CHAPTER XXI

JAPAN. CIVIL WAR

On the 30th of November at daylight, Satow and I, in our usual characters as diplomatic stormy petrels, sailed for Ōsaka to make all preparations for the opening of that city and Hiōgo on the first day of that new year which was to come big with the birth of a new power and fraught with events as momentous, perhaps, as any that the history of the world has seen. We reached Ōsaka on the 3rd of December, and were at once plunged in the political whirlpool. Besides that we had to prepare quarters for the Minister and his staff and the mounted escort, with fifty men of the 9th Regiment. Much building of palisades, bonded warehouses, custom houses, etc., was going on at what was to be the future foreign settlement. This was going a little too fast, and we had to put a stop to any further work until the Ministers should arrive. They might have a good deal to say upon the subject, especially as to the palisades, which were not a very encouraging indication of the intentions of the Government to promote intercourse between West and East.

On the 7th we had an interview with members of the Tycoon’s Council of State who were on their way to Yedo, and whom he had ordered to see us. We did not get much information out of them except that the Tycoon’s resignation was merely the carrying out of an intention formed long ago. We were not convinced, nor were we shaken in our belief that he had been driven to it by the persistent attitude of the clans.

On the 12th of December we had to leave for Hiōgo in order to see what preparations were being made there for the great event. We found that the people were in high spirits at the prospect of the opening of the port. In Kōbé, where the foreign settlement was to be, there had been seven days of feasting and merry-making, and there had been processions of people dressed in red crape with carts which were supposed to carry earth for the site of the new settlement. Similar fêtes were in prospect in the town of Hiōgo itself. The people obviously saw that foreign trade would spell prosperity for them.

When we got back to Ōsaka on the 13th, we found the city in an uproar of joy and excitement. It appeared that all this was in honour of a miraculous shower which had recently taken place of slips of paper bearing the titles of the Gods of Isé—the ancestral shrine of Old Japan and the chief place of the Shintō cult. Thousands and thousands of happy fanatics were dancing along the streets dressed in holiday garb of red and blue crape and carrying red lanterns on their heads, shouting till they must have been hoarse, “I ja nai ka, i ja nai ka!” “How delightful, how delightful!” The houses were decorated with many-coloured cakes, oranges, silken bags, emblematic ropes of straw such as are hung before the Shintō shrines, and a profusion of flowers.

It was a weird and wonderful sight, such as, maybe, will never be seen again; and yet folk-lore and old reverences die hard. Even though all this should be _mukashi_, as much so as the mysteries of Stonehenge are to us, one may hope that it may yet have some life in it. “Le respect du passé est la piété filiale des peuples,” was a fine saying of the Duc de Broglie; one which, in these degenerate days, I never weary of quoting, and we foreigners must not forget what the Japanese owe to the Yamato Damashii, the spirit of old Japan. It is upon the legends of the Shintō that it is founded. Then let the simple folk, “the hundred names,” dance like David before the Ark, in honour of showers of paper, for to them they mean the sacred traditions of a glorious past, and upon these is based a heroism before which the world has bowed its head in admiration.

No sooner were we back in Ōsaka than the old political conversations began again. Satsuma, Chōshiu, Tosa, Uwajima and Geishiu were solid for a change; other Daimios inclined to join, but vacillating. One thing we were clearly given to understand: if the intrigues now going on at Kiōto failed, the Daimios would revert to the old game of murderous attacks upon foreigners, not from any dislike of foreign intercourse, of which they were indeed in favour, but simply in order to embroil the Tycoon with the Treaty Powers. The obvious answer to this was that whatever might happen in that way, the Tycoon could not be held responsible for the action of persons over whom he, as they admitted, had no control!

The arrival of leading men in Ōsaka, so near Kiōto, at this time was very significant. Saigo, the famous Satsuma general, who died years afterwards by _hara-kiri_ in the rebellion of his clan, and Gotō Shōjirō were very conspicuous figures. The latter talked a great deal about the scheme to murder Satow and myself at Ōtsu in August and gave us many particulars. It was a merciful escape.

Letters from Yedo showed that there the demolition of the Bakufu was an accomplished fact. On the 20th we had an interview with Ito Shunské, which is worth noting because it was one of our first communications with a man, then in a humble position, who afterwards, as Prince Ito, became the most powerful political personage in Japan. He told us that war was quite inevitable, the object being to deprive the Tycoon of his territory, which was far too large for the peace of the country. He would have preferred to put off the arrival of the Foreign Representatives and the opening of the ports, but when he was told that this was out of the question, he said that in that case the opening must take place in order to keep foreigners quiet whilst the plans for the reformation of the country went on. We both warned him that if, in the course of the revolution, foreigners were attacked or any attempt should be made to upset the Treaties, the Japanese would be bringing upon themselves a very grave responsibility. He admitted the force of this and promised to keep Satow posted as to any movement that might be on foot.

