Part 14

Despite every attempted restraint of Toro, Jiro leaped to his feet.

“Thou liest! Thou knowest there is but one true ruler in Japan, the Mikado!” he shouted, in a voice that, rapidly ascending in pitch, became femininely shrill.

Every eye in the assembly, foreign and Japanese, turned upon the slight, quivering figure there by the breeze-swept opening. The Lord of Catzu, still upon his feet, stood like a sable statue, his arm still held aloft in the concluding gesture he had used a moment before. The Prince of Aidzu remained in his chair, seemingly incapable of motion. The American Perry alone preserved his composure, looking from one to the other in a puzzled effort to determine the meaning of this interruption.

The silence within the hall deepened as the startled gaze of the assemblage continued fixed upon Jiro. So still was it that the voices of the samurai outside seemed annoyingly loud, as they floated into the quiet apartment.

There was a long moment of this stunned, bewildered, yet intense stillness. It was broken by Toro, who, ashamed of having been outdone in daring by his slighter companion, threw himself convulsively into the focus of the company.

“Thou, my Lord of Catzu,” he shouted—“thou knowest that the youth speaks truth. Banzai the Mikado! Banzai Nippon!”

Another sensational moment! The samurai Genji had placed himself nearer to the two.

The Lord of Catzu broke the spell of wonderment. As he frowned penetratingly upon Toro and Jiro, his face cleared in sudden recognition of his son. He raised his arm in imperative signal to the samurai.

“Eject for me these fanatics,” he cried, “and guard them closely.”

Instantly the gigantic Genji, leaping through the opening, laid a heavy hand upon the shoulder of the youth. Back to the opening he drew them.

“They are in my custody, my lord,” he answered.

While the samurai drew the struggling comrades into the outer air, there was the quick hum of voices over the assemblage that a moment before had seemed as stone. Neighbor conversed with neighbor, the Japanese in consternation, the Americans in wonder.

The interpreter rapidly translated to the American officer the words that had passed between the commissioner and his interrupters. Some of the Americans caught at the drift of events even before their comrades sitting near to the interpreter understood the Dutchman’s statements to their commander.

“’Pears to me to be something to this two-king business,” said a marine to his fellow.

“We’ll leave our bones here, sure enough,” was the pessimistic response.

“What explanation can you offer of this?” demanded Perry.

The Lord Catzu lifted his eyebrows.

“Explanation! I do not explain it. They were fanatical priests, madmen, who thought that the head of the church should take over the direction of the state. You have such in your own country?”

The American was not satisfied with this statement. The interpreter informed the commissioners of this fact. Said the Lord Catzu:

“If you do not believe me, I shall, with the concurrence of my colleague, be obliged to declare all proceedings estopped. I cannot continue under such circumstances.”

The American saw thus slipping from him the rewards of the labor of months. He might be making a mistake, but he must proceed at once.

“I am ready to continue,” he said.

“Very well. You may deliver your letters to the Emperor of Japan,” responded Catzu, with great dignity.

At a sign from Perry, two cabin-boys who had remained in the ante-chamber came up the central aisle, closely followed by two huge negroes in marine dress. The boys carried silver and gold salvers, upon which rested the richly set gold boxes containing the documents signed by Millard Fillmore, President of the United States of America, asking consideration of a treaty for open ports.

As the boys reached the red-lacquered box at the head of the hall they stood upon either side, while the negroes stopped between them. Lifting the letter receptacles from the salvers, the negroes deposited them in the red chest indicated by an aide of Catzu. This done, they retreated down the aisle.

“All is now done,” said Catzu. “Permit me to inquire when your excellency will return for an answer.”

“In some months’ time,” was Perry’s thoughtful reply.

“We need not detain you longer,” said the commissioner. “Permit us to express our gratification at meeting you and our compliments for your courtesy.”

The American commodore acknowledged the deep obeisance with which the commissioners and their staffs now favored him with a bow as courtly and dignified as their own.

Then foreigners and Japanese filed out from the Treaty House of Yokohama.

