CHAPTER XII.

Mutto, after the departure of Sennoske, continued the same quiet, uneventful life that he had led for ten years. He was perhaps even a little more reserved than before, if that were possible, and in spite of the glorious news arriving day after day frequently making mention of his son’s gallantry and bold deeds, the gloom on his countenance seemed to be as firmly fixed as ever. Two or three times he called at the smith’s, and these were the only occasions when, listening to O Tetsu’s merry talk, he showed something like interest in passing events and a partial forgetfulness of the grief which weighed on him. His duties at the court—now that the number of retainers was limited—had become more onerous, and he was almost constantly in attendance. One morning he was there as usual, making a report of what had occurred, when a courier arrived and was ushered in. This man, who was almost breathless, with every sign of exhaustion, was he who had been despatched by Sennoske; and it happened that he was also the first to bring authentic news of the fall of Kamakura and of the complete overthrow and annihilation of the Hōjō power.

[Illustration: NEWS OF THE ARRIVAL OF THE COURIER AT THE COURT.]

He delivered his letters, and the joyful tidings at once spread through the castle and into the town. The Duke, learning that the courier had himself participated in the fight, ordered refreshments brought in, of which he caused him to partake while the despatches were being read. When the reading had been concluded, the rich wine and generous fare, and still more perhaps the absorbing attention which was paid to the recital, invigorated the new-comer, who forthwith gave a graphic account of the battle. From general outlines he soon passed on to particulars, which he knew would be welcome, speaking of the way the Ise men had distinguished themselves, and giving the names of those who had won special renown. None, however, stood as high as Sennoske, who had saved the life of Nitta, the commander-in-chief, during the hottest part of the fray, who seemed invulnerable, and whose exploits had made him and his sword an object of superstitious terror to the enemy. The courier went on to speak of the command which had been intrusted to the young hero, and of the fact that he was now on his way home, having been detained only temporarily by a difficulty with Nagasaki no Taka Suke, the noted Hōjō partisan, whom, together with six of his retainers, he had attacked and killed single-handed.

[Illustration: SERVING REFRESHMENTS.]

When the courier reached this part of the narrative a heavy fall was heard; and on looking round it was found that Mutto had fainted, and in falling had struck his head against one of the wooden pillars. Assistance was immediately rendered him; but although the contusion was very slight, it was hours before he recovered. Then his face showed a remarkable change. There was no trace left on it of bitterness, of gloom, or of dejection, and it bore a look of complete though subdued content. He now told the secret of his life to the Duke, who did not stint himself in expressions of sincere and heartfelt congratulation. To show how very much in earnest he was, he on the same day made Mutto his hereditary _karo_,—which was the highest acknowledgment of his esteem and trust that he could show him. It was an honor which the recipient for his own sake alone would have waived, but which for the sake of his son he felt himself bound to accept.

Two days later Sennoske arrived at Kuwana with his party. His reception would have turned the head of any one with less modesty than had fallen to the young warrior’s share. His passion for O Tetsu also acted as an efficient counter-influence in repressing his vanity. He could not but feel gratified at the honors shown to him,—honors such as were seldom accorded to one so young; yet his principal care being always of her and of what she thought of him, every other opinion as to his deeds, however flattering it might be, became by comparison less important and less valuable. The only time when this feeling was in abeyance was during his interview with his father. Sennoske had reached the castle a little past noon, and had immediately been ushered into the presence of the Duke, where he had been detained for several hours, giving a minute account of the events of the campaign. With his father, whose altered appearance filled him with delight, he had been able to exchange only a few words while being conducted to the reception-hall. When he left there he was besieged by persons attached to the court, inquiring after relatives and friends. He was too kind-hearted not to stop, in spite of his impatience, when with a few words he was able either to give assurance of an absent dear one’s safety, or to speak of the bravery and martial spirit of a departed one in such a way that no _samurai_ wife or mother could look upon the loss otherwise than with feelings of pride and satisfaction.

[Illustration: JAPANESE ROOM.]