On the 24th Sir Harry Parkes arrived with the other members of the Legation, and took possession of the quarters which we had prepared in a great tumbledown _Yashiki_ behind the castle; not perhaps the safest place in case trouble should arise, for fighting would be focussed upon the stronghold, but all things considered, the best that could be had.

Satow and myself were now very much more under observation than we had been, and it was not easy to keep up our communications with the Daimios party. The Tycoon’s guard kept a pretty sharp look-out, but we managed to defeat them by climbing over the walls of the Legation buildings at night, and joining our friends outside, who led us by tortuous ways to one or other of their _Yashikis_ where we were able to confer with them comfortably. In this way, like a couple of boys breaking out to rob a neighbour’s apple-orchard, we contrived to keep our chief posted as to what was going on; practical, but hardly very dignified. The end must be held as justification for the means.

The 1st of January, 1868, was really the birthday of the new dispensation. Up to this time, for many months, the country had been in a fever of unrest; there had been plots and counterplots, conspiracies and intrigues of which I have tried to give some indication, though their details would fill volumes; there had been the resignation, or sham resignation, of the Tycoon; there had been a gradual massing of troops near Kiōto: the Prince of Chōshiu, who had been in disgrace, had been forgiven, save the mark! by the Tycoon, and the Prince of Aidzu was said to have resigned the guardianship of the palace as a sign of his resentment of this leniency—but the report was not true, as will be seen presently: the witch’s cauldron was seething and boiling, but so far the peace had not actually been broken; the Daimios were still protesting that their object was only to curb the Tycoon and restrain an overwhelming power which had been abused.

We began to feel that the dogs of war were loose. We learned that the Prince of Satsuma had proposed the abolition of the Tycoon and the other old officers of State, substituting for them something analogous to a Constitutional Government with Secretaries of State and the whole machinery of an executive; a proposal in which we could not but recognize the reflection of hints which, at his request, Satow and I had given to Gotō Shōjirō. Satsuma’s views met with great opposition, many men dreading such Radical ideas as perhaps likely to end by threatening the kingship of the Mikado himself. Our informant said that this was no matter for argument, it must be decided by war. The Tycoon, he admitted, would raise no difficulties, being bent on preserving the peace of the country at whatever cost to himself. But he could not control his people.

Things were now moving at lightning speed and every day brought some new development. Rumours came flying fast and furious—some true, some garbled, some false—but all pointing in one direction.

On the 7th of January an official of the Bakufu came to tell us that the Tycoon had left Kiōto and was on his way to Ōsaka to have an interview with M. Roches. This naturally was a mere pretext; as a matter of fact he was leaving Kiōto because his office had come to an end. The Aidzu men who had charge of the nine gates of the Mikado’s palace had been ousted by Imperial command and the sacred precincts and the Emperor himself were in the hands of the coalition Daimios. Practically the end had come.

Satow and I went out to see what was going on. We found the streets being patrolled by soldiers with field pieces placed so as to sweep the approaches to the castle. It was bitterly cold and the men had their heads wrapped in mufflers—a curious addition to the pomp and circumstance of uniform. The Aidzu people, who were posted about, told us that the reason for the Tycoon’s withdrawal was his unwillingness to allow fighting to take place near the precincts of the palace—a sort of “Star Chamber” reason. They said that Satsuma wanted to do everything by force—so like that martial clan! Tosa, on the other hand, was all for proceeding by reason; but in either case the object was the same. As for Gotō’s scheme for a Constitution, Japan was not ripe for that: the change would be too sudden and too violent.

In the afternoon it became evident that the Tycoon was now close by. We saw wonderful groups of men clad in armour. They were very civil and full of patriotic declarations of readiness to die in the Tycoon’s cause, and indeed, as events proved, these were no empty boasts. They were beaten, but not before hundreds of Tokugawa men had died the death of heroes. Presently the bugles sounded and we saw a long procession of troops coming towards the castle.

A more extravagantly weird picture it would be difficult to imagine. There were some infantry armed with European rifles, but there were also warriors clad in the old armour of the country carrying spears, bows and arrows, falchions, curiously shaped, with sword and dirk, who looked as if they had stepped out of some old pictures of the Gem-Pei wars in the Middle Ages. Their _jimbaoris_, not unlike heralds’ tabards, were as many-coloured as Joseph’s coat. Hideous masks of lacquer and iron, fringed with portentous whiskers and moustachios, crested helmets with wigs from which long streamers of horsehair floated to their waists, might strike terror into any enemy. They looked like the hobgoblins of a nightmare. Soon a troop of horsemen appeared. The Japanese all prostrated themselves and bent their heads in reverent awe. In the midst of the troop was the fallen Prince, accompanied by his faithful adherents, Aidzu and Kuwana. The Prince himself seemed worn and dejected, looking neither to the right nor to the left, his head wrapped in a black cloth, taking notice of nothing. Some of those with him recognized us and returned our salutes. It was a wild and wonderful sight and one of the saddest that I ever beheld. At the gate all dismounted, according to custom—save only the War Lord himself; he rode in, a solitary horseman. It was the last entry of a Shōgun into the grand old castle which had come into the heritage of the Tokugawa by one tragedy, and was to pass out of their possession by another. In each case fire, “the calamity of the dancing horse,”[2] played its cruel part.