XXXII

WITH the fecundity peculiar to the storm and stress period of a nation’s history, the germ almost forcibly implanted into Japanese soil by Commodore Perry waxed strong, came to blossom, fell into seed, and ended by multiplying itself into international form. No sooner had two seaports been opened through signature of the treaty passed by Perry than the English sought and obtained the same privileges. Other nations followed the leaders in timeliness, differing as to their national equation. Then came the establishment of foreign legations and the general introduction into Japan of the hated foreigners. The hermit nation was no more permitted the luxury of the solitude which had made it internally strong.

But now the foreigners were coming to understand the dual state of Japanese government. The treaties which the shogunate had at first attempted to make without Imperial sanction were nominally submitted to the Mikado. In a measure, the brave daring of the boy Jiro was responsible for this latter development.

During all this time Mori had remained in Yedo watching the course of events, and the gradual rise in prestige of the already powerful shogunate.

The policy advocated by Mori was the same outlined by him in his act of instruction to Jiro when he had bade the boy explain to the foreigners the true conditions of government. The shogunate must be embroiled with the foreign powers in such a way that retaliation of the world-powers would fall upon the shogunate alone, destroying it, while at a leap the Imperial party would return to power upon an anti-Shogun basis. This policy he was foremost in pressing upon other leaders of his party, but without avail. The drift of events was too uncertain to permit civil war at this time, his compatriots asserted.

Toro and Jiro did not share the Yedo vigil of Mori. When, upon the evening of the Treaty House assemblage, Genji had brought them to Keiki’s headquarters, the Prince had received them as from the grasp of death. The task he had set them, he knew, meant a risk of death, but even a samurai of lesser rank would have welcomed a death decreed by the cause. He had given them up as memories of the past when the great Genji brought them before him.

“My prince,” Genji had said, “I have ever been at heart one of your party. As an earnest of my desire to return to your allegiance, I bring you two prisoners, committed to my hands by the Lord of Catzu.”

The sight of the samurai Genji had called back into the life and soul of Mori things he had put aside as unfitting his consecration to the cause. Nevertheless, he received him gladly, and made no objection to the proposal of the samurai that he should be permitted to go with Toro and Jiro to the Mori fortress, since longer residence in Yedo was unsafe for the two who had exhibited themselves before the choice gathering of the Shogun’s followers at the Treaty House. So it was that for a time Mori remained alone in Yedo.

The continued presence in the Shogun’s city of one known throughout the length and breadth of the land as the Imperialist leader could not in the nature of events remain unknown to the authorities. On several occasions he was pressed so hard that he found an occasional sojourn outside of Yedo imperative. It was upon his return from one of these flittings that the Prince Mori found strange news awaiting him.

The Shogun Iyesada was dead. The choice of a successor devolving upon the Regent Ii, a man said to be of low birth, the wishes of a considerable number of the shogunate following had been ignored. Kii, a boy of twelve, had been selected by the Regent.

To make a show of boasted power before the foreigners, now always pressing for treaty privileges, the Regent Ii had ratified with them a treaty then pending, afterwards reporting it tardily to the Emperor at Kioto.

Instantly the city rang with protest, and, following it, the country.

“This Ii would remain alone with a boy Shogun!” cried the nobles of both parties.

Mori despatched instantly to his fortress couriers who conveyed orders to Toro that a considerable body of Mori’s troops should proceed at once to Yedo. Before their arrival, however, a crisis had been reached.

Ronins in great numbers had visited the Imperialist headquarters, urging instant action. These roving samurai, having renounced all allegiance to their own lords, had become free agents (ronins), and had sworn never to return to their homes until the shogunate was overthrown.

One Hasuda headed a party that sought out the Prince Mori.

“Let every foreign legation be burned this night,” urged Hasuda. “Let us drive into the seas those dogs who already have delayed our action too long. Let it be done to-night.”

“No,” said Mori, firmly. “Do not let your acts, which hitherto, in spite of their lawlessness, have been tinged with patriotism, be tainted by such action as you now propose. The function of a patriot is not that of assassination, but of honest warfare. Be counselled by me. Do nothing yet awhile. Wait! My men are on the march. They cannot arrive for some days. When they have come, and when our Mikado has given us the signal, let us then attack and expel these foreign barbarians.”