It was nearly evening when he found himself alone with his father in the old house. As the two men stood facing each other, excess of emotion for a while prevented both from giving vent to their feelings in words. Mutto finally put his hand on the other’s shoulder, saying in tones of deep affection: “I owe it to you, my son, that I can again enjoy this beautiful world, the glorious sun, the fruitful earth, and all the bright scenes it shows to us. I owe it to you that I am at peace with myself, and that I can lie down at night thinking of the next day, not with morose gloom as of a dreary task, but with glad content. I owe it to you that death has now no terrors for me, and that I can leave the world without the maddening thought that he who brought destruction upon my lord and benefactor remains in it, glorying in the ruin he wrought, and mocking at the _samurai_ who is unable to bring him to justice. He has perished,—perished by your hands, knowing that it was a son of mine who slew him; and the name of Numa will stand in the _samurai_ annals without a blot on its escutcheon, for I know of no wrong I have committed save this forced omission of my duty. You have given me back my peace of mind, and with it life, health, and happy content such as I never again thought to enjoy.”

The tears sprang to Sennoske’s eyes as his father thus addressed him. The stern, sad man, who had never before unbent himself, and whom in spite of a deep feeling of awe he had always loved with intense affection, now for the first time spoke to him with words of tender emotion. Even the voice was changed; and its sound fell upon him with a soft, tender cadence, as unlike his father’s former tones as the expressions which moved him so deeply differed from the methodical, impressive speeches that he had previously been accustomed to hear. It was like a change from the northern April wind, with its sad, moaning sound, to the pleasant May breeze, stirring grasses and leaves into gentle melody.

“I am indeed blessed and favored by fortune,” the young soldier replied, “that I have been able to do my simple duty in such a manner as to cause you to think me worthy thus to be addressed by you. If this arm could fulfil its task, it was because it acquired skill from your teaching and was exerted in a righteous cause. From the way in which I have gained the victory, it must have been ordained by the Fates which rule this world that I should punish your enemy.”

[Illustration]

Sennoske then gave an account of the whole scene as it occurred; and in return his father imparted to him all the particulars preceding his own departure from the province of Mutsu. An hour or two was thus spent before either of them was aware of the lapse of time, and then the young man, in reply to the repeated congratulations of his parent, added: “I was armed, moreover, with a matchless sword, that of itself would almost be sufficient to give confidence even to a weakling, and enable him to achieve success. Muramasa’s gift has indeed been inestimable, and, next to you, my best thanks are due to him.”

As Sennoske spoke, his mind reverted less to the smith than to the pretty O Tetsu, and an involuntary tinge of color flushed his cheek.

Mutto divined the drift of his son’s thoughts, and not unwilling to be left alone for a while with his own emotion, he replied as if in answer to an unspoken question: “You certainly owe a great debt of gratitude to Muramasa, and you ought not to delay thanking him. It would be an inexcusable negligence and a breach of etiquette, as well as a sign of ingratitude, not to visit him on the first day of your arrival. You will of course also see O Tetsu,” he added, with something of a smile on his face as Sennoske expressed his readiness at once to act upon the suggestion. “Muramasa and myself have made arrangements lately; and if you are still of the same mind as regards the girl, your marriage may take place at once, before you start on your new mission to Idzu.”

There is no need to picture the meeting of the lovers. This narrative has been told to little purpose if the reader’s imagination cannot readily divine the scene. Sennoske was in the first flush of a healthy, vigorous young manhood, and his intellect, which was of a very high order both by nature and education, found in his love for O Tetsu an outlet for its natural craving after something higher and nobler than the mere physical duties of a soldier. The girl, who had also inherited health and strength and an ardent, excitable temperament, had consoled herself for her lonely, companionless life with thoughts of him who was ever in her mind. With both it was a great passion pervading every part of their nature, ennobled and sanctified by the purity and innocence of their lives, and receiving strength and depth beyond the ken of ordinary beings by their pure, ardent singleness of purpose.

[Illustration: MARRIAGE SCENE.]

Sennoske’s meeting with Muramasa at first hardly satisfied him. In spite of the comparatively short time which had elapsed since his departure, he found the smith considerably wasted, with black rings round the eyes, even more restless and nervous than formerly, and evidently under the influence of acute mental troubles and anxiety. The young soldier’s fervent thanks for the sword, with which he opened the conversation, were listened to without any show of interest, and even with an expression of strong impatience which seemed to have taken possession of the man’s nature. This, however, was considerably modified when Sennoske came to speak of the exploits with which his name had been connected, modestly describing them as being due principally to the marvellous powers of his blade; and perceiving the effect of his words, he dilated at length upon all its points of proven excellence.

When at last he paused, the smith, after a few short words of congratulation, asked him abruptly: “Do you know of any Masamune swords being used in this campaign?”

