In the second month of the fifteenth year of Tenshō (A.D. 1587),
Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who had brought the greater part of Japan under his
sway, crossed over to the Island of Kyūshiū with a large army, in order
to subjugate Shimazu Yoshihisa, an independent daimio governing eight
of the nine provinces that form the island. The following month Gamō
Ujisato, a renowned general in Hideyoshi’s army, advanced to the Castle
of Ganshaku in the province of Buzen, and attacked it fiercely for
three successive days. The garrison, however, offered such a stubborn
resistance that little impression was made; and it seemed unlikely
that the fortress would fall into the hands of the besiegers for some
time. Ujisato, being a man of impetuous and fiery disposition, lost all
patience, and rated his men soundly.
“Cowards!” he shouted. “How is it you are so long in taking such an
insignificant place? Have you all turned women? I will take the castle
single-handed!”
He dashed to the front, spurring his steed recklessly forward in the
very teeth of a volley of arrows and bullets that was directed at him.
But as he neared the ramparts a shot struck his horse in the abdomen
causing it, with a scream of agony, to rear itself up on its hind legs
and throw its rider backwards off the saddle. At the instant, the gate
of the castle was flung open, and a number of men rushed out. The
fallen warrior encompassed by the foe thought his end had come, when
a giant clad in black armour and mounted on a great chestnut horse
dashed to the rescue. With mighty strokes he cut and hewed right and
left, scattering the enemy like leaves before the wind of autumn. Some
fell dead beneath the hoofs of his horse, others took to their heels
and regained the shelter of the walls. Nishimura Gonshirō did not
trouble himself to follow the fugitives, but leaping from his charger
hastened to raise his chief. Ujisato was but slightly wounded, and with
Gonshirō’s help was able to mount the latter’s horse.
“A thousand thanks, my gallant fellow,” he said, gathering up the
reins. “But for you I should by this time have been a dead man. I shall
never forget you have saved my life this day, and it will be my
great pleasure after the war to express my gratitude in some tangible
form.”
The example of Gonshirō’s heroic deed seemed to put new spirit into
Ujisato’s men, and with greater determination and bravery they stormed
the castle. As a result in the course of a few hours the garrison was
obliged to surrender, and before many days had elapsed all Kyūshiū had
submitted to Hideyoshi’s rule.
When quiet was restored Hideyoshi bestowed rewards on all the daimios
who had fought for him, and Ujisato was promoted to the Governorship
of Matsuzaka Castle in the province of Isé with an annual income of
300,000 _koku_ of rice.
All in their turns, and according to their degrees, Ujisato rewarded
those of his vassals who had distinguished themselves under his
leadership. Some were given handsome gifts; others had their stipends
raised. Gonshirō who considered he had done a greater deed than any of
the others, seeing that he had saved his master’s life at the risk of
his own, naturally expected to receive some special favour. But greatly
to his surprise and chagrin no acknowledgment was made. What could be
the reason?
At first he felt no little resentment and brooded over this
neglect. But after a time, being a man who cared little for gain, he
let the affair fade from his mind though he still felt sore when he
happened to think of it.
Meanwhile the summer had come and gone, and now the 15th of September
was here. The night of all the year on which the atmosphere in Japan is
most translucent and the moon shines with the greatest brilliancy. The
night when men of a poetic turn sit up into the small hours composing
verses on the beauty of the scene, the while they sip _saké_ from
delicate porcelain cups to aid the fickle muse. On this night therefore
Ujisato gave a “moon-viewing party,” inviting a large number of his
retainers to a banquet in the main hall of his castle.
