I was flung into a
_kago_ and a net entwined about me. I was spared the shame of daylight,
but torches and lanterns exposed the white-skinned captive to all who
chose to look and revile.

They bore me along the outer moat to Mito Yashiki and through the great
gate into the grim torture chamber. Without loosening the rattan withes
that cut my flesh, they dropped me into a dungeon pit built beneath the
stone floor of the chamber. I was flung in headlong, but managed to
turn in the air and alight upon my feet. Otherwise I believe the fall
would have proved fatal. Had I been stunned, I must have smothered in
the ankle-deep slime that covered the bottom of the pit.

Even as it was, I could not hold my balance with my bound feet,
squarely as I struck. I sprawled prone in the filth. As I struggled up
to a sitting position, Keiki flung down a torch at me. The flaming end
tore and seared the skin of my naked side and glanced down into the
slime with a loud splutter.

“Hear the snarl of the _tojin_ beast!” he jeered. “We have been told
much of frogs in the well. Mito can now tell of the toad in the pit.”

With this a great stone was clapped over the mouth of the dungeon, and
I was left to the misery of my fetid quarters and the anguish of my
thoughts. The moistening of my bonds in the slime eased somewhat the
pain of their incutting edges. But nothing could ease my mental agony.

Since the first I had been as it were dazed by the disaster that had
befallen me. Now I no longer had the presence of my enemy to sustain
the anger that had added to my bewilderment. Cold horror dampened my
fury even as the dank air of the dungeon chilled my fevered body.
As my brain cooled I began to realize with frightful clearness the
full measure of my downfall. One hour, Prince of Owari, in all Yedo
second to none other than the Shogun,--the next, a despised barbarian
toad in this pit of filth. One hour, the bridegroom of the Shogun’s
daughter,--the next, an outcast menaced with atrocious torture and
infamous execution.

In vain I sought to gain a shred of hope by wild thoughts of rescue.
Always I came back to the bitter realization that Mito had outwitted
Owari. Backed by the Mikadoic decree, Mito was all but unassailable.
Armed with the authority of the Shogunate, old Rekko and his faction
held the sword above Owari, eager for a sign of rebellion. My father
had forewarned me that he could do nothing if the Shogun commanded my
punishment. I thought of Satsuma and the power of his personality with
a momentary glimmer. If Mito failed to bar his way to the palace, the
great Daimio could reach Iyesada through his daughter. Iyesada would
command Abe, and then--

But Abe had called upon the tiger for aid, and had been lured on until
he had put his head into the tiger’s mouth. He would have enough to
do to extricate himself and his master, without troubling over the
difficulties of a _tojin_ toad in Keiki’s pit. All was lost to me,
all!--my new country and friends, rank and title, father and mother,
and--Azai!

I had to thank the mephitic gases of the dungeon for a merciful dulling
of consciousness. With the single opening at the top covered over, the
air became so close and foul that I sank into a stupor. I cowered lower
in the slime, with my chin fallen forward on my breast. My anguish
resolved itself into hideous unending nightmares.

A sharp pang in the front of my left breast roused me from my torpor.
About me I saw the loathsome walls of the dungeon illumined by a ray
of reflected sunlight. The darting pain in my breast redoubled in
sharpness. I was jerked upright. A pole had been lowered through the
hole above me, and the hook upon its end had been slipped under my left
arm. When drawn up, the point of the hook had pierced the muscles of my
chest. Strong hands hoisted me roughly upwards to the mouth of the pit.
I was swung out and cast down upon the stone flagging of the torture
chamber. The shock won a groan from me where even the hook had failed.

“The toad croaks!” jeered a voice I should have known had I been
dying. Numbed by my bonds I could scarcely twist my head about to
glare my hate into his beautiful evil face. He smiled and bowed low to
me. “Behold the bridegroom, fresh come from his bridal chamber! Ten
thousand felicitous years!”

“My lord will not permit the beast to stand unwashed before the
presence of the august Rekko Sama,” remarked one of the chamberlains
who stood beside Keiki. “The august Prince abhors stenches.”

“Let hot water be brought,” commanded Keiki. “It were a shame to defile
even an _eta’s_ bath with the filth of a _tojin_ toad.”

At the word, attendants clattered out to fetch buckets of steaming
water. The first bucketful was so near scalding that I writhed under
it like an eel in the pan. Others, no less hot, followed in quick
succession, while men with brooms scoured my parboiled skin and beat me
between the drenchings. I thought I should die of the torture.