Sir Harry Parkes at once asked for an appointment to see the Shōgun on the following day, which was declined; but hearing that M. Roches was to be received, our chief was not to be held; he insisted upon making his way in, with Satow and me—to the outspoken disgust of the French colleague—and the two ministers were received together—not without some recriminations and angry words between them. The Shōgun, or rather ex-Shōgun, as he now was, seemed greatly depressed; he was a very different man from the handsome, proud noble who had received us with so much dignity in the preceding May. The many troubles, sorrows and indignities which he had undergone were written in his face. He repeated the old story of his having left Kiōto from patriotic motives, in order to avoid civil war, which would be waged almost in the sacred presence of the Emperor. He said that he should remain in Ōsaka, but did not know whether he would be attacked. As to the existing order of things, he said that the Mikado nominally ruled, but that Kiōto was occupied by an unruly set of men, who did nothing but quarrel among themselves and had no notion of governing. The two ministers applauded his action—the Frenchman in fulsome language, Sir Harry in more measured terms. There was obviously nothing much to be drawn from him, and as he complained of feeling tired, the rather barren conference came to an end.

That evening Sir Henry Keppel, who, with my old friend, his flag lieutenant (now Admiral Sir Henry Stephenson, Black Rod), and that grand sailor and gallant gentleman, Captain Chandos Scudamore Stanhope, of H.M.S. _Ocean_,[3] was on shore, insisted on my going off with him to Hiōgo to sleep on board the _Rodney_, and hear the band play. It was blowing great guns, and I felt pretty certain that the perfidious bar which I knew only too well would be dangerous if not impassable. I told this to the Admiral, but he pooh-poohed the objections of a mere landsman, and said that I “did not know what a steam-launch could do.” So off we went with a second boat in tow. Darkness set in, and by the time we reached the mouth of the river it was black night.

The wind was howling like Bedlam; the sea was terrific; now and then there was a rift in the clouds, and we could see the mockery of the wicked moon shining luridly through the ugly green waves which towered over us, hungry to swallow us up; we expected to go under any minute.

It soon became evident that we must cast off the boat which we were towing; there was no other chance for her, and our desertion saved her. Captain Stanhope took the helm, keeping the launch’s bows to the beating seas; as he stood in the stern with his teeth set, a grim statue, as if he had been carved in stone, he was splendid. There was one specially evil moment, when the Admiral turned to me and said: “I don’t know what you think, but I have never seen death so near.” This coming from the hero of the Fatshan Creek—when his coxswain had his telescope driven into his stomach, his boat was sunk and five of his crew killed—the old sea warrior, who had survived heaven knows how many deadly fights with the wild head-hunters and pirates of Borneo—was not reassuring. Stanhope gave a sort of ghastly grin, but he went on doing battle with the demons in the waves; it was a tough fight, but at last he managed to bring us alongside a French man-of-war, the _Laplace_, which was lying in the roads, with H.M. surveying ship _Sylvia_ about a mile away. We hung on to the Frenchman; the officers were very kind to us; they lowered sardines and biscuits and mulled claret to us—the latter most acceptable, for we were up to our waists in water, drenched to the skin and half-frozen.

They tried to send a chair down to hoist us on board, but the sea was running so high that it was impossible; the chair and its occupant would have been dashed to pieces against the ship’s side. So there we remained, being played cup and ball with for five hours; at last there came a slight—a very slight—lull in the storm; the Admiral determined to avail himself of it in order to make the _Sylvia_; it was a critical moment, for we had to turn in the trough of the sea and a second too late would have been fatal; had we shipped a wave our fires would have gone out, and then! But Stanhope was not the man to make a mistake; we danced on to the curled crest of the preceding wave, and after a struggle for life reached the _Sylvia_; by that time there was some further abatement of the weather, and we were able to be hoisted up one by one into safety and the joy of sleep between hot blankets, after a steaming and strong glass of grog.

