SAVING THE ARMADA
The news of the victory had spread rapidly, and by the time Shibusawa
reached Kyoto the whole south was in a state of unrestrained enthusiasm.
From the first days of the shogunate, the south had never at any time
yielded complete submission. They had always believed in the divine
right of the mikado, and still cherished the hope of his complete
restoration. They had fought many battles before, but somehow this one
sounded a deeper note. A new leader had risen, and they rallied to his
support with a better heart and bolder purpose.
While the force of the great success had been thus encouraging in the
south it worked a radically different effect in the north. The news had
travelled faster than the terrified shogun, and long before he reached
Tokyo they had heard of Tetsutaisho's misfortune and of the crushing
defeat Hitotsubashi had suffered to befall the brave samurai.
On the return march he was openly jeered, and nowhere did the retreat
meet with even respectful consideration. Everywhere throughout the north
the people bowed down with sorrow; but in their hearts there arose a
feeling of contempt for the halting, fleeing shogun.
"Had Tetsutaisho but escaped disablement!" became the suppressed cry on
every hand.
Hitotsubashi re-entered his palace a broken-hearted man, and there shut
himself in, a prisoner and a failure. It wanted only the bidding of the
first comer to startle and frighten him into a weak and puerile
submission: he waited and the time quickly came.
In the readjustment of the army, Shibusawa not only took advantage of
the strong public sentiment greatly to augment and newly equip the force
at hand, but introduced an entirely new system of arrangement and
discipline. He made of the army three great divisions: the Central or
Home division, over which he himself retained the immediate command; the
Right or South division, the command of which he intrusted to Saigo; the
Left or North division, which, strange to say, Tetsutaisho, his most
bitter enemy, was named to command.
Shibusawa alone was responsible for the arrangement, which, not at first
entirely understood, soon became generally known and proved most
effective in its workings. Without in any manner weakening his effective
forces he had placed his strongest enemy in the light of a rebel--than
which there is none more odious in the eyes of his countrymen--and
rather than bear the stigma of being so called many withdrew their
support from the shogunate or came over entirely to the side of the
mikadate.
While these sweeping changes were in progress, an expedition was also
being planned that should carry the seat of warfare far to the
northward, and even to the very door of the shogun's palace itself. Such
a thing had never before been thought possible, and now, when the most
unheard of changes were the regular order, it was looked upon with
wonder. Still the people, though amazed, had confidence in Shibusawa,
who carried on his work with a full understanding of its probable effect
at home, as well as its possibilities in the north. Nor was he
unappreciative of the advisability of following up his first victory
while its consequences were yet fresh in the minds of all. Hastening his
movements as much as seemed consistent with good judgment, he began
mobilising a vast army near the seashore at Owara, and there
rendezvoused all the ships at his disposal or that he could buy or build
in the meantime.
So rapidly did Shibusawa move that by the middle of April he held in
readiness a fleet of two thousand craft of all sorts and an army fully
one-half the size of that which Tetsutaisho had three months before
marched against them. Thereupon he notified Tokyo that the mikado had
proclaimed the shogun a rebel, demanding his immediate surrender; also
advised Tetsutaisho that if he longer refused to submit to orders from
Kyoto he did so at his peril.
The young commander did not wait for an answer, but set the day upon
which to sail. When the time came he bid all on land a hearty good-bye,
and under the promise of warm skies and a calm sea spread canvas; and
the southern armada sailed away, toward its heroic mission and enlarged
purpose.
Shibusawa's ship had been the last to leave its moorings, and as it
slowly backed off a shout went up from the throngs who crowded the
shore, bringing the young hero on deck where he bade them all farewell.
Blushing maidens waved their handkerchiefs, while young men shouted
themselves hoarse. Old men bowed, and white-haired women prophesied.
Some moaned a murmuring fear, for they had heard the voice of Kammon and
seen visions of the mighty dragon of the sea. Nor were those on board
the ships afterwards less apprehensive, for the warm skies of the early
morning had changed to sultry, murky heat. At midday the sun barely
showed its great, fiery face, and when it had sunk toward the western
horizon the winds ceased and the spangled fleet lay still on the glassy
waters or lolled on the lazy, deep rolling seas.
Thus they drifted and wandered far out on the blue expanse, like tiny
specks on the line betwixt heaven and earth, while their thoughts roamed
tauntingly through weird vagaries of legionary mysticism. Then suddenly
the heavens darkened, the winds blew, and the seas angered.