“No, no,” insisted Hasuda, whose sword itched for action; “the Mikado is influenced by those about him who are hostile to us. He dare not.”

“Only by his order will I attack the foreigners,” Mori insisted.

“He will not speak,” said Hasuda.

“He will,” said Mori. “I have assurances to that effect.”

Hasuda altered his plea.

“But, your highness,” he urged, “what I now advocate is your own policy. The shogunate is responsible to the foreigners for the peace. Destroy their legations and their wrath will descend upon the shogunate.”

“Listen; I will not stoop to massacre, but I promise you that upon the order of the Emperor I will fire at once upon their fleets and make warfare against them.”

The ronin Hasuda smiled slyly, as with a gesture of resignation he threw his arms aside.

“Your highness,” he said, “be it so. I consent, upon one condition. Go thou to Kioto. Obtain at once audience with the Son of Heaven. Secure his consent. Thou hast means within the palace to reach him safely. Do so, then. I will await your return.”

“Agreed,” answered Mori.

Within a few moments his norimon was carrying him out of Yedo.

Two ronins joined Hasuda near the headquarters half an hour later.

“Your news?” he demanded.

“The Prince of Mori is on the highway to Kioto.”

“Good! Then let the bands separate.”

The several hundred ronins, divided into parties of some six or seven, set out in various directions. Two hours later they were in the shadow of the Sakurada gate of the Shogun’s palace.

A spy from the interior made his report to Hasuda. It was accompanied by many gestures directed towards the wide path which led through the garden to the palace within.

A stately procession was passing down the garden path and had taken the road. It was the cortège of the Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami, the hated Regent of Japan. Only his ordinary train of attendants and samurai accompanied him. Absorbed in their own personal reflections, they were apparently without suspicion of a planned assault.

Hasuda, in the shadow of the gate and the farther shadow of the cedars which bent their branches over the walls, raised his sword.

“Now,” he whispered, in a soft, penetrating voice, insistent as the hiss of a serpent. From the shadows of the walls against which they had stood ronins leaped upon the samurai and attendants about the norimon of Ii. These gave way instantly, some were killed outright, others wounded, while still others were left engaged in deadly strife with ronin adversaries.

“Quick! Forward!” urged Hasuda.

A chosen body sprang out from the ronin ranks, and surrounding the norimon of the Regent, drew him with rough hands out into the road. They dragged him before Hasuda. Within the palace a cry of alarm rang through the night, followed by the hurried mustering of troops.

Outside the Sakurada gate, however, the numerous ronins, showing no sign of fear, proceeded leisurely. Ii had fallen upon his knees. His mute lips moved in prayers for mercy, though no sound escaped them. His lips were livid, his eyes glazed.

At what seemed this manifestation of cowardice the ronins, outlawed samurai as they were, laughed scornfully. They would have died unflinchingly. Ii was not of samurai blood.

“Death to the traitor!” roared a ronin chorus.

“Ay,” replied Hasuda—“death!” Then to the Regent: “Ii, thou art a traitor. Rise and receive sentence.”

Ii seemed paralyzed with fear.

“Let him die,” said Hasuda.

“Let him die,” growled the ronins.

Hasuda sent a keen glance over his ranks. He said, quickly:

“Let a samurai volunteer as executioner, but let him remember that he, too, must die, that no Shogun follower may punish him.”

A grim, middle-aged ronin pushed forward.

“I was of Satsuma,” he said; “that is all you need know of me.”

“Do thy office,” commanded Hasuda.

The samurai thereupon forced the Regent to his knees, where he cringed trembling and shivering. The sword of the samurai hissed, curved, shone, shot through the air. The head of Ii lay upon the ground.

Hasuda then spoke:

“That no malice may be imputed to us, use thy second sword.”

Without a word the Satsuma samurai drew his second sword from his belt. The hilt he rested upon the ground. In an instant he fell upon its point.

The ronins left the vicinity of the palace, carrying the head of Ii with them. This they nailed to a post in a public place of the city.