The witching light of the full moon wrapt the stern old pile; the tiny
ripples on the moat glistened like liquid gold; the crickets shrilled
musically among the tall grasses. The sliding screens had been removed
and the calm beauty without softened and impressed the hearts of the
sturdy warriors inured to scenes so different of bloodshed and the din
of battle. Now it was that charmed by the loveliness around them many
began to compose verses in adoration of the scene, and Ujisato’s
were among the best. But after a time the _saké_ of which they partook,
not sparingly, went to their heads, and it is not surprising that some
of the would-be poets became a little elevated. The talk turned to
tales of war and one and another recounted deeds of prowess performed
by himself in the face of danger and difficulty. Nor was the host, Lord
Ujisato himself, above a little boasting in his cups and it was thus he
spoke:—
“Listen, my friends,” he began. “Do you remember the fierce assault
of the Castle of Ganshaku at the beginning of this year? The mere
mention of it makes my blood boil! We attacked the castle three days
without a break yet could make no headway. You men lost heart. To rouse
you to a final effort I rode up to the gate alone—alone, in the face
of the enemy amid a perfect hailstorm of missiles. A bullet struck
my horse and he fell—I under him. Seizing the opportunity the enemy
poured out and surrounded me nine or ten deep—I determined to sell my
life dear” ... here the narrator paused to wipe his face from which
the perspiration was streaming from the energy with which he spoke.
Gonshirō’s heart leapt, he bent forward his face eager—now, at last his
lord was about to reward his patient waiting and acknowledge his
service before all men.
“To sell my life dear,” repeated Ujisato with gleaming eyes. “So I
fought as I had never done before with the courage of despair. Some I
cut down, others I put to flight, finally I succeeded in remounting my
horse and rode into the castle before the enemy could close the gates
against me. Seeing my intrepid action you were inspired by my spirit,
and following closely on my heels, you all did your best and the
fortress was taken.”
Thus did Ujisato omit all mention of Gonshirō and overlook his gallant
deed. This base ingratitude was more than the faithful retainer could
bear!
“Gonshirō begs permission to speak a word, your lordship,” he said
brusquely.
“By all means,” assented Ujisato. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, your lordship, but what you said just now is hardly
correct.”
“What! You imply I spoke an untruth!”
“Yes, your lordship. You talk as if you had ridden into the castle
unaided. That is not true. When you fell from your horse and were
surrounded by the enemy’s men I hastened to your rescue and it was
my horse on which I assisted you to mount. By my timely help you
were enabled to ride into the castle. It is but bare justice that you
should amend your statement and acknowledge that you were saved from
certain death by Gonshirō, your lordship.”
This bold speech caused no little stir amongst the guests. Many of
those present could bear witness to the truth of the rough soldier’s
words. They waited with bated breath for what would follow.
Ujisato was moved to make a frank avowal. It had long been in his
mind to requite Gonshirō’s great service by a suitable reward, and it
was his intention to appoint him governor of the castle of Tagé which
was a small fortress attached to the large castle of Matsuzaka where
he himself resided. But Tagé Castle occupied a naturally strong site
and stood in relation to the greater castle in such a situation that
if a rebellion broke out in it, or if it were taken by an enemy, the
safety of Matsuzaka would be immediately threatened. It was of the
first importance, therefore, that it should be placed in the hands
of an absolutely trustworthy man, and the cautious Ujisato wished
to be quite sure of the loyalty of Gonshirō and to test him to the
utmost before putting him in a position of so much importance and
responsibility.
“Silence, Gonshirō!” thundered the daimio, keeping up the part he had
decided to play a little longer. “How dare you say such a thing of your
lord! Liar! I have no recollection of being saved by you or by any one
else.”
“Strange, my lord! Your words at the time were, ‘A thousand thanks,
Gonshirō! But for you I should have been dead by now. I shall never
forget what you have done and after the war I will give you a reward.’
I want no reward—I am a plain soldier with neither wife nor child—but
it is unbearable that you should thus ignore my service. It is an
undoubted fact, my lord, that I did save your life and thus opened the
way for our troops to take the castle of Ganshaku.”
“It is a lie! You did not save my life.”
“It is the truth! I did save you!”
“You are drunk; you do not know what you are saying. I repeat, you did
not save my life!”
Gonshirō’s blood was up. He threw discretion to the winds.
“Ingrate and liar! I did save your life!”
“A lie!”
