When Ono ga Sawa heard of Nitta’s rising and the manifesto, he hesitated
not a moment, but immediately proclaimed himself one of those who were
determined to secure to the Emperors their legal rights. On account of
his bodily infirmities, he was unable to take an active part himself;
but couriers were immediately despatched assuring Nitta of his support,
and promising that two thousand of his best fighting men should leave
Kuwana and march to Nitta’s aid within four days. He was as good as his
word, and within the specified time as fine a body of troops as could
be found in any part of the Empire, well equipped and provided with all
necessaries, were ready to march in defence of their Emperors against the
Hōjō usurpers.
Sennoske naturally formed one of their number; but, contrary to the
Duke’s apprehensions, Mutto had not asked to join the expedition, and the
latter’s faithful and efficient services were so well appreciated by this
time that Ono ga Sawa felt greatly relieved at being assured of having
him by his side in case of any local disturbance which Hōjō partisans
might raise.
While making his hurried preparations, it seemed to Sennoske that his
father was several times on the point of telling him what he felt must be
the secret of his life; but each time Mutto checked himself, changing the
conversation to other subjects, and the last day of Sennoske’s stay had
nearly passed away without his having learned anything in regard to it.
He had not yet found time in the hurry of preparation to take leave of
Muramasa and O Tetsu. Going to Senjuin late in the evening, when all his
arrangements for departure had been completed, he found the girl at the
open door of the forge awaiting his arrival, the smith and his son being
within, busily engaged in work. The young man followed his future little
wife, as he already sometimes playfully called her, to a room above; and
there the two exchanged those vows and professions of love and promises
of eternal faithfulness which, in Japan as well as everywhere else, have
been repeated millions of times before, and will be repeated millions of
times again. Then their talk ran on, and became principally a reiteration
of the hope of meeting each other again, with flattering prognostications
on the part of O Tetsu as to the distinctions which her lover was sure to
gain in battle; and in spite of the latter’s deprecating remonstrance, it
was evident by his pleased looks that he listened not unwillingly. His
was a handsome face, and the flush of enthusiasm and of sanguine youthful
ambition which now sat upon it enhanced its natural beauty.
So engrossed were the lovers in each other that they took no note of the
opening of the sliding door of the room, and both started upon hearing
the voice of O Tetsu’s father, whom they now saw standing close beside
them, holding in his hand a sword splendidly mounted in gold, and wrapped
in rich silk. There was a kindly look on his face such as even his
daughter had rarely seen there before; and when he asked her to leave
them alone for a few moments, his naturally harsh and firm voice was
modulated in a soft and tender tone. His rugged, athletic frame evidently
shook with strong emotion; but Sennoske, who had often seen him when
laboring under strong excitement, knew that this time the moving cause
was neither anger nor hate.
“Take this sword,” he said, Sennoske the while becoming almost delirious
with joy; “a better one I never forged in my life.” Then, after a
moment’s pause, he added: “I have learned to feel more affection for you,
Sennoske, than I thought I could ever feel for any one outside of my own
family, partly probably because I trust that with you my daughter will be
happy; but I also love you for your own sake, and because your youthful
ambition reminds me of a time when I was like you. I hope and trust that
your fate points to a happier lot than mine has been. I am of humble
birth; and this, with the peace reigning over the land, has proved an
impassable barrier to my achieving distinction in arms and carving out a
name for myself that might, as I once dreamed, stand worthily by the side
of Japan’s great heroes.
