*CHAPTER III*
*A Samurai's Home*
A Japanese Interior--An Oriental Menu--Tales of Old Japan--The Quarrelwith Russia--Chang-Wo--Raiding the Raiders--Good-bye
"Takaki ya ni Noborite mireba--"
Bob rubbed his eyes, and became conscious of a crick in the neck. Hethought for a moment he must be in a railway-train; the sensation wasjust the same that he had experienced on a night journey to London, whenhe had had a compartment to himself, and lay stretched on a seat withhis head on the elbow cushion at the end. But no: he had never heard inEngland such a thin soft voice, singing in utter tunelessness suchstrange words--
"Kemuri tatsu; Tami no kamado wa Nigiwai ni kere".
He lifted his head from the low neck-rest, and remembered. The voicecame through the wall of his room; but it was not a wall--only a slightpaper partition. It was evidently time to get up. He flung off thewadded quilt, and sat up--not in bed, but on the stretch of strawmatting that formed almost the only furniture of his room. The neck-restfell down, making a slight noise; the voice in the next room ceasedsinging; he heard the swish of soft garments; a few moments later asliding paper panel in the partition was pushed back and a formappeared--the form of a little Japanese carrying a bath and a pitcher ofwater.
"Morning, sir," said the little fellow with a smile and a bow. "Bath inmorning, sir?"
"Thank you," said Bob, springing to his feet. "By the way, I don'tthink I have heard your name yet?"
"My name, sir, Taru. You sleep well, sir?"
"Oh yes, though I found the head-rest a little strange. Was it yousinging just now, Taru?"
"No, sir; no sing at all. The little lady, hon'ble mistress, sir; OToyo San."
"Indeed!"
Bob forbore to ask questions. He had only arrived the night before atKobo San's country house near Nikko, tired and chilled after the uphillrailway journey from Tokio, and quite ready to retire to hissleeping-chamber after a cup of warm sake. It was three days since hisfirst meeting with the Japanese gentleman who had called upon him at thehotel. During those three days Kobo San had proved himself a mostdelightful companion. He had taken the young Englishman here, there,and everywhere about Tokio: to an entertainment at the Maple Club, whereBob had seen the prettiest geishas in Japan dance to the barbarous musicof the samisen and the koto; to a wrestling match between two hugeathletes; to a theatrical performance which, though tragic in intention,gave him considerable amusement, so strangely were the actors' facespainted, so ludicrous (to the European eye) were their gestures andgrimaces. Bob was intensely interested in all that he saw, andsincerely grateful to his indefatigable guide; but his delight wasincreased tenfold when he received an invitation to spend a few days atKobo San's country house; it was a unique opportunity of seeing forhimself something of the domestic life of Japan.
Two things had struck him specially during those three days. The onewas that Kobo San was a man of great note and influence; wherever hewent he was treated with exceeding respect and deference. The secondwas that, though he himself knew almost nothing about Kobo, Koboappeared to know a good deal about him. No confidences had been given,none asked; but Bob had the strange consciousness that his new friendwas perfectly acquainted with the errand upon which he had come from theisland empire of the West to the island empire of the East. Wheninviting him to Nikko, Kobo had said "My house is within easy reach ofthe telegraph", as though to reassure him that if the summons he wasexpecting should come suddenly, while he was there, nothing need hinderhis prompt obedience to the call. Bob had never learnt how his host haddiscovered the whereabouts of the stranger who had rescued his man fromthe one-eared Manchu. The explanation was simple. The Japanese,finding his vengeful hunt for Chang-Wo fruitless, had next day madeenquiries at all the European hotels, and learning that a youngEnglishman staying at one of them somewhat answered to the descriptionhe gave, had sat down on his heels at the gate for hours, and waitedthere until the man he was in search of passed by.
And now Bob was actually a guest in the house of a Japanese samurai.The house was really a sort of two-storied bungalow, standing on risingground, and approached by a flight of stone steps. A mountain rosesheer into the sky behind it; a stream dashed over a cascade, filled afish-pond in the neat garden, and plunged into the river below. Therewas no furniture to speak of; nothing but straw covered withfinely-woven bamboo, spotlessly white, a pot or two of flowers, and acurious-shaped stand for a paper lantern, by which, as he learntafterwards, Kobo San sometimes read at night. But his surprise wasmingled with admiration. The walls were plastered with sand of variedhues, inlaid with fragments of shell and mica; the ceiling was of lightpolished wood crossed by bars of a darker colour, and supported on lightposts. Near the ceiling ran a long strip of exquisitely-painted paper;along the bottom of the wall a narrow border of the same was fixed. Onone wall, from floor to ceiling, there was a kakemono,--a painted panel,representing storks standing in water dotted with moss-grown rocks. Ina corner was a sort of inlaid cabinet let into the wall, where thefuton, the thickly-wadded quilts, were kept; for every room in aJapanese house is a bed-room in case of need. Let into the floor was acharcoal brazier, with which alone the room was heated. Everything wasspotless; the harmony of colour was perfect; and Bob could not helpcontrasting this charming simplicity with the elaborate tastelessfurniture of the conventional English home.