Ujisato frowned darkly and seemed about to have the daring offender
punished as he deserved, but apparently changing his mind, he laughed
good-humouredly and:—
“Look here, Gonshirō,” he said, “you insist that you saved me; I deny
it. At this rate there can be no end of the matter for each holds to
his own opinion. But to settle the question once for all let us have a
wrestling bout, you and I. If I am beaten I will admit that you saved
me as you aver, and prostrating myself before you with both hands on
the ground I will humbly beg your pardon for what I have said. That
will be as great an humiliation as removing one’s helmet on the field
of battle and surrendering to the foe. On the other hand, should you
be thrown you will be branded as a liar and ordered to commit
_seppuku._ Will you wrestle with me on those conditions?”
The guests were amazed. One whispered to another.
“What a proposal!”
“Monstrously unfair!”
“One contestant risks his life, the other a mere apology!”
“What are the chances?”
“Gonshirō is the better man.”
“There I disagree with you—our lord has the greater skill. I wager his
lordship will win.”
“Gonshirō will never accept such conditions—they are too unequal!”
While these whispers were going round Gonshirō with head bent took an
instant’s thought. Then he looked up, stern defiance in his eye.
“My lord,” he said, “I take up your challenge! I accept your conditions
unfair though they be. I am a samurai and as such shrink from no
danger. Strong in the truth of my cause I will wrestle with you.”
“Good! At once. Prepare!”
“Your lordship, I am ready.”
[Illustration: Gonshirō threw him by a supreme effort down on to the
mats]
A space was cleared in the centre of the hall whilst the two champions
divested themselves of all unnecessary clothing. Then the struggle
began, and being well-nigh equally matched for some time neither
gained any advantage over his opponent. At last, however, with a loud
shout Gonshirō managed to twist his body, and by a dexterous movement
raised his adversary on his shoulders, to throw him by a supreme effort
down on to the mats at a distance of eight or nine feet. Ujisato
swooned, and great was the consternation with which all rushed to his
assistance. Restoratives were administered and to the relief
of the company consciousness soon returned. The defeated combatant
was able, leaning on the arm of an attendant, to retire to his own
private apartments. The banquet, of course, was abandoned, most of the
guests returning home. Gonshirō left the castle in great dejection and
exasperation.
“What a fool my lord has shown himself,” were his thoughts. “I could
never have conceived it of him. I will remain in his service no longer.
It is not on this place alone that the sun shines. A man of my prowess
can find a billet anywhere. Heigh ho! I will go and seek service with
some other daimio—some one I can respect more than I can my Lord
Ujisato.”
Having made up his mind it did not take Gonshirō long to get ready. At
midnight he stole secretly away intending never to return.
The next morning all the samurai made their appearance at the castle to
enquire after the health of their lord—all that is, but Gonshirō. The
daimio who had quite recovered himself noticed his absence and calling
Gamō Gonzaemon, one of his _karō_, or chief councillors, he asked what
had become of him.
“I beg to inform, your lordship,” replied the _karō_, “I have just
heard a report that he has not been seen this morning and it
is surmised that he has run away in consequence of the unfortunate
occurrence of last evening.”
“If that is true,” exclaimed Ujisato, “I am indeed sorry. I did but
dissimulate in order to test his fidelity, and if my words have lost me
a good retainer I shall be much grieved. Order a search to be made and
when he is found bring him instantly before me. Tell him I did but jest
and that he shall have a liberal reward for the service he did me. Go
at once, Gonzaemon; he cannot have gone far.”
So the missing samurai was sought for in every likely and unlikely
place, but without success. Nothing was seen or heard of him for many a
long day.
* * * * *
An emaciated, shabbily dressed _rōnin_[5] carrying two swords with worn
and ragged hilt-strings and rusty scabbards, and having on his dusty
feet well-worn straw sandals, walked up, with the swagger peculiar to
his caste, to the front door of Gonzaemon’s residence.
“Insolent fellow!” cried the attendant whose business it was to answer
the door. “This is not the place for you. If you would ask alms go
to the back.”
