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.”