While he was still admiring, Kobo came in. But it was a different Kobofrom the frock-coated gentleman he had known in Tokio. His host wasclad in the costume of his country,--the flowing wide-sleeved kimono,his feet encased in the mitten-like tabi--socks with a separate pocketfor the big toe. He bowed very low as he entered the room, and therewas a slight smile on his face as he explained:
"When I am at home, as you see, Mr. Fawcett, I preserve the oldcustoms--the old dress, the old manners. I work in the present, I takemy recreation in the past. Did you sleep well?"
"Very well; though I woke once with the idea that I was falling out ofbed."
"Ah, you will soon become accustomed to the makura. No doubt you are nowhungry."
He called, without raising his voice, and from the distance came along-drawn answering cry: "Hai-i-i, tadaima!" Presently there enteredtwo ladies, followed by four maids bearing food on little lacquer trays.The ladies went down lightly on their knees and bent over till theirheads touched the ground, murmuring "O hayo!" Bob was somewhatembarrassed, but Kobo said something in Japanese; the ladies rose,advanced, and said "Good morning!" with the prettiest accent imaginable.Kobo explained that they were his wife and daughter, O Kami San and OToyo San. Bob would have taken them for sisters, so alike were they inthe graceful kimonos of lilac-coloured silk, girt with rich brocadedobi. They knew but a few words of English, but Bob felt almostinstantly at home, so simply and charmingly did they welcome him.
Soon all four were seated on cushions on the floor, while the fourmusumes knelt in front of them, offering the first course of Bob's firstJapanese breakfast. It consisted of beautiful white cakes made ofbean-flour and sugar, and little cups of weak tea. This was followed bya sort of fish broth in lacquer bowls, with a condiment made of shreddeddaikon--the Japanese radish--mingled with green herbs. Bob found thathe had to pick morsels of fish from the broth with a pair ofchop-sticks, dip them into the condiment, and poke them into his mouth;and his first clumsy attempts with these novel utensils did not call theshadow of a smile to the faces of his polite entertainers. Then cameprawns in batter, fish cakes, rice in bowls of gold lacquer, preservedplums, crystallized walnuts, and other dishes, in many of which fishfigured in some form or other: all in such midget quantities that Bobfelt he would still be hungry if he swallowed the portions of all four.He felt as Gulliver might have felt at a state banquet in Lilliput. Athis side throughout the meal stood a beautiful porcelain bottle filledwith sake, a liquor tasting like weak beer and water. Bob did not likeit, but he had accepted Kobo
San's invitation, and he was resolved toendure without flinching all that Japanese hospitality might involve.
When the meal was finished the ladies withdrew, and Bob was asked by hishost to accompany him in a drive. At the door the former found hisboots, and the latter a pair of sandals, which he fastened by passing athong between his big toe and the rest of his foot. Outside therewaited two handsome rickshaws with their coolies, who set off down thehill towards the magnificent avenue of cryptomerias that stretches inone almost unbroken line for twenty miles.
That was the beginning of as pleasant a week as Bob had ever spent. Hegrew accustomed to the simple ways of the house: took off his bootsinstinctively on entering; learnt to squat more comfortably on thefloor, and to enjoy the novel fare; even to tolerate theplunky-plunketing of the koto when O Toyo San played to him, and sangstrange songs which she tried in her pretty broken English to translate.On some days Bob was left much to himself; Kobo received many lettersand telegrams which kept him busy for long hours in his own room, and atsuch times Bob would chat with Taru, the servant, who gave him manyprecious bits of information about his master's family, always withinfinite discretion. Kobo was the descendant of a long line of samurai,who had themselves been the vassals of a daimio or great baronial familyillustrious in the history of Japan. Taru himself remembered the timewhen Kobo's family had fought in the great civil war from which datesthe wonderful advance of modern Japan. Previous to that time,foreigners and all things foreign had been regarded with the intensesthatred by the Japanese; Kobo's father had been among those who fired onthe foreign settlement at Hiogo in 1868, and had been condemned tohara-kiri by the Mikado. Bob learnt the terrible details of that modeof execution, when the condemned man, without a murmur or a sign ofreluctance or fear, deliberately took his own life at the bidding of hislord. Kobo was a boy of nine when his father thus died; he had grown upunder the new system; he had played a considerable part in the JapaneseDiet, and had won great honour in the war with China; and he now enjoyedthe peculiar confidence of the Mikado's government. Taru did notexplain what position he held, and Bob, for all his curiosity, did notcare to ask; it was evident that the man held the master in boundlessveneration.