When we reached Hiōgo on the next afternoon, we were met by the news that the United States Admiral Bell, with his flag lieutenant and all his boat’s crew, had been drowned on the bar in the same storm. The English newspapers made a muddle between the two Admirals, and in London we were reported lost.[4]

On the 10th I had to go back to Ōsaka with despatches for Sir Harry. I was sent in a steam launch commanded by Lieutenant Leventhorpe. The storm had hardly abated. The wind was still raging furiously. The impression of the night of the 8th, heightened by the death of Admiral Bell, was upon me, and I confess that I did not like it! But we all had on life-belts, and we got past the bar in safety. Still our troubles were not over, for as we neared the castle, we saw that one of the bridges was crowded with a very hostile mob, some of whom were making ready to sink our launch with a huge block of stone. In the nick of time our coxswain saw it, gave the boat’s nose a twist, and the great rock splashed harmlessly into the waves within a couple of feet of us. Some forty years later I had a very nice letter from that good fellow, who had done us such excellent service, asking me whether I remembered the occurrence, and the glee with which I called out to him, “Well done, coxswain!”

When I reached Ōsaka on the evening of the 10th I found that on that afternoon a conference had taken place between the Foreign Representatives and the ex-Shōgun, as he now was, on the invitation of the latter, who was desirous of making a statement on the present condition of affairs. In the meantime it should be mentioned that following the example of his own officials, he was no longer addressed by his former high-sounding titles, but simply as Uyé-sama, which I should translate by “Highness.”

Great interest attaches to this address, for it contained internal evidence that it was his own composition and new even to those of his advisers who were present, for the gentlemen of the Foreign Office, who feared to see their occupation gone and themselves reduced to the condition of “the hundred names,” could hardly suppress their surprise and joy when he announced that he would continue to direct foreign affairs. Their pleasure, however, was fated to be short-lived. The statement ran as follows:

“My ancestor, Iyéyasu, settled the form of government in Japan in its fundamental principles and all its details; for upwards of two centuries there has been no one, from the Emperor down to the humblest of the people, who has not paid respect to his virtue, or who has not reaped the benefit of his good intentions. But the world has changed. Since the conclusion of the treaties with Foreign Powers it has been impossible not to be aware of certain shortcomings in laws which, up to that time, had been held to be all-sufficient and good. From the first moment when I succeeded my predecessor I felt this, and determined, in collaboration with Kiōto, to introduce a reformation of these laws. Inspired by an honest love for my country, and for the people, I laid down the Power which I had inherited, and with the understanding on the other hand that I should call a meeting of all the Princes of the country, with a view to discussing the matter from the point of view of a reform of the constitution for the public weal, and deciding it by the vote of the majority, I placed the conduct of affairs in the hands of the Imperial Court.

“In order to the fulfilment of this great work, my resignation of the government was accepted by His Highness the Regent, who had been appointed by the late Emperor as protector and adviser of the young Ruler and by several of the Princes of the blood and Nobles of the Court; at the same time I received the Imperial command to carry on the government as before, until a decision of the assembly of territorial Lords should be arrived at. I waited for this assembly and was firmly resolved to take

## part in it. In the most unexpected way, however, one morning

several Princes broke into the Palace with an armed force, drove out His Highness the Regent, who had been appointed by the Emperor, together with the Princes of the blood and the Nobles of the Court, introducing in their stead certain Nobles who had been banished by the dead Emperor, and abolished the office of Shōgun, without waiting for the decision of the proposed general meeting of the Council. My Hatamotos” (petty nobles of the Tycoon’s court) “and vassal Princes were profoundly indignant, and pressed upon me day and night the absolute necessity of resisting by force of arms a crime which broke the laws and set at nought the will of the people. But inasmuch as my original intention in laying down the government had been to assure the union of all classes of the people, such exaggerated zeal was in contradiction to the determination which I had adopted.

“Whatever my rights might be I would not be the cause of a national revolution. It is with a view to avoiding such an unhappy disturbance of the peace that I have come to Ōsaka. My reasons for this procedure are not those which superficial observers might presuppose. When I consider this criminal proceeding from the point of view of love for my country and its people, I cannot look with indifference upon the fact that they have made themselves masters of the person of the young Emperor, and under the pretext of the Imperial will, have given the reins to their own egotistical desires, bringing suffering upon the people. This is a complication which I am bound to disentangle for the benefit of my people. Should there be any people who disagree with me, I shall endeavour to persuade them to bow to a majority of a general assembly and to pray earnestly for a successful government of the country. Sharing as I do the zeal of my ancestor, Iyéyasu, in his love for the people, and striving with all my might to carry out the intentions left behind him by the dead Emperor, I am inspired by the earnest desire to unite my strength with that of the whole nation, to carry out with all right and wisdom the task which I have set myself, and to give effect to the views of the assembly.

“There is no need for the Powers with which we have concluded treaties of amity to trouble themselves about our internal affairs. All that is of importance is that they should not hinder the course of just principles. Insomuch as I have loyally observed all the conditions of the treaties, I hope all the more to deserve your approbation if I protect the interests of all the Powers. You will, moreover, understand that until the form of government shall have been settled by a general discussion in an assembly of the people, it is my duty to observe the treaties, and to carry out the agreements which have been come to with Foreign Powers, and in general to maintain relations with abroad.” (See Herr von Brandt’s “Drei und dreissig Jahre in Ost Asien,” Vol. II., p. 170.)