“There were only two, or at most three, such blades in the possession of our troops,” was the reply; “but among the Hōjō adherents there were ten or twelve. I myself have taken one, richly ornamented, which was formerly in the possession of Taka Suke; if you attach any value to it, I should be happy if you would allow me to offer it to you.”

“Beware of what you say!” hissed rather than spoke Muramasa, evidently under great excitement. “Would you discard the superior weapon, and keep the inferior? You must surely know that it is reported that now in his old age Masamune, one of my former masters, forges swords which far exceed mine in excellence.”

“That is impossible,” Sennoske replied, his tone and manner attesting his truthfulness and showing that he was scarcely less in earnest than the other. “Besides, if proof to the contrary were necessary, have I not given it? Could a mere youth like myself come out unscathed and victorious in a struggle against seven veterans, whose chief wielded a Masamune blade, if mine had not been superior to his, and, I may say, to all the others as well?”

[Illustration: FEMALE MUSICIANS.]

“So it was this Masamune blade which Taka Suke had in his hands when you killed him and his pack of retainers?” the smith said, while a fierce joy lit up his sunken eyes. “The sword is the soul of the _samurai_, and it imparts its nature to him who wears it. I knew that that gentle old man could never give to a blade those qualities which men need who are bent on strife or revenge. My forging is of a different nature. You are kind and gentle too, Sennoske; yet your sword would never let you exercise feelings of pity or compassion. I am vindicated,—vindicated through you; and I know that the name of Muramasa will endure, honored and prized, as long as the _samurai_ spirit shall exist, as long as there are men ready to fight for right and for revenge. You have given me back, Sennoske, my confidence in myself, in my capabilities, and in the work of my hands; and I will accept the present you offer me as a _yuino_ when your nuptials with my daughter are celebrated. Four days from now has been selected as a ‘lucky day’ which shall see you wedded.”

[Illustration]

EPILOGUE.

[Illustration]

Sennoske and his fair wife enjoyed a lifetime of good fortune. Nothing untoward befell them but such small ills as humanity can never be entirely free from; and these were scarcely felt in their happy lot and in the love which they bore to each other and to the children that time brought them. The young soldier gained additional fame in his command at Idzu; and fulfilling within a year the task that had been intrusted to him, he returned to Ise and succeeded his father in the responsible office of _karo_. Numa, who had again assumed his old name, retired into _inkio_,—a private life of quiet and of literary pursuits, which he continued up to his death, which took place fourteen or fifteen years later. Muramasa, with whom he had continued on terms of close friendship and intimacy, died in the same year. The smith’s son continued in his profession; but the blades he forged, although of higher quality than those of other smiths, were not prized as those of his father. They were like them in appearance, in form, and in sharpness, and merely looking at the one by the side of the other, it was often impossible to tell them apart. Even in a few public trials that had been made they proved of equal excellence in all feats that required mere strength; but in fine fancy-work (such as cutting a piece of floating paper, which is one of the crowning tests of the original Muramasa blade) they were a shade inferior,—lacking in a nameless something, which could not be described in words, but which an expert could tell at once when handling them. In short, they were not true Muramasas. A few only of these competitive trials were made, however, and in Kuwana at least they were soon prohibited; for they always ended in heated discussions and bloodshed between the contending parties. As a singular testimony to the value of the older weapon, it was noticed that its possessor nearly always came off victorious.

[Illustration: GATHERING TEA-LEAVES.]

The victory of Nitta, although re-establishing the Mikado’s divine rights and prerogatives, unfortunately did not secure peace to the Empire. The claims—only too well founded—of those who had taken upon themselves the risk and labor of overthrowing the Hōjō usurpers were disregarded, and the great offices of state given to favorites who had held aloof while there was danger in acting, but who stepped in at the last moment to claim and almost monopolize the rewards. Rival jealousies and hatreds, dissensions, public and private feuds, again reigned supreme, and precipitated civil wars, which deluged the country. Only the divine rights of the emperors were respected and held sacred, while layman and priest, noble and peasant, suffered alike; and this state of things continued up to the reign of Iyeyas, two hundred and fifty years ago, which inaugurated the long peace that has since ruled in the Empire.

[Illustration: YAMATO-DAKE NO MIHOTA, SEMI-DIVINITY OF WAR.]