In a short time, from the newly established foreign quarter of Yedo, flames leaped forth in destruction of the legations. Many foreigners found Japanese graves that night.

Yet, strange inconsistency! the ronins, still under the direction of Hasuda, went about everywhere, crying: “Down with the foreigners! Long live the Shogun!”

Those foreigners who escaped believed that the Shogun had ordered the night’s horrors.

At the hour of dawn Hasuda wiped his sword on a foreign fabric. As the morning breezes from the bay cooled his tired brow he laughed grimly.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what the noble Prince of Mori could not countenance himself has been accomplished; and, being accomplished, I shall find in him no open friend, it is true, but no sworn enemy.”

The roar of guns came faintly to his ears.

“To-morrow—to-morrow!” he mused, with a chuckle. “Nay, to-day, the wrath of the foreigners will descend upon the shogunate—the innocent shogunate. Decidedly, it is droll.”

XXXIII

IT was night when the runners of the Prince Mori’s norimon, having travelled the highway to its gated termination, entered Kioto. Uncertain as to his exact course, the Prince was settled upon one thing—haste—haste to arrive in the neighborhood of the Mikado’s palace, that he might plan in the shadows his future actions.

He had passed through the city’s gates, and with new cries to his runners was again urging them forward, when a cloaked figure, holding in one hand a naked sword, barred to the norimon farther passage. The runners stopped abruptly. Impatiently Mori thrust his head through the curtains.

“What now, you laggards?” he demanded, in no gentle voice.

At the sound of Mori’s words the man in the roadway uttered a cry of surprise.

“Thou, Mori!”

“What then?” inquired the Prince, defiantly, preparing to leap to the ground, sword in hand.

“It is I, Echizen. I will join you in your norimon.”

“Good!” said Mori. “Urgently I need your advice.”

Echizen climbed into the vehicle quickly. With a swift movement he drew Mori’s cloak about his shoulders in such a way that it hid his face.

“There is danger in Kioto for you,” he said. “Just now as I passed, the sound of your voice instructing your runners struck me with its familiar tones. When you raised your voice I recognized you immediately. You must be more careful, my lord.”

“Why should there be danger for me in Kioto?” inquired Keiki, quickly. “I am in my Emperor’s capital now.”

“But the massacres you have just instigated in Yedo are being used to your disadvantage. Aidzu has come to Kioto two hours ahead of you, and all is known to his Majesty.”

“Massacres!”

“Are you ignorant of them?”

“You do not mean—” Keiki paused, a suspicion of Hasuda dawning upon him. “Massacres by the ronins?”

“Yes.”

The Prince of Mori groaned.

“Hasuda, the chief ronin,” he said, “has broken his pledged word to me.” He explained briefly to Echizen his compact with Hasuda.

The Prince of Echizen had received a courier who came on horseback but half an hour prior to Mori’s arrival. He came shortly after the arrival of Aidzu, who was closeted with the Emperor. The courier’s only definite news was that the Regent Ii had been assassinated and the foreign legations burned by a band of ronins under Hasuda, acting, it was believed, under Mori’s orders. The ronins had pretended to be the Shogun’s men.

The latter information pleased Mori.

“Good!” he said; “the foreigners will lay the blame upon the shogunate.”

Echizen leaned from the norimon.

“Proceed slowly,” he told the runner, “in that direction,” pointing to a quarter of the town distant from the Imperial palace.

“We must adopt some plan of action,” he continued to Keiki. “These outbreaks, which I at first thought were at your order, will have fearful consequences. We must plan to turn them to account with the Emperor.

“But he already knows of the massacres.”

“Assuredly. Aidzu is governor of the city, and a person of influence with him. He will use the Yedo massacres to your disadvantage.”

“But Aidzu is a shogunate.”

“True; but lately he has gone over to the Emperor. He is still at heart a shogunate. It is by the order of the Shogun that he has come to the Mikado’s court, in fact. He is both a spy and an influence upon the Emperor for the shogunate.”

“How do you know all these things?” inquired Keiki.