After this remarkable address, which seems to me to be of sufficient interest to be given in full, the leave-taking was preceded by an anti-climax of the usual platitudes.

In the meantime the Daimios were becoming more and more united, and were pressing for the Tycoon’s reply to the proposal that he should surrender to the Mikado property to the value of two million Kokus of rice, in order to form the nucleus of a national revenue. Tosa and other chieftains proposed that they should follow suit, but Satsuma, not yet quite educated up to the glories of self-sacrifice, was said to shy at this idea, for which the time was not quite ripe; yet only a few more months were needed for its consummation.

The next few days were full of interest, though there was nothing more to be got out of the Uyésama, who by pertinacious questions about the British Constitution adroitly parried all attempts on the part of Sir Harry Parkes to draw him. In the meanwhile Satow and myself continued our surreptitious visits to the Satsuma Yashiki, where we met important men who had been sent down from Kiōto to confer with us. We had but one doctrine to preach: let the Mikado invite the Foreign Representatives to audience at Kiōto, and himself take over the direction of Foreign Affairs.

The news from Yedo was as bad as could be. A Satsuma Princess, widow of the last Tycoon but one, had been spirited away by the Satsuma clansmen in Yedo, upon which the Tycoon’s people retaliated by burning the three Satsuma Yashikis in that city. The clansmen took refuge in a steamer belonging to their Prince and put to sea with the Tycoon’s ships in hot pursuit. This resulted in an insignificant sea action.

Two of our student interpreters, Messrs. Quin and Hodges, had been fired upon as they passed in a native boat under the Satsuma battery; but no damage was done. The Tycoon’s ship _Eagle_ was met by H.M.S. _Rodney_ off Cape Ōshima on the 23rd—minus a foreyard arm; obviously the position was acute and fighting there must be.

On the 27th of January we saw the sky lurid with fire in the direction of Kiōto and heard that there had been fighting between the Tycoon’s troops and the Daimios at Fushimi. A servant in Willis’ employ came in from that direction; he reported large numbers of clansmen camped round great fires in the streets. On the hither side of Fushimi were a regiment of the Tycoon’s troops and bands of irregulars all eager for the fray.

On the 28th the Satsuma Yashiki, where we used to visit our friends from Kiōto, was burned down—either by its inmates or, as some said, fired by shells from the Tycoon’s troops. The Satsuma men escaped in boats, but were fired upon from the banks and two men were killed. News came in that Fushimi was in flames—burnt by the Daimios men who had disputed the entry into Kiōto of the Tycoon’s troops. More soldiers of the latter were going up. All sorts of rumours were flying about, among others a report that the Daimios were tired of Satsuma and his arrogance. This did not stop the fighting, nor alas! the burning of small towns and villages, the flames of which we could see in the distance. It was heart-rending.

On the evening of the 29th we heard that the Tycoon’s troops were beaten. At eleven o’clock of the 30th we received an intimation from the Tycoon that he could no longer protect us. The Tycoon’s messenger promised to get us boats to take us down the river, and we set to work to pack up the Legation archives and what we could of our belongings.

At four o’clock in the morning a letter came from M. Roches, telling us that he had learned that the clansmen’s troops would enter the town soon after daylight.

It would be of but moderate interest now to relate in detail our troubles of the next day or two, the difficulty of getting boats, the labour of moving such chattels as we could, leaving the rest to be burnt or looted with the Legation buildings. On the 2nd of February a first puff of smoke announced the firing of the castle with all its glories of art. It was time that we should leave Ōsaka. It had not been easy in those distracted times to procure fresh food, and our men were beginning to suffer from scurvy; a change to Hiōgo was to them a godsend.

On the 31st of January the Uyésama himself, who had been all this time in the Castle of Ōsaka waiting the course of events, escaped in disguise in the U.S. ship _Iroquois_, from which he transhipped into one of his own steamers and made off to Yedo.

There has been much exaggeration as to the numbers of troops engaged at Fushimi. There were probably not more than ten thousand of the Tycoon’s men against some six thousand of the clansmen. And no doubt the former would have given a better account of themselves had there not been treachery in their camp. The General in command at a most important point turned traitor, and the enemy suddenly poured in upon them in a quarter where they believed themselves to be perfectly safe. Then the Tycoon’s Commander-in-Chief deserted to the enemy. The game was up.