Yet the water was not quite hot enough to scald me, and between it and
the scouring brooms, I was cleansed of the dungeon filth. No surgeon
could have bathed my wounds more thoroughly. My violent gasps pumped
the pure air deep into my poisoned lungs, and the heavy throbs of my
heart sent the blood tingling through my benumbed limbs and brain. When
Keiki gave command to cease the washing, I lay outstretched on the wet
stones, bruised and aching from head to foot, but freed from all the
ill effects of the pit.

“My august father will now view the snow white skin of the _tojin
sama_,” said Keiki. “Cut loose the ankle withe.”

The rattan about my ankles was slashed apart, and I was jerked to my
feet. Though weak and unsteady, I was able to stand unaided. Prodding
dirks drove me across to the front of the torture chamber, where a
frame with curtains of split bamboo had been set up on the matting
of the raised floor. Keiki stepped up and kowtowed beside the frame.
I heard no sound, but presently he turned and addressed me with mock
courtesy: “The _tojin sama_ is requested to exhibit to august eyes the
manners of his people.”

I stared at the centre of the curtain, through which I fancied that I
saw the outline of a seated figure.

“The Prince of Mito is said to regard _tojins_ as midway between beasts
and demons,” I replied. “He will have ample opportunity to judge of
_tojin_ manners when the black ships of my people return to Yedo Bay.”

“Woroto Sama will not be so unkind as to compel the august one to wait
an uncertain event,” purred Keiki. “Request is made that he show the
behavior of a _tojin_ of low birth who has been overcome with drink.”

“It is evident that Rekko Sama seeks to ape the tricks of the shoguns
with the Dutchmen,” I rejoined. “There is this difference--Rekko Sama
is not yet Shogun, and I am not a Dutch tradesman.”

Keiki’s smile deepened, and he murmured imploringly: “Yet will not the
American lord condescend to exhibit the manner in which a _daimio_ of
his people salutes his bride?”

Had my hands been free I must have leaped upon the raised floor and
throttled him or been killed in the attempt. I bowed over and waited
until I had regained my self-control. My reply was uttered as suavely
as his jeer: “In my land there is an inferior people, smooth-faced
and _not_ white-skinned. They are a race of base savages, who, until
conquered and subjected by my people, delighted in the torment of their
captives.”

Across Keiki’s face flitted a look that might have done credit to an
Iroquois or Sioux warrior dancing before the stake of a burning enemy.
He was defeated on his own ground. There was a short pause. I fancied
that I heard a murmur. Keiki signed with his fan, and waved me aside.

Behind where I had been standing was a post similar to the one in the
torture chamber of the High Court. A screen slipped open, and two
_etas_ appeared with a woman between them. As they crossed to the post
the woman raised her head. It was Kohana San. She smiled and bowed to
me as if I had been seated before her in the state audience hall of
Owari Yashiki. She would have kowtowed had the pariahs loosened their
brutal grip of her rounded arms. Keiki looked at her with a devilish
smile.

“The complicity of the _geisha_ in the crimes of the barbarian is
established,” he said. “She may yet win the mercy of a swift death by
confessing her knowledge of the barbarian’s intent to betray Nippon to
his countrymen.”

“Keiki Sama already has the answer of the _geisha_,” replied Kohana in
her clear bell-like voice. “Woroto Sama came to serve Dai Nippon, not
to betray.”

“Kohana forgets. We will aid her memory,” mocked Keiki.

The _eta_ torturers dragged the girl to the post and lashed her fast. A
silk cord was looped around her head and twisted tight with a stick.

“Speak!” commanded Keiki.

“The truth has been told,” she replied.

The torturer with the stick began to twist. At the first shriek I
bounded forward to fling myself upon the _etas_. Guards rushed between
and bore me back. The shrieks died away in a moan. Kohana had swooned.
The cord was relaxed, and a pungent powder held to the girl’s nostrils.
She revived.

“Speak!” commanded Keiki.

“The truth has been told,” she gasped.

Keiki made a sign, and the torturer again twisted the cord. As it
tightened, the agony became greater than the girl could bear.

“Wait!--Have mercy!” she screamed.

“Loose the cord,” commanded Keiki, and he cast an exultant look at me.
“We shall now learn the truth.”

For a few moments the tortured girl’s bosom rose and fell in gasping
sobs. At last she summoned strength enough to lift her head and speak.
But it was not Keiki whom she addressed. Her voice rang out in the
ecstasy of self-sacrifice: “My Lord Yoritomo! can it be they think I
will lie to harm thy friend?--To thee, my august lord, the last word of
thy humble servant!”