“Oh! the misery of feeling that one possesses the strength of arm and
the resolute will to achieve great things, and yet to lack every means
of action; to be treated as an inferior by every one of those proud
_samurai_, the immediate forefathers of many of whom have been of as
low birth as myself, and only achieved distinction in the glorious
_Gempei_ wars! I was born to the humble lot of a peasant, to labor from
early morn until late at night, while my food was of the poorest and
scantiest description; but I would have worked ten times harder, and been
satisfied with even worse fare, if I could have had a chance of bettering
my fortunes. To accomplish this and rise above the station in which I
was born, I could see only one road open to me,—to become a renowned
sword-smith. It was not easy to do this. I had no father and no brother
to initiate me into the secrets of the art handed down from father to
son, generation after generation during hundreds of years, as is the
rule with the craft. Many a weary mile did I travel, enduring hunger and
thirst and, what was worse to me, numberless slights and indignities,
before I found one who was without son or male kindred, and with whom
I succeeded in obtaining service. He had a daughter; and no lovesick
swain ever showed more outward tokens of the depth and strength of his
devotion, or spoke more passionate words of burning love to the object
of it, than did I to that ugly shrew, whom I loathed from my very soul
when I gave her my hand and took her name. For seven long years did I
dissemble, performing the most menial services to prove my faithfulness,
before my master and father-in-law thought fit to initiate me into the
first principles of the art. My teacher could tell me little more, and I
soon outstripped him.
[Illustration: PEASANT.]
“The gods have been kind to me, and have rewarded me for my prayers by
granting me skill and ability; have answered my fasting and my devotion,
my days and nights of restless toil, by allowing me to discover many
secrets which are unknown to others. Oh, the fools, the fools! they think
that steel is dead because it is cold and motionless and without apparent
life! Thrice-told fools and idiots! they kill the life which exists in
the iron as it comes from Nature, and they give no other in return; and
yet they know from their forefathers, and have learned to prattle, that
the sword is the living soul of the _samurai_.
“There is life in this blade which I give you to-day, my boy,—better,
finer, and richer life than in most of the boors who try to fashion a
sword. But remember that on this account, unless you use it wisely and
carefully, this sword is a dangerous gift. Never draw it unless you need
its help; never return it to its scabbard without using it; and never let
it remain undrawn longer than a cycle of twelve years. Should you ever
by any unforeseen fatality have drawn and exposed it to the light of the
sun, the moon, or the stars without being able to use it on the enemy
who provoked you, then before returning it to its scabbard use it on
some inferior animal; but never think of sheathing it without the blade
having come in contact with the blood of something still living. If you
act thus, you will find it your devoted friend; it will obey and even
anticipate your thoughts and desires; with the least guidance it will
strike your enemies and those who are opposed to you in their weakest
places unto death, in spite of numbers and courage, in spite of armor and
helmet. But if you fail in obeying the directions I have given you, the
blade will turn upon and mark you for its victim with equal certainty;
and even were you to bury it in the deep ocean, it would not fail to
wreak vengeance upon you.”
[Illustration: SENNOSKE RECEIVING THE SWORD FROM THE SMITH.]
The mainspring which moved the nature of the smith was evident. Sennoske,
although he was young and inexperienced in the passions which stir the
heart and guide the actions of men, was yet a keen observer, and he could
now easily fathom the depths of the sword-smith’s strange nature. He
saw that the man’s ruling passion was ambition,—ambition so inordinate
that it could never be satisfied, and which, burning so fiercely without
hope of realization, had retired into itself and assumed the semblance
of a morose and misanthropic disposition. The mildness apparent in him
when he entered the room had passed away after a few moments; and as he
recounted his sufferings and disappointments, the play of his features
and the tones of his speech had been a fitting accompaniment to the words
he uttered. Yet his voice had never been loud, and while allowing scope
to his passions he still evidently held them in check. Nevertheless the
eyes which shone like coals of fire, and the half-hissing sound of his
utterance showed plainly how deeply he was moved by dwelling upon his
real and fancied wrongs. Sennoske had often seen fierce outbreaks of
temper; yet as he now listened he gave an involuntary start, due not so
much to what was presented to his senses as to the thought of how fierce
a volcano must have been burning for years in that herculean frame.
Slight as the movement was, it did not escape the smith; it arrested
immediately the force of the current into which he had drifted with the
recital of these reminiscences, and as he continued he resumed the quiet
earnestness which he had shown upon first entering.