My part in the flight from Ōsaka was very exciting. The rest of the Legation went down the river in boats, as I have said, and so by sea to Hiōgo. (Shall I ever forget the sight of our dear old giant Willis, squatting like a man-mountain on the top of the great boxes containing the archives—for he was Chancelier as well as Doctor?) I, on the other hand, was ordered to ride to Hiōgo in charge of the mounted escort. We started in bitter weather with a blizzard in our teeth from the north-west; it pricked so hard that now and then the horses would try to turn round, and only with spur and whip could they be made to face it. The case was awkward, for having no more to go by than the points of the compass, we missed our way, and had to travel for a good many miles through paddy fields of which the narrow banks were slippery with sleet and ice. At one place two of the men, whose horses absolutely refused to go forward, were deposited in the horrible slush of the field and were, of course, drenched. Those who know rice fields need not be told of their condition.

In great misery our beasts skated along the banks making very slow progress, and I was in despair of reaching Hiōgo before dark, when at last, after several hours, I came upon the high road at a place where the left bank of a broad river was occupied by some eight hundred or a thousand soldiers, waiting to be ferried across. I did not know to what clan, or even to what party, they belonged, and I confess that my heart was in my mouth. However, as my men came up in single file, I passed down the word to them to take no notice whatever might happen, but if they should be in any way insulted or molested to come to me. I went up at once to the commander of the troops and addressed him with the utmost ceremony, telling him who we were, and expressing the warmest friendship. To my great relief he was quite polite and most amiable, making many excuses for the delay which the ferrying over of his men would cause us; I, on the other hand, apologizing to him for disturbing his men. We were soon on the best of terms, and as soon as his soldiers were all on the other side he sent back the ferry-boat for us. After crossing the river we overtook him and his men again at Amagasaki; they were marching in a great open space near the castle. My friend the commander gave a word of command: “Halt! Front! Present arms!” My men carried their lances and so we rode through the town in great state, and without any further adventures good or bad reached Hiōgo a little after dark.

It had been a bitter ride, with rather more than a spice of emotion, and I doubt whether a more shivering lot of men and horses, starved with cold and hunger, faced the mangers that night in any part of the habitable globe. Happily the two men who slipped into the rice-field were none the worse for their dirty ducking.

The Ministers were lodged in the old Custom House, Satow in an outbuilding, I in a shanty that might best be described as a Hiōgesque version of a fifth-rate Margate lodging house. At any rate we had roofs over our heads, we had fresh food, and our good friend, Herr von Brandt, had unearthed a bottle of Curaçoa, over which the diplomatic body made merry. He had already triumphed over the hungry colleagues in Ōsaka by the acquisition of a pig; but that led to difficulties, as the priests of the temple in which he was lodged stoutly objected to the slaying of the unclean beast—not on account of its uncleanness, but on account of its being a beast and therefore under the protection of Buddhistic law. The difficulties were overcome by a compromise whereby the place of execution was fixed in a vegetable garden adjoining a remote corner of the temple grounds.

February 3rd.—We had news from Kiōto to the effect that the Satsuma and Daimios party regretted our having left Ōsaka, where they stated that they could have guaranteed our safety. However, the trick was done, and there was plenty of work to keep us at Hiōgo. The clansmen told us that the Tycoon had received orders to invite the Foreign Ministers to an audience of the Mikado at Kiōto. This invitation was never delivered, having been burked at the instigation of our good colleague, M. Léon Roches, whose great object it was, hoping against hope, to bolster up the Tycoon, without whom all his schemes for monopolies would of necessity miscarry; so he never ceased throwing obstacles in the way of the acknowledgment of the Mikado’s sovereign state.

With the restoration to power of the true Emperor the influence which he had been at such pains to build up must tumble to pieces; it was a house built upon foundations as unstable as the shifting sand. In his intrigues to keep back the invitation to Kiōto M. Roches’ action was both vain and foolish. Vain, because it did not and could not retard the visit to Kiōto by one hour, and foolish, in that it was bound to break the eleventh commandment.

Established at Hiōgo we were under the impression that we might now in peace set about our business and go on with the first steps for the opening of two ports. Never were men more deluded. We had avoided the Scylla of Ōsaka, where, as we now knew, we should have been perfectly safe, and had steered into the Charybdis of Hiōgo, where we were within a few hours to undergo an experience which, by the merest luck, did not end in a general massacre of the whole of the Foreign Representatives, together with numbers of Consuls and subjects of various nations, and which did end in a tragedy, gruesome and of haunting memory.

On the 4th of February, about two in the afternoon, the Foreign Ministers were busily employed upon the land at Kōbé, which had been assigned as a foreign settlement, when a regiment of men of the Bizen clan, coming out of the gate of Hiōgo, halted at the word of command and opened a murderous fire upon the foreigners. Happily they did not understand the sights of their rifles, which, as it subsequently appeared, they had recently received from America. They fired upon the principle laid down, according to my old friend Lord Dorchester’s story, by one of his sergeants in the trenches before Sevastopol. A Russian head appeared above the battlements of the town. “What’ll I give him?” asked a private of the Coldstream Guards. “Give the beggar a thousand yards and make sure of him!” Several volleys were fired. Sir Harry Parkes and Captain Stanhope were in the thick of it. All the other Ministers and many people were under fire. Mercifully only one American sailor lad of the _Oneida_ was slightly wounded.