She paused. Blood gushed from between her lips. Her head sank forward.
One of the _etas_ wrenched open her mouth, and cried out that she had
bitten off her tongue. Love had triumphed over hate. The most frightful
torture could not now compel the _geisha_ to denounce the friend of her
dead lord.

For a moment I thought that Keiki would hurl himself upon the heroic
girl. A low murmur came from behind the bamboo curtains. Keiki signed
to the _etas_. “Return the traitress to the cage until the time
appointed for her crucifixion.”

“Demon!” I cried. “Beast! _Aino!_”

A guard struck me a violent blow across the mouth.

“Fling the toad back into his slime hole!” commanded Keiki.

“The nobles of Nippon are civilized!” I gibed at him between my
bleeding lips.

The shot struck, though not where I had aimed.

“Stay!” commanded a stern voice from behind the curtains. “The
barbarian beast shall have no justification for his revilement of Mito.
Let the sentence and warrant be shown him, and let him be caged as a
condemned _daimio_.”

I had touched the vanity of the hidden Prince of Mito. Keiki bent to
mutter a protest. For answer, two documents were thrust out between
the slits of the bamboo curtain. Keiki mustered his courtier’s smile,
and turned to open the documents before me, that I might see their
vermilion seals.

“‘The sentence of the High Court, condemning to death Woroto the
_tojin_ for discharging a firearm in Yedo--’” he began.

“The Prince of Mito knows that this unjust sentence was annulled by the
express command of Minamoto Iyeyoshi,” I interrupted.

“The Prince of Mito has received the sentence of the High Court and the
warrant of the Council of Elders,” replied Keiki suavely. “No order of
annulment had been received from Minamoto Iyeyoshi.”

To this I had no answer. There could be no doubt of the duplicity of
my enemies. The entire proceeding was illegal. But I was absolutely
in their power. To have cried out in protest would have served only
to gratify their malice. Finding that I remained silent, Keiki made a
sign. I was led past the gaping mouth of the pit, and out through a low
opening, into a room lined with wooden cages.

A _samurai_ covered my wounds with plasters of dampened paper; a
tattered silk kimono was wrapped about me, and I was thrust into
one of the cages. After a time food and tea were brought and set in
between the massive bars. To my astonishment, I discovered that I was
ravenously hungry. I devoured the food, and stretched out upon the
rough planks of my prison cell, overcome with plethora and exhaustion.
A heavy sleep came to ease my aching body and racked brain.




CHAPTER XXXII--LED OUT TO EXECUTION


For two days I was kept caged, but fed and waited upon by _eta_
gaolers with utmost deference. Why there should have been such a delay
I could not conjecture, unless time was required to check some move
of my friends, or unless Mito wished Kohana and myself to regain our
strength, so that we might suffer the more keenly during our execution.
Utmost precautions were taken that I should find no means to put an end
to myself.

On the third day I was roused before dawn and led to a bathroom. My
wounds were now almost healed, and my full strength had come back to
me. But when I stepped from the cage, my arms were gripped by two
_samurais_ in such a manner that a slight twist would have dislocated
the shoulder joints. Of this I was given a hint, as a warning against
any attempt to escape. Otherwise I was treated with deference. After
the bath I was clad in a worn but clean robe of silk, and led back to
my cage for breakfast.

When I had eaten, I was again asked to leave the cage. As I stepped
through the opening, _etas_ seized me and lashed my arms behind my
back. I was led out to a court crowded with warriors in full armor,
and forced into a _kago_, over which nets were wound. Dawn had not yet
come, but torches flung a weird and lurid light over the outlandish
figures of the armored _samurais_.

Another _kago_ was borne forward past mine. Within the nets that
enmeshed it I saw the bowed form of a woman. She raised her head, and I
perceived the pallid face of Kohana. She greeted me with a smile that
wrenched my heart.

“Buddha bless you!” I called. “Be strong. There is one who awaits us
beyond!”

Her dark eyes glistened with tears of gratitude at the words of
sympathy. But the bearers of her _kago_ hastened past. She disappeared
among the close ranks of the _samurais_. A signal was given, and the
torch bearers filed out of the court. The _samurais_ strutted after,
with clanking armor. Others appeared and fell in behind my _kago_. I
was borne out in the midst of the procession.