Even Shibusawa became not without a reverence for the ancestral gods.
The cracking of the timbers, the cries of the drowning, the fear of
destruction, these had certainly been enough to inspire feelings of
respect if not reverence for that which had once been all and all to
him. He came upon deck and there witnessed the power of religion over
men. His oldest veterans, tried and found true on many a battle-field,
were there lying prostrate before their chosen gods. He too may have
reverenced Bishamon, for he knelt and remained silent in the momentary
calm.
And as he there bowed a woman arose from the hatchway before him. He
started, and for the nonce lost his reason, appealing to Kwannon to save
them. His whole soul had returned at the call of the source whence it
came; the body gave what the mind failed. He felt her presence, and all
the reason of all the enlightened ages could not have shown him that
Takara had not invoked their calamity; for had not the sages of all time
said that the presence of a woman on board a man-of-war would bring upon
it the wrath of Oni? And was it not said there could be no escaping his
fury? These early accounted truths overwhelmed Shibusawa, and for the
moment he crouched in startled submission. The hobgoblins of his youth
had at last become a stern reality, for there stood before him his own
wife in the flesh and form. He would have risen and appealed to her, but
she checked him; and coming near, beckoned him be silent, then said:
"You would believe me a witch, some demon who has risen from the deep to
do you harm. It is not true; I came to save you."
Then she drew from her sleeve a blood-stained handkerchief, which she
bade him take from her hand. Impulse moved him to do so, and as he
touched the crumpled cloth his own consciousness discerned the awful
message therein revealed. He held it and listened, half bewildered, half
determined. She continued, saying:
"Take it, and promise me that you will avenge the wrong, that you will
sacrifice your own for your father's blood?"
He started, then hesitated; and looking all around, asked:
"The storm?"
She answered:
"Do you promise?"
He said:
"I do."
Then the storm broke afresh upon them; her face brightened, and she
leaped over the side of the ship and into the angry sea; and as she sank
beneath the foam-tossed waves she smiled sweetly, and he felt and knew
her message to be a token of peace.
As she disappeared from sight Shibusawa rushed to the ship's rail, and
calling loudly to those about him threw off his garment and would have
leaped after her had they not seized hold and implored him not to let
them die while he saved only a woman. He threw them from him and turned
to make the leap; but instead started back and stared in front, for
there arose before him out of the waters a vision of beauty, a goddess
of truth.
Her beautiful form seemed wound round with a mist, and her upturned face
looked toward the heavens. The storm ceased and the waters calmed. The
dark clouds parted and a sunburst shone through, enshrouding her; she
soared upward, disappearing within the sun's circle; the clouds closed
after her, and she was seen no more; Shibusawa alone knew the haven of
her rest.
Thence they sailed away toward Hakone, the intended port of landing. The
typhoon which had passed them did no great damage to the fleet--only
destroying some of the smaller craft and a few thousand men--and the
repairs were soon made, while they progressed without further
interruption.
After the weather had settled and they were again under full sail
Shibusawa retired to his cabin, and there pondered deeply the strange
scene he had witnessed. He knew that he had always acted in accordance
with the dictates of his own conscience, and felt that he could not hold
himself accountable for the sad misfortunes of fate. Yet he remained
conscious of Takara's new love, and, after having again brushed aside
all trace of returning mysticism, felt a deep sorrow overspreading his
life.
She, too, had passed through this same consciousness, and had grown to
love Shibusawa better than he knew; and when the time had come for him
to set sail a great fear had taken hold of her, and she could not bear
to see him go beyond her reach. She had reasoned well that his duty
called him hence and that at his post there was no place for a woman.
Yet she longed to be near him, to share his sorrows and comfort his
distress.
All this Takara felt in her heart, though she knew that he could not
return her love; that another held in secret the trust which God had
given, and that she herself at best must be but a slave. As such, she
stole on board his ship and hid herself away. The storm came upon them,
and she too may have fallen at the shrine of Mystery, listened to the
sweet voice of Tradition. And she reasoned that if the one be true, the
other must suffice; that if her presence had disturbed the gods, her
sacrifice must appease their wrath. Hence she sought her god, and
intrusted to him the keeping of her sworn duty. He accepted the
obligation, and she answered to the will of her Maker. It is asked:
"Is the beautiful goddess of truth a certain star? Is Takara in heaven?"