As soon as the British escort and the other foreign guards could be got together they went in hot pursuit of the Bizen men, who were now in full flight, dropping their baggage as they went. The baggage consisting of various goods and chattels, including two small field-pieces and a writing-desk belonging to one Ōmori Shinské, containing a burning love-letter from a young lady of none too severe morals called Kotozawa San! The pursuit yielded nothing; only one old woman of the Éta or Pariah class was wounded. Being what she was, she would have fared badly had it not been for the kindness of our good old Doctor Willis, who took her in and nursed her when no Japanese would come near her.

Now for the so-called provocation which should justify such an outrage. The evidence that we were able to take went to show that the men of Bizen, notorious for their _Jō-i_ or anti-foreign feelings, on marching through Hiōgo had lost no opportunity of insulting any foreigners whom they met. As they went along the road north of the foreign settlement that was to be a Frenchman named Callier, one of M. Roches’ escort, came out of a wine-shop, and being rudely spoken to asked what was the matter. To this the Japanese replied with threatening gestures. There was a hubbub, and a soldier took the cover off his lance and pricked Callier, who dashed on one side and bolted into a house. At this moment the officer in command, Taki Zenzaburō, dismounted and gave the order to fire on the assembled foreigners.

I am such an admirer of Mr. Longford’s “History of Japan” that it is with regret that I feel compelled to join issue with him upon his account of this affair, the importance of which he unaccountably slurs over. For some reason or other a few newspaper writers who were not present and with whom Mr. Longford sides, were minded to belittle the significance of the attack. As a matter of fact it was about as gross a violation, not only of constitutional custom, but of the laws of humanity, as could be conceived. Mr. Longford characterizes the incident in his own way, saying that subsequent investigation “shows that it was not one over which Europeans can now feel pride.”

He tells the story as follows: “A detachment of Samurai of the Bizen clan, escorting the Karō, the chief councillor of the Prince, passed Kōbé on their way to Kiōto to join the loyal party. A French marine broke the line of their procession, a gross insult in the eyes of a Japanese Samurai, and though an attempt was made to stop him, he persisted in passing through it. He received a lance prick for his pains, and he and his comrades, one of whom was also slightly wounded, then ran away. The Japanese followed them with a desultory fire which did no harm. Panic seems to have seized the whole of the residents in the new Foreign Settlement in the direction of which the fire went. Large forces were immediately landed from the great fleet of men-of-war of all Western nationalities.”

This statement of the case is wrong throughout. Mr. Longford goes on to imply that the punishment of the officer in command of the Bizen men was unjustifiable. Mr. Longford’s account is, as I can aver, absolutely misleading and contrary to the evidence. He was not at Kōbé at the time.[5] I was. But lest my version of the story should be deemed one-sided, let me call into court a witness whose testimony is beyond reproach. In his “Drei und Dreissig Jahre in Ost Asien” Herr von Brandt, who was Prussian Minister in Japan at the time, puts a very different complexion upon the episode.

“As we—that is to say, Count de la Tour, the Italian Minister, the commanders of the U.S. warships _Iroquois_ and _Oneida_, and myself—left the Custom House and stepped on to the open sandy space which surrounded it we saw there a great number of foreigners, who had probably been attracted by the sight of Japanese troops that were marching through. There appeared to be several hundred men, who were marching towards Ōsaka in regular order along the road which bounded the wide open space on the north.

“We were about three or four hundred paces away from the troops, though many of the foreigners were far nearer. All of a sudden I saw the soldiers halt, front, and immediately I heard the rattle of a volley of musketry and the whistling of bullets mostly over our heads. At first I thought that it was a fight between the Mikado’s troops and the Tycoon’s men, and was about to give expression to my indignation that such an occurrence should be possible in the foreign settlement when a second volley, and the flight of the Europeans who were between us and the Japanese, told another tale. The Japanese troops had opened fire upon the whole crowd of promenaders, among whom was Sir Harry Parkes.... I must confess that I expected nothing else than that we should have to fight for our lives, for I could not but think that the Japanese would follow us up.

“I was not a little astonished when I saw that after they had fired six or seven volleys—they were armed with repeating rifles—they quietly marched off.” (Here follows an account of the landing of bluejackets and marines and the fruitless pursuit of the Japanese soldiers.) “Only one ship’s boy and another foreigner had been slightly wounded, a piece of luck which I attribute to the Japanese having fired too high; they must have fired many times at the flags of the treaty Powers which were flying over the Custom House, at any rate the building was riddled with bullets.... In the meanwhile, we had had further information as to the Bizen troops, and had been able to ascertain (_feststellen können_) that during their whole march through Hiōgo and Kōbé they had behaved shamefully to all the foreigners whom they met, threatening many of them and wounding two with their spears.”