Outside the gateway of the _yashiki_, Keiki, mounted on an armored
stallion, waited at the head of several thousand warriors. The lowly
_geisha_ and the despised _tojin_ were to be escorted through Yedo by
an army of _samurais_--though not in honor.

Dawn was at hand as we started along the causeway of the outer moat
towards Owari Yashiki. Far away, over the western suburbs of the
city, I caught the glorious vision of Fuji-yama, glowing high in the
blue-black sky, like a symbol of hope in the night of my despair. My
spirits revived with unreasoning elation. But Keiki led his warriors on
along the causeway, and within the half-hour the exultant Mito men were
marching past Owari Yashiki in the full light of dawn, with an insolent
clamor of conches and wooden clappers. The ranks about me opened out,
that I might be seen.

No sound came from the _yashiki_; no face peered from the grated
windows. We clashed past the great gateway. It was closed tight. The
Mito men strutted past, shouting in derision. No band rushed out in
fierce sortie, as I had expected. No face appeared at the windows. I
was abandoned to my fate. My head sank forward upon my breast.

Before me rose a picture of the beautiful gardens and fairylike palace;
of my quaint and gentle little mother Tokiwa, my stately father. But
all vanished before the white face of Azai. A pang of doubt and despair
pierced my brain. Was Azai still here in the _yashiki_, vainly longing
for me?--had she gone before me, with her dirk through that white
throat?--or had she been taken away to be given to Keiki? I muttered
a curse upon my friends. I was being borne past the end of Owari
Yashiki, and not even Yuki my swordbearer had struck a blow for me....

Down through west and south Yedo was a long and tedious march. But
I failed to heed the passage of time. I had sunk into a lethargy of
despair. Only once I roused up. They were bearing me past the groves of
Shiba, now glorious with the tints of autumn. The northeast monsoon,
after weeks of steady effort, had blown the moisture of the Japan
Current southward. The air was as clear as crystal, the blue sky
cloudless. It was no day to lead a man out to a hideous death--I should
have been strolling through the gardens with Azai....

On to the Tokaido, and down along the bay shore through Shinagawa,
marched the grimly grotesque warriors of antique Nippon. It seemed a
lifetime since my dear brother had led me after the cortege of Satsuma,
through the black gate and along the broad way and down that narrow
street to the house of Kohana. Now the _geisha_ was going with me to
meet him--through the black gate of death!

At the southern boundary of Shinagawa the main force of our escort
halted. We were borne onward, guarded only by a hundred swordsmen and
an equal number of pikemen. We came to the pillory upon which I had
seen the five heads. My bearers swung past. This was not the place
where we were to suffer.

Out on the blue bay I saw great foundations of stone rising from the
shoals that barred the approach to Yedo. Toiling workers swarmed over
and about the half-constructed forts, to which strings of sampans were
lightering blocks of stone from junks that lay in the offing. Other
craft sailed up or down the bay, or lay at anchor in the deeper water
down towards the tall white tower on the cape opposite Kawasaki.

Sailor bred, I looked out upon the wide bay with a sudden rousing from
lethargy. Wind, waves, swelling sails--all spoke of life and freedom.
If only the majestic _Susquehanna_ might come steaming around that
towered cape! I could see the grotesque warriors about me scuttling
like crabs before the thunder of the _tojin_ cannon.

But Perry had promised the reluctant Shogunate many months for
deliberation, and I had heard the report from Nagasaki that the
Tai-ping rebellion was raging in China. I could hope for no aid either
from my own countrymen or the ships of any other Western power. The
lives and property of white men were endangered at Shanghai by the
Chinese rebels. It was no time for squadrons to be cruising along the
remote coasts of Japan.

We approached Omori. A group of villagers shouted at me in derision,
and ran ahead of our party. Others joined them by the score. The news
spread down the Tokaido. I saw men in silk robes, white-clad pilgrims,
and even priests, cutting across towards the bay shore. Keiki turned
off the Tokaido. We had come to the execution ground. The mailed
_samurais_ clattered through the midst of the motley crowd assembled
to gloat upon the torture of the victims. There were peasants and
fishermen, merchants and porters, cowled priests and pilgrims, and a
scattering of _ronins_.

But I had no eyes for those who had come to see me suffer. The Mito men
were lining out to right and left. I was borne past after Kohana to
the edge of the hideous blood pit. Bones crunched under the iron-shod
sandals of my bearers. All about me the ground was composed more of the
dead of countless executions than of soil.

