BATTLES.
Heiyas was at the gates of Osaka with an army of three hundred thousand
men. Coming from the northern provinces, he had traversed the great
Island of Nipon, crushing, as he passed, the detachments stationed to
guard the country. The soldiers of Fide-Yori died like heroes; not
one flinched. The troops of the princes, on the contrary, made but a
feeble resistance. However, it was impossible to stay the course of
Hieyas' army, mighty as a river swollen by rain. It reached Osaka, and
surrounded the city. Without pausing for rest, it attacked the town
simultaneously on every side.
Fide-Yori had divided his army into three bodies of fifty thousand
each: Signenari and Moritzka commanded the first; Harounaga,
Moto-Tsoumou, and Aroufza, the second; Yoke-Moura, the third. The
soldiers were valiant; their leaders determined to die if they could
not conquer.
The first shock of arms was terrible. The men fought with unparalleled
fury and desperation. Had their numbers been equal, Fide-Yori's troops
must have carried the day; they were so resolved to be slaughtered
rather than retreat, that they were not to be shaken. General
Yoke-Moura was attacked by twenty thousand men armed with muskets,
having himself but ten thousand stationed on the hill called Yoka-Yama;
his men also had guns. One discharge of musketry followed another in
rapid succession, until the ammunition was exhausted. Yoke-Moura was
only waiting for that moment, having noticed that his adversaries were
merely armed with guns and swords, and carried no lances. He then
rushed headlong down the hill. His troops, lance in hand, fell upon
their opponents, who, almost defenceless, fled in disorder.
Signenari, too, after a bloody battle succeeded in driving back the
enemy; but at all other points the generals, overwhelmed by numbers,
were defeated, and forced to retreat into the interior of the town with
what soldiers remained to them.
Evening came, and brought a pause in the fighting. The weary soldiers
lay down in the city streets, on the bridges, on the banks of the
various canals. Signenari and Yoke-Moura alone were still outside
Osaka, one on the plain, the other on the hill.
When night had fairly come, a man advanced to the foot of Yoka hill and
asked to speak with General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, having a message
from Hieyas. He was conducted to the warrior's tent, and Yoke-Moura
recognized one of his former companions-in-arms.
"You come from Hieyas? You!" exclaimed the General, in a tone of
reproach.
"Yes, friend, I believe in the powerful genius of that man; I know how
much his triumph will benefit the nation. And yet, now that I stand
before you, I scarcely dare mention the offer which I am directed to
make you."
"Then it is a disgraceful one."
"Judge for yourself. Hieyas feels the highest respect for your valor,
and he thinks that to vanquish you would be a defeat for him; because
your death would rob the country of its noblest soldier. He proposes
that you should join his standard; your terms shall be his."
"If Hieyas really feels a particle of respect for me," replied
Yoke-Moura, "why does he feign to think me capable of selling myself?
You can tell him that were he to give me half Japan, I would not even
consider his offer; and that it is my glory to remain loyal to the
master whom I have always served, and for whom I would gladly die."
"I was prepared for your answer; and if I accepted the mission offered
to me, it was only from a desire to see my old comrade once more."
"You did not fear the just reproaches I might lavish upon you?"
"No; for I did not feel myself guilty. Now a strange remorse torments
me at the sight of your calm, brave loyalty. I see that my deeds,
dictated by wisdom, are not worth the folly of your blind fidelity."
"Well! it is not too late to repent; stay with us."
"I will do so, friend. If I fail to return, Hieyas will understand that
the man who came to buy you with bribes has given you his soul."
The same proposal was made to General Signenari.
"Hieyas offers to gratify my every desire!" exclaimed the youthful
General. "Very well; then let him send me his head!"
Next day considerable forces were gathered before Signenari's camp.
The young warrior knew that the battle in which he was about to engage
must be his last. He went the rounds of the camp, exhorting his men
before the fight. Grave, gentle, and handsome as any woman, he passed
along the ranks, tolling his attentive men how slight a value should
be attached to life; not hiding the fact that the result of the day
must be either death or dishonor. He added that a glorious death was
enviable, and the life of a coward not worth that of a dog.