During all this time the position of _karo_ remained in possession of Sennoske’s descendants, and the family flourished and succeeded, knowing hardly any reverses of fortune. But, strange as it may appear, with the beginning of this peace the fortunes of the house of Numa declined. Some inexplicable bond seemed to connect their welfare with the fate of Muramasa’s swords. These swords, as long as strife and bloodshed were rife, were more esteemed than those of any other maker, in spite, or perhaps partly on account, of the constantly growing feelings of superstition with which they were regarded. Their possessors somehow or other never seemed content unless they had an opportunity for using them; and so generally did they succeed in gaining the victory over their opponents that at last even the bravest shrank with dread from fighting a duel with a man armed with a Muramasa.

Moreover, they were a fruitful cause of accidents. Often, when an interval of peace which had lasted for fifteen or twenty years had caused such a sword to remain unused for that time, upon first being drawn it brought about some dire calamity. It was a common thing, in spite of every care being taken, for the blade to fall out in some unaccountable way and strike the wearer, inflicting a fatal wound. Among those who suffered in this way were some of Numa’s descendants. These, however, were almost the only misfortunes which overtook them. With the return of peace these casualties increased to such an alarming extent that at last the Shôgun’s government issued a peremptory order, forbidding the use of these swords throughout the entire country. Nevertheless, they were still prized in private; but the power of the Tokugawa’s rule was too strong and the edict too imperative to allow of its being in any way openly disregarded. Muramasa blades after this were found mostly with a few of the most noted _ronins_ and robbers, whom tradition speaks of as having been wonderfully successful.

An unfortunate affair of honor which happened just thirteen years after the beginning of the long peace, and in which the then _karo_ of the Duke of Kuwana, a descendant of Sennoske, slew his master’s son by mistake, forced him to commit _seppuku_. In consideration of their illustrious and faithful services, the reigning Duke caused the family of the unfortunate man to suffer no further punishment than banishment from his province. They found an asylum with the neighboring Duke of Todo, who also gave to the oldest son, who was approaching man’s estate, a position at his court which, although far inferior to that which his father had held at Kuwana, was yet a high and an honorable one. This office was made hereditary with his descendants, who, in spite of faithful services, failed to improve it. The genius of the family evidently lay in a military direction; and although now and then some one of its members would perform a great deed of arms, opportunities for such deeds were rare, and the family barely succeeded in retaining their new position: this, however, they did as long as old Japan existed.

But the end of the power of the sword was rapidly approaching. In the first year of the period of Ansei (1855) came the establishment of treaties with foreign nations, and this sounded the death-knell of feudalism in Japan. For a time the descendants of Sennoske still subsisted upon a scanty allowance as dependants of the Duke of Todo. The complete abolition of feudalism by imperial decree in the third year of Meiji (1870) completed their ruin.

On the first day of the tenth month of that year there was breathless excitement in the town. All the _samurai_ of any standing were convened by the Duke in the large hall of the palace; and there an imperial envoy, who had arrived the day before, read the decree, that from that day feudalism ceased to exist. “Everything is at an end,” some of the _samurai_, stupefied by the news, said as they passed out of the hall; and so to a great extent it was. At an end all their inherited and fancied superiority. The traditions of the past, the records of twenty-five hundred years of ancestors’ struggles and heroic deeds, the qualities which all _samurai_ revered and held noble and strove to imitate, the bodily and mental gifts with which birth and education had endowed them,—all this in one day had become like a threadbare garment, fit only to be thrown away; while scarcely one of the losers had the means or possessed the faculty of procuring another that would suit the times.

Without education or qualifications adapting him to the new order of things, the last of the line of Sennoske found himself in a sad condition. The miserable pension allowed him by government was inadequate to his barest needs; but even this was soon lost to him, and the accomplishments of peace having never been his, he was unable to care for himself. Fortune befriended him no more; those in places of official power and affluence no longer reverenced the rank of _samurai_, but turned him from their doors, and he sank lower and lower in the social scale, until only the most degrading position of all, that of the poor, despised _jinrikisha_ man, was left to him. So to-day he lives, a connecting link between old and new Japan, between the feudalism of the past and the encroachments of the foreign civilization of the present,—a monument to the ruin of chivalry, knightly pursuits, and glorious deeds of arms; a poor, ragged, despised _jinrikisha_ man, but with a glorious heritage in the superb Muramasa blade which hangs on the walls of his hut.

[Illustration: MARSHAL’S BATON, WAR-FAN, AND HEAD-DRESS.]