“Since I left you in Yedo,” replied Echizen, “I have made considerable progress in the favor of the Emperor, all for the sake of the cause. I try to set myself against Aidzu.”

“Well, and what is the disposition of the Emperor towards my wing of the party? What does he desire us to do? What attitude should we take towards the foreigners and the shogunate at this time? I have a purpose in these questions.”

Echizen looked thoughtfully towards the east, where the offshoots of the still distant day were charging the rear-guard of night.

“My prince,” he said, slowly, “I feel that this day will be a decisive one in our annals. I feel that there is a great opportunity to be born a new nation to-day.”

“Speak on,” said Mori.

“The Emperor Kommei is, of course, desirous of regaining the power once held by his ancestors. He knows, as an educated man, that the shogunate has no legitimate right to existence. But he is a man of two natures. Fear, which is not cowardice, and suspicion, which is not discretion, is his ruling motive. He is surrounded by shogunate spies. Every effort he has made up to this time to communicate with us has been frustrated. Were he to put trust in a samurai and think of sending him as a messenger to us, the shogunate straightway removed that samurai.”

“By the sword, of course.”

“By secret means. In time the Emperor Kommei came to believe that the shogunate held his life in its hands, as it has. He came to distrust all men. He trusts neither Aidzu, his enemy, nor me, his friend.”

“What of the foreigners?”

“I believe that he would desire above all things to issue an order for their expulsion, and encourage us secretly to make war upon the shogunate, convinced as he is that his life and the very office of Emperor are at stake.”

“Could he be brought to give us secret instructions?”

“He might,” returned Echizen, dubiously, “but such is the temper of the man that, while bidding us make war upon the shogunate, he would also warn us that if the shogunate prevailed he could do nothing for us—he would leave us to die.”

With knotted brows, Mori considered long. Then:

“You think Aidzu is endeavoring at this moment to discredit me with the Emperor by laying responsibility for Hasuda at my door?”

“Yes, this very instant.”

Mori leaned out from the norimon and signed to the runners. They halted.

“One question more,” he said to Echizen. “Have you convenient access to the Emperor?”

“At any hour,” Echizen answered. Mori bent towards the runners.

“Full speed,” he cried, “to the Emperor’s palace.”

The norimon started ahead.

“To the Emperor’s palace?” repeated Echizen. “What are you going to do?”

“To confront Aidzu, my accuser, and urge the Emperor to expel the foreigners,” said Mori.

“Perhaps it is the best course,” answered Echizen, slowly.

“It is the opportunity of which you spoke,” said Mori. “The opportunity for which I have long waited.”

XXXIV

THE group of buildings set within the walled enclosure known as the Emperor’s palace was not surrounded as were many feudal castles of the daimios, and indeed other of the Imperial residences, by a deep moat of stagnant water. The poetic temperament of a people who had returned to the pure Shinto religion, which made Japan a land of gods whose chief was the Emperor, would not permit the Kioto palace to resemble a fortress. It seemed rather a temple, in the atmosphere created in outside eyes by its carved exterior.

The whole interior grounds, in which were the residence buildings, were separated from the city streets only by a heavy wall, rectangular in its completed course. Within, the foliage, set back from the street, rose high above the walls, intermingled with an occasional roof-top.

The wall was entered at intervals by guarded gates, whose porticos protruded into the street. Set out into the street, upon a broad stone platform, approached by a multitude of tiny steps, were two tall pillars, about each of which twined, carved in the material itself, a scaly serpent. Above the serpent, in a carved galaxy of death, were the claws, heads, and bones of wild beasts. Between the pillars and the edge of the wall, and forming the sides of the portico, were two square, wooden panels, upon which were carved dragons, trumpets, and the long-curved, bodied stork. Resting upon the top of the carved pillars and extending over the wall was the sinuous roof, each of whose lines seemed a snake curled in its tortuous travel path.

The roof, made of highly polished bamboo, but preserving its natural form, the little logs being laid side by side, swept up to a curling-point. Over the portico entrance of the gates, two carved, hideously grim faces leered into the faces of any descending the steps. Still higher up, under the shadow of the gabled roof, was the portrait of the Emperor.