He then returned to his tent, and despatched a message to his mother,
informing her that he was about to die, and sending her a costly dagger
in remembrance of himself. Next he stepped to the mirror; and pouring
perfume upon his head, placed on it his helmet of black horn, crowned
in front with a copper plate of crescent shape; he tied it under his
chin, and cut the loose ends of silk cord. This signified that he
would never untie them again; that he vowed himself to death. If his
head were taken to the victor, the latter would understand that he had
allowed himself to be killed voluntarily.
The battle began, Signenari opening the attack; he rushed eagerly
forward at the head of his men. The first of the fight was favorable
to them; they broke the enemy's ranks, and slaughtered great numbers
of them. Signenari's army, decimated the night before, and reduced to
scanty numbers, pierced the enemy's ranks as a ship ploughs through
the waves; but they closed behind the little band, who were surrounded
and captured, but still undaunted. The soldiers of Hieyas thought they
had imprisoned the whirlwind. Desperate men are terrible. The carnage
was awful; the wounded went on fighting; the earth, bathed in blood,
grew slippery; men stumbled in the mud; it seemed almost as if it
had rained. But ten thousand men could not hold out long against one
hundred thousand. Still the heroes who encircled the youthful leader
were not conquered; they did not flinch; they met death on the ground
that had been wrested from them. But their numbers lessened rapidly;
soon there was nothing left in the centre of the army but a vast heap
of corpses. Signenari, covered with wounds, fought on like a lion; he
was alone. The enemy wavered before him, they admired his courage; but
some one shot an arrow at him, and he fell.
Hieyas was on the battle-field in a litter. His men brought him the
fair young head of Signenari. He saw that the helmet-strings were cut,
and inhaled the perfume with which the hair was soaked.
"He preferred death to joining my cause," he said, with a sigh. "This
victory saddens me as if it were a defeat."
The same day Fide-Yori, sending for Yoke-Moura, asked him what now
remained to be done.
"We must attempt a general sortie to-morrow," he replied. "All the
remnants of the various armies assembled in the city make a sum total
of about sixty thousand men; to which we must add the garrison of
the fortress, the ten thousand men still left of my command, and the
ten thousand volunteers that you have collected. We may venture to
undertake the struggle."
"Shall you return to the city?" asked the Shogun.
"It will be better, I think, for me to keep my advanced position on
the hill. When the army is set in motion I will attack the enemy from
another point, so that he may be obliged to divide his forces."
All the officers were called together for consultation. The gravity of
the situation silenced the quarrels which usually separated them; all
yielded to Yoke-Moura.
"The enemy's forces extend entirely round the city," said the General;
"so that at whatever point you make your attack, you will be met by
numbers fully equal to your own. The sortie must be effected on the
south, so that, if possible, you may drive the enemy into the sea. Lot
the leaders cheer their men by word and deed, and we may triumph yet.".
"I will take my place at the head of the army," cried Fide-Yori. "Let
the royal insignia, borne before my father in battle, be drawn from
their velvet cases, and the gilded gourds mounted on scarlet handles,
which have always been the signal for victory whenever they appeared,
be brought forward. That reminder of Taiko-Sama will inspire the men;
it will recall the former triumphs, the glorious battles won in its
shadow. This talisman will protect us, and will fill the perfidious
Hieyas with alarm, calling up before him the image of the man whose
trust he has betrayed."
The generals returned to their troops, to prepare them for the decisive
battle of the morrow. Fide-Yori hastened to his betrothed. "This may be
the last day that we shall spend together," he said; "I must not lose a
second of it."
"What say you, sire?" asked Omiti. "If you die, I die too; and we shall
be reunited--to part no more."
"Never mind," said the King, with a sad smile; "I could wish that our
happiness had lasted a little longer upon this earth,--it has been so
brief, and my misery so long. And you! so gentle, so devoted, you have
suffered ills of every sort for my sake; and for your reward, when I
longed to load you with riches, honors, and joy, I can only offer you
the spectacle of the horrors of war and the prospect of speedy death."
"You gave me your love," replied Omiti.
"Oh, yes!" cried the King; "and that love, which was my first, would
have been my last; it would have filled my whole life. Why can I not
carry you far from here,--escape this struggle and this slaughter? What
care I for power? It never gave me any pleasure. To live with you in
some deep retreat, forgetting men and their guilty ambitions,--that
would be true felicity."