This is a very different version of the story; it is told by the responsible minister of a great Power, a man of singular ability and circumspection. This version I, who was on the spot, though not myself under what was only saved from being a deadly fire by the ignorance of the use of the rifle’s sights, fully confirm—and it is indirectly endorsed by the action taken not only by the whole body of foreign ministers but also by the Government of the Mikado. Against that you have to set the mutterings of irresponsible hearsay, to which, unfortunately, Mr. Longford has lent the support of his authority as historian and ex-consul.

To sum up—the attack was made by a clan known to be specially hostile to all intercourse with the West; it was directed against all the treaty Powers, whose flags were flying on the building set apart for their use and whose ministers were engaged peaceably with a great number of their fellow-subjects in laying out the future settlement under treaty rights, escaping death by a miracle. The outrage was deliberate, and absolutely unprovoked, the story of the breaking of the procession being an afterthought. We heard nothing of it at the time, and that was the view which the Japanese themselves took of it, for the guilty officer was condemned to _hara-kiri_, and the rest of the sad story is told in my “Tales of Old Japan.” I have only dwelt upon it because I wished to clear up a story which, as told in Mr. Longford’s book, would remain a blot upon the memory of men, who, after long and anxious debate, by a vote of the majority took upon themselves a grave responsibility, in which they were fully justified by the incontrovertible evidence which, to my knowledge, they sifted with the most painstaking care. Mr. Longford fixes upon Sir Harry Parkes the responsibility of the death sentence. Wrong again!

As a matter of fact, when, on March the 2nd, two leading men, Godai and Ito (Prince Ito) came to see whether the life of Taki Zenzaburō might not possibly be spared, at the Council of Ministers which followed Sir Harry Parkes and M. de Graef van Polsbroek argued and actually voted in favour of the condemned man—but they were in a minority, and it was decided, wisely as I thought at the time, and still think, that the decree of the Mikado must be carried out. The Japanese petition for clemency was very half-hearted; and over and over again Japanese gentlemen of high position, amongst them one of the ablest of the Mikado’s ministers, in conversation with me endorsed the action of the Representatives; they took the same view that I did, saying that clemency would be mistaken for cowardice. There had been too many attacks upon foreigners, many of which had been unavenged. Here was a man of some condition guilty of what was the greatest outrage which the anti-foreign party had attempted. To excuse him would be to invite a repetition of such offences. The knowledge that this officer had expiated his deed under sentence from his Emperor would penetrate all Japan, and would prove that the Son of Heaven was not only in favour of foreign intercourse, but was prepared to punish any violation of the Treaties.

That night, March the 2nd, came the last act of the tragedy. I have recounted it in my “Tales of Old Japan”; it need not be repeated here.

* * * * *

To go back a step or two. On the 8th of February Higashi Kuzé, one of the nobles of the Court, who had been banished by the former Emperor, brought to the Representatives the following notification:

“The Emperor of Japan announces to the Sovereigns of all foreign countries and to their subjects that permission has been granted to the Shōgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu in accordance with his request to hand back the governing power. We shall henceforward exercise the supreme authority in all the internal and external affairs of the country. Consequently the title of Emperor must be substituted for that of Tycoon under which the Treaties have been made. Officers are being appointed by us for the conduct of Foreign Affairs. It is desirable that the Representatives of the Treaty Powers should recognize this announcement.

“Feb. 3, 1868. Mutsuhito—L.S.”

The reading of this document, after it had been translated, led to the poor envoy being bombarded with questions, relevant and irrelevant. The Bizen affair, the return of foreigners to Ōsaka and various other matters were discussed, in the midst of which poor M. Roches lost his temper and had rather a rough time of it with some of the colleagues. It was almost his last outburst, for he was soon to leave for Europe when Baron Brin, a charming man, would take his place as _chargé d’affaires_. Though he was none too civil to me personally, as an Englishman and quite opposed to his policy, I always entertained a kind of sneaking regard for M. Roches. He was in private life a picturesque and rather fascinating personality. But when, for his undoing, stripped of his white burnous and his Spahi’s uniform, he was pitchforked into diplomacy he became a round peg in a square hole. None of his schemes and stratagems outlived the fœtus stage, and his fireworks were but damp squibs.

His discomfiture was pathetic; the utter failure of his policy, accentuated by the Imperial manifesto brought by Higashi Kuzé, had destroyed the last particle of prestige that he had once had with the colleagues, who now had no better course left to them than to follow the lead of Sir Harry Parkes.

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