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.