“I have long looked forward to the breaking out of this war, and I
thought at one time that my son would realize my hopes of a glorious
career in arms; but although physically strong and active, he does not
possess a nature to achieve great things. You, however, I firmly believe,
will make a name. When you return from this campaign the hand of O Tetsu
shall be yours; and the name of Muramasa shall indeed be coupled, not
only with the skill of the forge, but also with the memory of heroic
deeds. This sword which I give you forms part of the dowry of your future
bride, with whom I will now leave you to say your last farewell. Before
you start for the seat of war, if your father is as yet unacquainted with
what I know is your wish as well as mine, I desire you to inform him of
the purport of our conversation.”
The parting of the lovers was of necessity brief, as it was time for
Sennoske to return; but deep love and passionate devotion spoke on both
sides, and O Tetsu was overjoyed at hearing that her father had openly
countenanced their mutual affection. As the young man passed through
the forge on his way home, he again wished to thank the smith for his
princely gift; but Muramasa, who had relapsed into his usual taciturn
mood, stopped him short, telling him that his father had a right to
whatever time was still at his disposal. With a few words of farewell
to the smith and his son, and a last look at O Tetsu’s window, he tore
himself away.
When he reached home he found his father sitting beside the brazier, with
letters and papers spread out before him. At the sight of the magnificent
sword, Mutto showed even more emotion than his son had expected under the
circumstances. He looked at it on all sides, weighed it in his hands,
and partly withdrew the blade, slowly, inch by inch, replacing it only
to withdraw it similarly over and over again. While this was going on,
Sennoske, not without a sinking heart, acquainted him with what had
happened regarding O Tetsu; but, contrary to his fears and expectations,
the recital elicited no displeasure and hardly any surprise.
[Illustration: RESENTING AN INSULT.]
“Many a man superior to you in worldly position would willingly and
gladly marry an Eta if she brought him such a dowry,” was the response;
“and even without this princely gift I could have raised no objection
to your marriage with one who is in other respects your equal. But, my
boy,” Mutto continued, in a tone which showed that he was powerfully
affected, “you run a risk beyond that of any of your companions. With
your strength, your skill in arms, and your discriminating wisdom, I have
no fears for you as to the ordinary chances of battle. If you fall, it
will be as a hero. Otherwise, with all these advantages, added to the
sword you carry, you will be sure to achieve distinction.
“There is, however, a task which devolves upon you where no public honor
is to be gained, and where the danger is infinitely greater,—nay, where
it is extremely doubtful whether you will survive success, or even the
mere attempt to achieve it. I have refrained from speaking to you about
this heretofore, and my intention was to give you all the particulars
to-day. But upon mature consideration I have determined again to defer
it. Old Yamagawa, who accompanies you, knows the matter, and has my
orders to disclose it to you when the occasion demands. I know you will
not hesitate a moment to do and dare everything to accomplish the object
I have in view; but act with prudence and circumspection, and do not
endanger yourself recklessly. My future without you would be dreary; and
although I should not hesitate to sacrifice your young, hopeful life in
the pursuit of a just vengeance, yet to see that vengeance accomplished
and still preserve you would be happiness indeed. You have yet to take
leave of the Duke, and you will naturally desire to show your sword at
court. Do not be chary of doing so; it will be of great benefit to you.
You will start with the first approach of dawn, and we will spare each
other the pain of any further leave-taking. So farewell, and may the gods
protect and prosper you!”
[Illustration]
Sennoske was deeply touched; yet, with the varied emotions which the
day had brought forth, the pain of separation was less acute than under
ordinary circumstances it would have been. At the castle the preparations
for the departure of so many men of rank caused an unusual stir, with
attendant bustle and commotion. When, after having himself announced,
Sennoske entered the large audience-hall, he found it filled with court
nobles and with those who, like himself, were bound for the war, and had
come to pay their homage to the Duke before departure. Passing through
the crowded ranks to the raised platform where the Duke had his seat,
he there made the customary low obeisance. Ono ga Sawa, with whom he
had always been a favorite, after addressing him in his usual kindly
way, at once fixed his attention upon the sword, which in truth looked
sufficiently conspicuous.