"Let us not think of that," said Omiti; "it is an idle dream. To die
together is an additional delight, which will not be denied us."
"Alas!" cried the Shogun, "my youth revolts at the thought of death.
Since I have found you again, dear heart, I have forgotten the contempt
which I was taught for this transitory life; I love it, and I would not
quit it."
Under cover of night, Harounaga contrived to regain the heights of
Tchaousi, which he had lost. General Yoke-Moura had advised him to make
the attempt, whose success would allow him to protect the Shogun's
sally.
All was ready for the final effort: the soldiers were full of ardor;
their leaders were hopeful. Fide-Yori was encouraged; he believed that
they would be victorious. One thing, however, grieved him, and that was
the absence at this supreme moment of his most faithful friend, his
wisest counsellor, the Prince of Nagato. What had become of him? What
had happened to him? No news had been heard of him since he left Osaka
so abruptly, three weeks before.
"He is dead, since he is not by my side in the hour of danger," thought
the Shogun, sighing heavily.
From the earliest dawn the inhabitants of Osaka thronged the approaches
to the fortress; they wanted to see the Shogun come forth from the
castle in battle array, in the midst of his richly dressed warriors.
While they waited they chatted with the soldiers encamped in the
streets, pouring them out bumpers of saki. The aspect of the city was
joyful; in spite of all that had occurred, the gay disposition of the
citizens gained the upper hand. They were going to see a fine sight;
they were happy.
Towards the eighth hour the gates of the second wall of the stronghold
were opened wide, and revealed a confused mass of banners floating
among the bright rays of the tall spears.
The first division of the Shogun's lancers advanced, wearing cuirasses;
on their heads the helmet with visor, hollowed at the neck, and
ornamented over the forehead with a sort of copper crescent; lance
in hand, a little flag fastened behind the left shoulder. Then came
the archers, their brows bound with a strip of white stuff, the ends
streaming behind them, their backs bristling with long arrows, holding
in their hands the tall lacquer bow. After them marched strange
creatures, who looked more like huge insects or fantastic shellfish
than like men. Some wore above their grinning black masks a large
helmet decked with copper antennæ; others had their heads adorned
with monstrous horns curving inward, and their masks bristled with
red or white mustaches and eyebrows; or else they had a hood of mail
brought over the face and head, leaving nothing visible but their
eyes. The plates of their armor, made of black horn, were square,
heavy, and oddly arranged; still, beneath the parti-colored silken
stitches fastening the sheets of horn together, they produced a fine
effect. These warriors, dressed as were their ancestors, were armed
with halberds, monstrous bows, and two-handed swords. They filed by in
long lines, to the great admiration of the people. At last Fide-Yori
appeared upon a horse with braided mane. Before him were borne the
gilded gourds, which had never been taken from the castle since the
last victories of Taiko-Sama. They were hailed with enthusiastic shouts.
"I intrust them to you," cried Fide-Yori, showing his army the glorious
insignia. He said no more; and drawing his sword, rode off at a gallop.
The whole army, moving with heroic impetus, left the city. The people
followed them beyond the suburbs.
From the summit of the hill, Yoke-Moura watched Fide-Yori and his
troops march out from Osaka and deploy in the plain. He awaited the
Shogun's first offensive movement to attack Hieyas' men.
"Certainly," thought the General, "victory is possible. Signenari,
who met death so nobly yesterday, did the enemy much injury; I myself
repulsed with considerable loss the detachment which attacked my
position. We may cut to pieces that division of the army upon which the
Shogun pounces. Then the two hostile forces will be almost equal; and
with equal numbers we shall surely triumph."
Fide-Yori's army halted on the plain, occupying the ground where
Signenari's camp had been pitched the day before.
"What can they be waiting for?" wondered Yoke-Moura; "why do they pause
in their forward movement?"
The leaders ran to the flanks of the various battalions. Strange
agitation prevailed in the ranks; evidently something new had occurred.
They hesitated; they were making plans. All at once the whole army
wavered, faced about, and retracing their steps, re-entered the city.
"What does that mean?" cried Yoke-Moura, amazed, and pale with rage.
"What sudden madness has seized upon them? It is a mockery! Are they
cowards?"
