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 slope 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-colored 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.