Before us stood a heavy post with cross-beams at top and bottom. A few
paces to the left was a massive gibbet with a chain dangling from its
arm. _Eta_ executioners advanced, bearing a huge copper kettle, which
they swung to the chain of the gibbet. Oil was poured into the kettle,
and a fire lighted below.

The _etas_ came to my _kago_ and unwound the nets. But as they dragged
me out, Keiki called to them. One took up his position beside me,
ready to catch me with a grappling-hook should I attempt to run. The
others went to Kohana’s _kago_. She was dragged out and taken to the
cross, which was directly in front of me, less than six yards away.

The _etas_ tore the robes from about her shoulders. The first dancer of
Yedo stood before the gaping mob nude to the waist. In a twinkling she
was triced up to the cross, her tender wrists lashed to the upper arm,
her ankles to the lower. An _eta_ brought a sheaf of slender lances and
handed one to his chief.

The executioner moved around and put the lance tip to the girl’s side.
I knew that his purpose was to pierce upwards through her body without
striking a vital organ. My eyelids fell. I could not endure the sight.
But again Keiki interfered.

“Hold!” he commanded, and he rode forward until between me and the
gibbet. “Wait until the oil is heated. You may miss your thrust. The
girl may not linger long enough to enjoy the first dipping of the
_tojin_ beast.”

“My lord,” protested the _eta_, “it is known to you that I have more
than once thrust through two and even three spears from each side, yet
death did not follow until after many hours. This is one who can endure
much.”

Keiki did not deign to reply. The executioner drew aside a step.
The crowd pressed closer, and an oppressive hush fell upon all. The
gloating spectators stared from myself to Kohana and from her to the
great kettle, where the _etas_ were casting brush and <DW19>s on the
fire.

Even the certainty of torture cannot hold the mind to any one thought
for many moments. I found myself heeding such trifles as the downward
swoop of a flock of gulls and the heat of the midday sun upon my bare
head. I noticed with idle curiosity that those of the crowd who had
pressed forward on each side were nearly all men of the lower classes.
The upper-class men held back behind the guards, seemingly ashamed of
their morbid curiosity.

Gazing out over the bay, I began to count the junks and fishing smacks.
Sampans came and went between the anchored craft. From a junk that lay
opposite us a large sharp-bowed boat was sculling leisurely shoreward.
I flushed with petulant anger at the thought that here was another
party coming to see us tortured, yet too indifferent to hasten.

The purring voice of Keiki recalled me to the horror of the situation.

“The kettle boils,” he called. “Proceed.”

The chief executioner stepped forward with his spear. I caught a
farewell glance from Kohana. She raised her face to the sun. I turned
my head aside--and found myself gazing into the white face of Azai.

I stared, stupefied. She was wrapped about in the white dress of a
pilgrim, the dress of mourning. Had she come to die with me? That
thought was more fearful than the thought of death in the boiling oil.

A man in white behind her looked up, so that I saw his face under the
broad hat brim. My heart leaped. I was to die a merciful death--I and
Azai, my wife. Yuki had not failed me!




CHAPTER XXXIII--BARED BLADES


A dart whirred past me, to drive through the mid-body of the
executioner as he bent to thrust his lance. In the same instant Yuki
flung off his pilgrim robe and leaped at Keiki with outflashing sword,
his burnished armor glittering in the sun-glare.

Sudden as was the attack, Keiki flung himself away from the stroke
with such quickness that the blade barely cut through the mail on his
side. Wrenched about by the powerful bit, his stallion reared above
Yuki. Instantly the swordmaster struck a slashing upward blow that half
severed the beast’s neck at the base.

I saw the stallion rolling over upon his rider--a score of Mito
warriors were leaping to drive back Yuki--I saw Azai darting towards
me. All about me was a wild swirl of shrieking, fleeing commonfolk, of
Mito men yelling and slashing in blind fury, and crestless warriors,
still half disguised, who had already cut down their own number of Mito
men. I sprang to meet Azai. The _eta_ with the hook grappled my robe
and dragged me to the ground.

Azai sprang past me. I twisted about and saw her strike at the stooping
_eta_. The pariah fell inert, pierced through the nape of his neck. A
mob of yelling, slashing warriors surged about us. Azai flung herself
upon me to shield me with her tender body. A Mito man fell heavily
across us, the blood gushing from a great wound in his breast. I heard
the triumphant shout of Yuki. The wave of fighting men surged back.