“What, Sennoske,” he exclaimed, “you, who are such a sober, steady youth,
nevertheless indulge in this finery, and begin to be a dandy now, when
rough life in field and camp is about to open for you! It must have cost
all your pocket-money to have this tinsel put on your sword. In my time
we took pride only in the blade itself, and carried it in unvarnished
plain wooden scabbards. Is it your old sword, or have you also exchanged
it for some modern weapon which glitters and shines to match the outside,
but which will break as soon as your hand causes it to fall upon helmet
or cuirass?”
“It is a Muramasa, your Highness, which the smith himself gave me less
than two hours ago; and if it be only as true as the hand and heart
of him who guides it, it will not fail in splitting the helmets and
in passing through the bucklers and armor of those against whom your
Highness bids me draw it.”
While speaking, Sennoske offered the sword for inspection to the Duke,
whose astonishment, shared by every one present, was so great that
he could not control it; and the youth remained with the weapon in
his outstretched hands for several moments before the other recovered
sufficiently to take it from him. Looking at it in the orthodox fashion,
by withdrawing it slowly and carefully, inch by inch, until about half of
it was exposed, Ono ga Sawa’s astonishment gave way to admiration; and so
absorbed did he become in his gaze, that notwithstanding those present
in the hall, whose surprise had been as great as that of their chief,
pressed around him closer than court etiquette ordinarily permitted, he
seemed utterly oblivious of their curiosity. A long time elapsed before
he even looked up, and then those around, recollecting themselves,
hastily drew back; but his thoughts were as yet too much occupied with
the sword to notice any impropriety.
“To a warrior by birth and training like myself there is nothing in my
dominions of equal value with your sword, Sennoske,” the Duke said at
last; “and to tell you to be careful of such a treasure would be like
asking the heavens to guard the sun, like telling a child to cherish
its parents, like importuning a _samurai_ not to fail in the duty of
_kataki-uchi_. In the struggle before us, which is the cause of the
heaven-descended Emperors, we need not fear defeat in the end; but should
it happen that any single action in which you participate go against us,
I charge all your companions to see that this sword is not lost, and that
even if you fall, it be brought back here and returned to your father.
It will be the thought of many that Muramasa has distinguished you in a
way which your years hardly justify; but he has only given expression to
opinions which I also hold as to your merit. I hope and believe you will
return safely and with honor; and if my good wishes count for anything,
you have them in the fullest degree.”
Meanwhile the news had been spread in the courtyard by some of the
servants, who had heard it in the hall; and when Sennoske retired, he
found himself surrounded by an eager crowd anxious to examine his gift
and to congratulate him upon his good fortune. Most of them doubtless
were sincere; for he had always been a great favorite, and there was
little to excite envy in the modest manner with which he had invariably
borne himself. He was detained for a considerable time, and it was nearly
midnight before he reached his home, where Yamagawa waited for him.
Everything was ready for departure; and as he threw himself upon the
quilted mats of his bed for a few hours’ repose, the events of the day
flitted before him, mingled with hopes dictated by ambition, with a vague
dread as to his father’s objects and purposes, and of course with tender
thoughts of O Tetsu. But even these did not prevent him from soon falling
into a deep sleep, which the exertion, the excitement, and the varied
incidents of such an eventful day naturally induced in a healthy and
robust body; still they were powerful enough to retain their influence
over his mind after consciousness had left it. They conjured up picture
after picture of happiness, and when he awoke a few hours afterward, O
Tetsu’s image was still in his thoughts and her name on his lips.
Rousing himself, his eye fell upon the sword by his side, and then
only did the reality come home to him; with a half sigh, in spite of
the exulting glance which he bestowed upon the weapon, he was soon
dressed and ready for departure. He could hear his father moving about
in the next room, which was separated from his only by a paper-covered
partition; but as he did not come out, Sennoske, remembering his
instructions the day before, made no attempt to see him again. As he went
to join his party, it gave him a pang to recollect how much more his mind
had been occupied with thoughts of the girl he loved, than of the man
who until now had been parent, friend, teacher, and everything to him;
and he muttered a fervent prayer that it might be granted him to try his
strength with his father’s unknown enemies, and to bring back a cheerful
look to that stern, sad face, so long clouded by sorrow.
[Illustration: SADDLE, STIRRUP, AND SADDLE-CLOTH.]