The soldiers of Hieyas then advanced across the plain abandoned by
Fide-Yori. At the same moment Yoke-Moura's men gave the alarm. They
were attacked on two sides at once.
"It is well," said Yoke-Moura; "all is now lost."
He summoned his young son, Daiske.
"My son," said he, "return to the city; rejoin the Shogun, and say to
him that nothing is left for me now but to die a glorious death for
him, as I intend to do before evening. Remain with the master while he
lives, and die with him."
"Father," said Daiske, casting an imploring look at the General, "I
would rather die with you."
"Do as I bid you, my son," said Yoke-Moura, his voice trembling
slightly.
A tear rolled down the boy's cheek; but he made no answer, and went.
The General watched him for an instant as he descended the hill,
sighed, and then plunged abruptly into the thick of the fight.
Without resistance, without exchanging one shaft with the enemy,
the Shogun's army had returned to the city in disorder! The people
could not believe their own eyes. What had happened? Why should rout
precede the battle? This is what really occurred: Harounaga, suddenly
abandoning the position which he held on the hill, hastened towards
Fide-Yori, accompanied by a man coming from the camp of Hieyas. This
man, who was a relative of Hieyas, declared that the majority of the
army had gone over to Hieyas, and that when the fight began Fide-Yori
would be hemmed in and taken prisoner by his own men. He said that he
had surprised this secret, and hastened to warn the Shogun, to prevent
his falling into an odious trap.
"Return to the fortress," said he to Fide-Yori. "In the shelter of its
ramparts you may defend yourself still, and die nobly; while here you
are at the victor's mercy."
After some hesitation the troops returned to the city. This tale of
treachery was completely false: it was an act of perfidy planned by
Hieyas, who, although he was strong, did not disdain to employ a ruse.
But the people refused to accept the plea; the retreat of the soldiers
produced a fatal effect.
"They don't know how to behave!" was the cry.
"They are lost; all is ended!"--
"After all, it's no concern of ours."
Half the citizens began to desire the accession of Hieyas.
The Shogun had no sooner returned to his castle, than the hostile army
attacked the outskirts of the city. The inhabitants shut themselves up
in their houses. A terrible conflict ensued; the ground was defended
inch by inch, and yet the enemy advanced. They fought in the narrow
streets, on the brink of the canals, upon whose waves, red with blood,
dead bodies rocked to and fro; every bridge was carried after a
desperate struggle. Little by little, Fide-Yori's troops were driven
back towards the fortress.
Inside the castle the confusion was great. No one thought of defending
the outer wall; the bastions no longer existed; the moat had not been
re-dug to a depth of more than two feet. All withdrew into the second
enclosure; but there they were too remote to offer any aid to those who
fought. The latter, after three hours of struggle, were repulsed to the
walls of the castle; they invaded the first courtyard, and shouted to
those within to open the second, otherwise they must be crushed against
the walls.
Yodogimi cried to the men to open the gates. All the doors were thrown
wide at once, and the soldiers rushed in. But the enemy were at their
heels; when they had passed, the doors could not be closed, and the
followers of Hieyas came in behind them.
Fide-Yori, with a thousand men, had taken refuge in the third courtyard
of the castle, which contained the great goldfish tower, the residence
of the Shogun, and a few palaces of the most noble princes. He did not
hope to to defend himself, but merely that he and his family might
not be captured alive. In a hall of his palace, drawn sword in hand,
between his mother and his betrothed, he gazed through the open window,
and with bowed head listened to the awful clash of arms behind the
second wall. Many of his troops surrendered. The man whose duty it was
to guard the gilded gourds of Taiko-Sama, whose name was Tsou-Gawa,
burned them outside the palace, before the eyes of Fide-Yori.
"All is over!" murmured the Shogun. "O you who are dearest in all the
world to me, you must die for me and with me! I must take your life to
save you from falling into the hands of the victors alive."
He looked at his naked blade; then raised his eyes to his mother and
sweet Omiti with a bewildered air. "Is there no way to save them?" he
cried; "to let them live? What does it matter to the victor, so I but
die!"
"Live without you!" said Omiti, in a tone of reproach. Both women were
pale, but calm.
"No, it is impossible!" suddenly exclaimed the Shogun. "I cannot see
their blood flow; I cannot see them die; let me be the first to expire!"