My bonds parted under Azai’s dirk edge. She sprang up and tugged with
her girlish strength to help me to my feet. From the bosom of her
robe she plucked out my revolvers, first one and then the other. As I
caught them from her, I glanced around at the wild _mêlée_. A group of
Mito men were dragging their lord from under his horse. The mass were
closing in upon my rescuers, who had rallied with Yuki to drive them
back from me. All told, his followers numbered less than fifty. Though
picked men, they were falling fast before the overwhelming numbers of
the Mito men. The pikemen in the rear ranks thrust at them over the
shoulders of the Mito swordsmen.

“My lord! to the shore--the boat!” cried Azai.

“First free Kohana!” I commanded.

With unquestioning obedience, she ran with me to the cross and slashed
at the bonds of the _geisha_. A Mito man charged upon me from the
side. I shot him through the centre of his demonic face mask. Kohana
fell free from the cross. Our defenders were giving back.

“To the boat!--to the boat!” I shouted.

“To the boat!” yelled Keiki.

I thrust Azai and Kohana before me, to rush past the kettle gibbet. Our
defenders came backing after us, now rallying, now retreating. Keiki’s
voice called from the midst of the Mito men, and half a hundred came
charging around to flank and head us off. I began to fire. But the Mito
men were not to be stopped by my balls. They rushed in upon us. I drew
Azai back. Kohana was too quick for me. She sprang aside to the gibbet.
An oil dipper was lying upon the ground. She caught it up and dipped
into the boiling oil. With a skilful sweep she dashed the seething
fluid into the faces of the foremost warriors. Shrieking in agony, they
turned to fly. Again the girl dipped and flung, and again, in quick
succession. The Mito leaders plunged back amongst those behind, in wild
panic.

Another ladle lay beside the kettle. I caught it up and helped fling
out the oil at those who would have boiled me in it. The Mito men of
the flanking party turned and rushed back among those who were engaged
in furious struggle with our defenders, throwing them into momentary
confusion.

The moment was not lost by Yuki. At his shout, our men closed about us.
The ladles were taken from Kohana and me, and we were swept forward
with Azai. The Mito men, charging after us, were again thrown into
confusion by ladlefuls of seething oil. They spread out on either side
to close around us. But we had gained a slight start.

A few yards offshore I saw waiting the large scullboat. Naked rowers
stood ready at their long sweeps. The shoreward gunwale was lined with
women, dressed in black robes and stiff black hats and armed with
halberds.

The Mito men closed in again upon our rear and flanks, and sought
desperately to push forward and head us. Our men fought them off with
still greater desperation. The shore was not far. Five and twenty men
were left when we gained the beach and splashed down into the water.
Yuki, though severely wounded, yet fought best of all, spurring his
fellows to superhuman efforts with his cries.

Down the beach with us plunged the Mito men, goaded on by the furious
commands of their lord. I caught a glimpse of his bright-armored figure
upborne between two of his retainers. But my pistol ball glanced on
the shoulder-piece of a warrior who leaped before him down the bank.
Azai slipped upon the slimy clay bottom. I caught her up and plunged
forward, dragging Kohana by the arm.

On either side of us Mito warriors and our own men fell maimed into the
muddied water, to flounder and drown. A dozen of the enemy dashed ahead
to board the boat. The _samurai_ women, led by O Setsu San, screamed
defiance and struck at the mailed warriors with skilful blows of their
halberds. Only two of the enemy gained the side of the boat. Both were
overtaken and cut down by the foremost of our party.

Almost outspent, we floundered forward through the knee-deep water to
the boat. O Setsu San and her _samurai_ women beat off the Mito men
with their halberds while we clambered aboard. I swung Azai and then
Kohana over the gunwale, and vaulted in after them. A few of our men
were in before me. Such of the others as had not fallen came staggering
alongside, all wounded. The stronger ones paused to meet the furious
attempt of the Mito men to overwhelm them and capture the boat.

The women whirled their halberds, the naked oarsmen beat at the Mito
men with their sweeps. I fired every cartridge that remained in my
revolvers, and shouted for all to climb aboard. Those already in the
boat stood with brandished swords. Those in the water turned to clamber
over the gunwale. The Mito men rushed after. The women redoubled their
blows. Yuki still stood with his face to the enemy, and shouted to the
oarsmen to back offshore. The brave man meant to stand where he was
and guard our retreat until cut down. I reached over and dragged him
alongside.