“I am no beggar to crave for alms,” replied the stranger proudly. “I
am one Nishimura Gonshirō, till three years ago in the service of Lord
Ujisato. I have come to speak a word with your master. Kindly inform
his honour of my visit.”
Gonzaemon was delighted to hear of the return of the long vainly sought
absentee. To the disgust of the usher who looked with disdain on the
dirty and travel-worn appearance of the guest, he was admitted into the
inner guest chamber. After a cordial greeting Gonzaemon asked:—
“And how have you been getting along since you left us so suddenly,
Gonshirō?”
“But badly, your honour. They say ‘a faithful servant never serves
two masters,’ but my case has been different. You see, I forsook my
lord and of my own will became a _rōnin_. Hoping to enter the service
of a more honourable chief I travelled from one province to another.
But I was always unfortunate. Those whom I would have chosen to serve
would have none of me—a deserter from another clan; those who would
have accepted me were not good enough to suit my taste. After long and
bitter experiences I have come to the conclusion that there is no
daimio so worthy of allegiance as my former master, Lord Gamō. So I
have come back to see if he will overlook my bad conduct in the past
and let me re-enter his ranks. Of course, I do not expect to receive
my former pay. I shall be grateful and more than satisfied if he will
let me wait upon him as a humble attendant. Will you be so kind as to
intercede for me?”
“You have done right to come back,” answered the _karō_, kindly. “Sooth
to say, our lord has greatly regretted his foolish jest and has caused
strict search to be made to discover your whereabouts and if possible
get you to return. He will rejoice to hear my news. Wait here and
refresh yourself while I go and tell him.”
Gonzaemon did not keep his visitor waiting long. He told Gonshirō that
his lordship was pleased that he had come back and desired to see him
at once.
“Excuse my mentioning such a thing,” continued, the _karō_, “but your
garments are worn and travel-stained. May I not accommodate you with a
change of apparel before you present yourself before his lordship?”
“On no account,” returned the samurai. “You are very kind, but
allow me to go as I am. My shabby condition will give my lord some idea
of the hardships I have undergone as a _rōnin_.”
“As you please, my independent fellow!”
The two men so different in aspect went up to the castle and waited in
an ante-room till summoned to Lord Gamō’s presence.
“Ah, Gonshirō!” he called out genially. “I am mightily glad to see you
again. You were too hasty in running away. I was but teasing you and
you took my words in bitter earnest. I hope you will take your old
place and serve me as faithfully as before.”
“Your kind words overwhelm me, your lordship,” said Gonshirō humbly.
“I have no words in which to express my sense of your clemency. I will
henceforth serve you to the uttermost of my ability.”
The good-natured Gonzaemon was delighted to witness this reconciliation
between chief and vassal. The daimio ordered a feast to be prepared in
honour of the occasion, and presently, over the good cheer, they all
became very merry. It was not long before Ujisato began, as on a former
occasion, to talk rather boastfully of his exploits and his prowess on
the field.
“Gonshirō, when I wrestled with you that time, we all remember,
I was beaten because I was half intoxicated,” he said. “Since then
my health has much improved and I am much heavier and stronger than
before. On the other hand, your many hardships have greatly reduced you
and you are a mere shadow of your former self. Should we try a bout
now, you would have no chance at all.”
It might have been thought that learning wisdom from bitter experience
Gonshirō would have had the sense to agree with his lord’s words, and
to have said “That is very true, your lordship. It was but by a fluke
that I won before; I should have not the slightest chance now.” But
foolish fellow that he was, he forgot everything but the supposed
aspersion on his strength and skill which he could not allow to pass
unchallenged.
“I am very thin as your lordship truly observes,” he said bluntly,
“but my strength is unabated. It is fitting that a samurai should be
stronger than his chief. My muscles were hardened in many a field of
battle and in friendly contests—they are like wires. Excuse me, but I
could not be thrown though five—nay ten—men of your weight should set
upon me at the same time.”
“What, braggart! You still boast of your strength! Well, if you
are so sure of yourself you shall wrestle with me again.”
“With pleasure, your lordship!” said the undaunted samurai.
“Get ready!”