The boat had begun to back water under the powerful strokes of the
scullers. Finding that I would not release him, Yuki turned and leaped
aboard. I caught up the sword of a man who lay dying, and thrust out at
the Mito men as they grasped at the boat’s bows. Yuki and such of his
men as could still fight beat at the enemy, slashing through the mailed
arms that sought to hold the boat. But the brave women did far more
with their halberds.

With a cry of triumph, we beat off the last Mito man and swept clear.
I glanced about and saw Azai fling down a halberd to kneel beside one
of the wounded men. O Setsu and Kohana and all the other women dropped
their halberds to follow the example of their mistress.

Yuki sheathed his hacked sword and sank down before me, the blood
oozing through his riven armor.

“My lord,” he murmured, “Owari could not strike, but _ronins_ could.
Your august father gave me the best swordsmen of the clan. It is for my
lord to win his way over the sea to Kagoshima. Satsuma-no-kami pledges
shelter to my lord and his wife, the Shogun’s daughter. Farewell, my
lord! I go now.”

He sank prostrate at my feet. At my cry, Azai darted to me, and after
her O Setsu. Other women aided them to strip off the broken armor. They
would save him if he might be saved.

I sprang up to order the boat brought about. The Mito men had
floundered after us till the water came to their armpits. They could
come no farther. No man could swim in armor such as weighted them down.
At my command the scullers brought the boat around, bows on, and headed
her for the nearest junk. She drove forward, out across the dancing
whitecaps, at racing speed.

Aboard the junk the crew was shortening cable, ready to weigh anchor
and set sail. One of the wounded men called to me and pointed to the
shore. Mito warriors, stripped of their armor, were running swiftly
towards Yedo. Others waved banners and garments, in frantic efforts to
signal the many passing junks and boats. A fishing smack sheered out of
its course to intercept us, but bore off again at sight of our bared
blades.

We raced on, the long sculls bowing under the powerful strokes of the
rowers. These men, too, were Owari retainers. They stood in their
places and thrust at the handles of their sweeps with their broad
chests, rejoiced to serve him who had been the chief of the clan.

The poop of the junk reared high before us. The hope in my heart rose
to a certainty. There was no gaping hole in the stern of the clumsy
craft. She was one of the junks that the Shogunate had sought to
convert into a warship. I remembered that my clan had offered to equip
and man part of the fleet.

We shot alongside. Lines were flung to us and made fast. The rowers
helped us lift the disabled warriors up over the low bulwarks
amidships, while the junk’s crew weighed anchor and hoisted their great
square sail. Two men had died of their wounds. But Yuki still breathed.
He was lifted aboard and carried into the cabin, followed by Azai and O
Setsu and Kohana.

As the ship came about, the crew shouted and pointed up the bay. A
squadron of war-junks and guard-boats were bearing down upon us. The
women were all aboard. I scrambled after with the rowers. Stones were
flung down into the boat to scuttle her, and she was cast adrift with
the two dead men.

With the monsoon blowing fresh on her port quarter, the junk was
already beginning to run down the bay at a rate that surprised me. The
bronzed skipper came pattering down from beside his huge tiller to
kowtow to his august lord. I ordered him to rise and come aft with me
up on the high poop.

The pursuing squadron had ceased to gain on us as at the first. Most
of the craft were falling astern, but one at least was still creeping
up on us. The skipper admitted that she was slightly the better sailer
on the wind, and that she carried a number of bronze pieces. His own
cannon had not yet been shipped.

A few inquiries brought me the information that he had aboard spare
sailcloth and spars. Within the minute I had his crew rigging jibs and
staysails. There was no time to cut and sew canvas. The sheets were
knotted and rigged in a manner to shame a marine. Yet even the first
jib that was set drew enough to offset the difference in the speed of
our foremost pursuer.

After jibs followed staysails, and last of all, studding-sails. The
junk heeled over under the freshening wind and drove down the bay at
a speed that astonished the incoming craft. Finding themselves fast
falling astern, our pursuers opened fire with their feeble carronades.
We cheered, and hauled to our peak the first national flag authorized
by the Shogunate,--a red ball on a white field.

The many craft which we met or passed mistook the firing of our
pursuers for salutes and cheered us as we drove by in our swift
flight. Within two hours we were flying past the outjutting point on
the east coast which had given Yoritomo and me so much concern that
wild night in June.

We stood boldly on down past the cape above Uraga. In the narrower
waters of the bay between us and Cape Sagami, government guard-boats
sculled to and fro in vigilant patrol. We drove on past Uraga without
putting in, as the regulations required. Guard-boat signalled to
guard-boat. They sculled swiftly athwart our course, signalling for us
to lay to. Some we slipped past; others backed water to escape being
run down, firing at us with their ineffective swivels. Two managed to
strike in alongside. But we cut loose their grappling-hooks before
their crews could board us.

By mid-afternoon we cleared the last of the guard-boats off Cape
Sagami. Before us opened the broad gulf of the outer bay, beyond which
rolled the illimitable expanse of the Pacific,--the broad lap of
Freedom! We had won our way out of the clutches of Mito.

I set our course between the smoking mass of Vries Island and the
distant coast of Idzu and ordered the studding-sails struck. We had now
only to coast down Hondo and Shikoku and Kyushu to Cape Satanomi before
the steady drive of the northeast monsoon,--a rough voyage against the
Japan Current in any craft, yet one fairly safe at this season even
for our unwieldy junk. The typhoon season was past.

I went down into the cabin, where mats had been laid and silk drapes
hung for the son of Owari. There, alone in the largest room, I found
the Shogun’s daughter, waiting to salute and serve her lord. She
kowtowed before me, her forehead upon her tiny hands. I bent and caught
her up in my arms, and pressed my lips upon her little mouth, after the
manner of the _tojins_.




CHAPTER XXXIV--CONCLUSION


The last page of my narrative is finished. I lay it aside with the
others and gaze out through the open balcony of my tower room upon the
majestically beautiful stretch of Kagoshima Bay. From this pagoda eyrie
I can look with equal ease down the blue gulf and upon the gray roofs
of the city beneath the castle height.

There, in the mouth of the inlet, off the volcanic island in the head
of the bay, is the anchorage where the _Sea Flight_ lay that eventful
night for Fate to send me my brother Yoritomo.

My thoughts wander from the classroom below me where, as honorable
and honored teacher of the _tojin_ learning, I instruct the young
_samurais_ of my great friend Satsuma. I pass in rapid review those
eventful months in Yedo. I recall the sacrifice of my dear friend
and rejoice to know that the years promise a maturing of good fruit
from the seed sown by his spirit and watered with his blood. I recall
how even Mito and the cautious Abe were forced to accept the treaty
they abhorred, by the menace of Perry’s black ships, in the Spring of
fifty-four.

The brother of the sweetest woman on earth or in Heaven still sits on
the stool of the Sei-i-tai Shogun. But now Ii Kamon-no-kami the Great
Elder holds the place of Abe, and seconds the efforts of the wise first
consul to Japan, the American Townsend Harris. Word has come that the
treaty for the opening of ports to commerce and intercourse will be
signed. The Shogunate and feudalism verge towards their inevitable
fall. But the truth must penetrate to the ears of our sacred Mikado
through the age-old barriers of ignorance and prejudice. I see a new
Japan.

A hand touches my arm with the lightness of a perching butterfly. I
turn and draw to me my wife, the Shogun’s daughter, and press my lips
upon her coral mouth. So much I have retained of my _tojin_ manners.

She withdraws her soft arms from about my neck, and glides back to
kneel before her lord and clap her hands gently. There is no responsive
“_Hai!_”--but through the entrance floats a graceful woman, bearing a
blue-eyed baby girl. Little Azai is handed to her mother, while Kohana
San smiles the greeting she cannot speak, and kowtows to the master.

A sturdy boy of four rushes in to fling himself down before his august
father in the required salute. But there is a light not altogether
Nipponese in his lustrous black eyes as he springs up to tell of his
war game with his playmates in the castle garden.

And O Setsu San? She still attends upon the Shogun’s daughter when
not serving her lord and husband, the Swordmaster of Kagoshima, once
known as Yuki the _ronin_. But of the august Prince of Owari and his
quaint and dainty lady Tokiwa, who for a time I called father and
mother,--from them I have been cut off as from the dead.

Kagoshima is far from Yedo, yet even Shimadzu Nariakira, Daimio of
Satsuma, dare not whisper abroad the secret of my presence among his
counsellors. For Keiki and old Rekko still plot and intrigue in the
capital of my wife’s august brother, and in Kyoto the Son of Heaven
still dwells in the Past, and in his eyes the hairy _tojins_ are beasts
and demons.

May Ama-terasu, bright Goddess of the Sun, soon illumine the night of
Kyoto with her rays of truth!


THE END




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

In the list of books by the same author, the price for the second one
actually was printed as $150, with no room for a decimal point.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Shogun's Daughter, by Robert Ames Bennet

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