“I am ready, your lordship.”
With these words the two men rose and prepared for the struggle.
Gonzaemon wondered at their infatuation. For years Ujisato had
regretted the act that had cost him a faithful retainer. For years
Gonshirō had wandered a _rōnin_, homeless, and often without food.
Chief and vassal had become reconciled and all was going well, when,
for the sake of a little paltry pride, this happy state of things was
again endangered and a permanent estrangement might be the result. He
strove to remonstrate but neither would listen. All he could do was
to advise Gonshirō, by dumb signs, to allow himself to be beaten; and
Gonshirō coming too late to a better understanding of his rash conduct
answered in the same manner, “I will.”
Satisfied that he had averted a catastrophe, the _karō_ offered to
act as umpire, standing up with an open fan in his hand. After the
preliminary moves the combatants grappled, and a hard tussle it was.
Gonshirō honestly intended to let his master have the satisfaction
of winning. “But,” thought he, “if I let myself be thrown too easily
my lord will suspect something; besides I cannot let him think me
quite such a weakling as he would make out.” Warming to the fight he
again thought, “If I allow myself to be beaten, having strength to
win, I should be a contemptible creature selling himself for the sake
of his place and pay. Nothing disgraces a samurai so much as to be a
flatterer. ‘A man lives for but one generation, but a good name lives
forever.’ A good name is above all material rewards. I cannot pretend
defeat. I must do my best at all costs and come what may, throw my lord
again.”
Hereupon he braced his feet and bent his body, and with a loud shout
shouldered his opponent, and threw him down three mats off just as he
had done before.
The umpire never doubting that Gonshirō had followed his counsel and
that it was he who was thrown, ran forward, exclaiming:—
“Well done, my lord! I never saw a better throw!”
He had no time to say more before he found out his mistake. What was
his dismay to find that Gonshirō was again the victor and that it was
his lord who had thus a second time suffered a humiliating defeat. It
was too exasperating! The same story over again.
Now that his excitement had cooled down somewhat, Gonshirō was covered
with shame and mortification at what he had done.
Ujisato rose without assistance and stamping his foot as though in rage
stalked off to an inner apartment.
“Fool that I am, I have done it again!” cried Gonshirō in despair. “In
spite of your advice, in spite of my own determination, my vanity got
the upper hand and forgetting all else I committed this unpardonable
offence a second time. I will disembowel myself and I beg you to do me
the honour to witness the act!”
So saying the unhappy man took up the short sword he had laid aside and
was on the point of plunging it into his body, when the sliding door
was hastily pushed open and Ujisato ran forward just in time to arrest
his arm.
“Hold, hold! Gonshirō,” he cried. “You are always too impetuous. I do
not blame you for this—it is the true samurai spirit—the same spirit
that in spite of want, of hunger and rags, disdains to flatter for the
sake of gain. My brave fellow, I honour you for this! It might have
been that the hardships of the last three years had changed your
character—that you might now have been willing to sell your honour
for my favour and worldly prosperity—so I feigned drunkenness and a
boastful spirit that once more I might challenge you to fight and thus
test you to the full. You have stood the test nobly. You disdained to
flatter even at such a cost. You are indeed the pattern of all that a
samurai should be! In recognition of your signal service to me at the
storming of the Castle of Ganshaku I appoint you Governor of the Castle
of Tagé with a stipend of 10,000 _koku_. As a reward for throwing me
to-day in the face of every temptation to do otherwise I give you a
further stipend of 1,000 _koku_; and in acknowledgment of the defeat
I sustained at your hands three years ago you shall have yet another
1,000. Here is your writ of appointment.”
At this unexpected magnanimity on the part of his lord even Gonshirō,
hardened warrior though he was, could not restrain his tears.
* * * * *
In the years following, Gonshirō served his chief, Lord Gamō,
faithfully and with devotion. When Ujisato was poisoned through the
wiles of an adversary his loyal vassal killed himself in order to
accompany his dearly loved master to Hades.
[5] A samurai who had renounced his clan and become a wanderer.