Interesting as these talks with Taru were, Bob was most of all pleasedwhen his host, in the evenings, after being invisible all day,entertained him with stories of his country's history, and recounted thepicturesque tales of old Japan. He learnt of the long tyranny of theShoguns, who kept the titular sovereign, the Mikado, in strict seclusionand usurped all his powers until the great Revolution of 1868, when therestoration of the Mikado overthrew the Shogunate for ever. He learntabout the old class distinctions: the daimios, great feudal princesowing vassalage to the sovereign, holding their fiefs on condition ofdoing military service; the samurai, the warlike retainers of thedaimios, themselves chieftains of large bands of warriors, and oftenmore powerful than their lords; the priests of the two religions, Shintoand Buddhism, some of whose wonderful temples in Nikko Bob visited incompany with his host; below all these the trading and farming classes,who were held of no account, however wealthy they might become. Helearnt of Japan's strange awakening that followed the Mikado's finaltriumph over the Shogun: the abolition of the feudal system, thedisarming of the samurai, the eagerness to learn western ways, thereadiness to adopt western inventions. Besides all this, he heard someof the legendary stories of old Japan, and one evening saw Kobo dressedin the old armour of the samurai, a combination of chain-mail andarmour-plate, with penthouse shoulder-pieces, nose-piece and gorget,helmet and greaves, a long spear, and two swords worn one above theother on the left hip. Bob was carried back to the days of chivalry inEurope, when knights in armour went out adventuring, soldiers of fortuneselling their services to any potentate who would employ them; and heunderstood something of the fierce energy and enthusiasm which,withdrawn from mere warlike enterprises, had found an outlet in Japan'sastonishing development in commerce and industry.
Most of all, Bob was struck by the glimpses he obtained of the samuraiideals. Kobo never talked about his honour; it was not a matter eitherto boast of or to prove; but from the stories he told, and his manner oftelling, Bob recognized that his ideal of honour equalled, if it did noteven transcend, the ideals of the preux chevaliers of Christendom. Inthe old days, the samurai's devotion to his feudal chief was thepole-star of his life. He allowed nothing, not the direst tortures, notdeath itself, to stand in the way of his duty as he conceived it. Inthe Sengakuji temple in Tokio Bob had seen the tombs of the Forty-sevenRonins, the national heroes of Japan, whose story as he heard it nowfrom Kobos lips was an epic, an Iliad that was literally true. TheRonins, whose very name means "wave-tost", were samurai, and their lordhaving been compelled to put himself to death, they formed themselvesinto a league to avenge him against the man whose treachery had broughtthis woe upon him. Unfalteringly they pursued their aim, though theyknew that the end must be to themselves also death. Against alldifficulties and machinations they held on their course unswervingly;their lord's enemy was slain; and with serene cheerfulness they acceptedthe inevitable doom, and forty-seven, slew themselves in the mannerprescribed.
Kobo's conversation was not merely about the past. He spoke of thedifficulties at that moment facing his country--difficulties due ingreat measure to the interference of western powers. With an increasingpopulation, a soil of which a large part was unfit for cultivation, andrapidly-growing industries, Japan needed outlets for her energies, andwas determined not to be debarred from her legitimate markets inManchuria and Korea by restrictions imposed upon her by Russia, whichhad stepped in and robbed her of the fruits of her victory over China.It was now no secret that a critical stage had been reached in thenegotiations between the two empires. Russia promised but did notperform; Japan was biding her time. Would she fight? Bob could notrefrain from asking the question. Kobo smiled.
"You saw that little quarrel between two rickshaw men in the narrow roadyesterday. They could not pass; neither would yield to the other; theybowed and smiled and discoursed pleasantly for a long time. Then all atonce, as you saw, the eyes of one shone, his features set themselveswith grim purpose, and he secured the right of way by a heavy strokethat rendered his adversary helpless. Our diplomatists will be politeuntil the last word is said, and then--"
The information was not merely on Kobo's side. Bob felt that, while thepurpose with which he had come to Japan was perfectly known to his host,some further account of his antecedents was due to him. One evening,therefore, he spoke of his parents, of his home in the hill-country nearPenrith; of his school-days at Glenalmond, and the vigorous bracingsystem there; of his early taste for mechanics, and his subsequent yearswith a Glasgow engineering firm and at Glasgow University. He spokemodestly of his experience, enthusiastically of his work, and hopefullyof his prospects; and Kobo, listening without any outward sign ofsympathy, said a few simple words of encouragement, which Bobappreciated much more than if they had been extravagant and fulsome.
One day a chance reference to the Chinese war of 1894 prompted Bob toask a question on a matter that had engaged his curiosity ever since hislittle adventure in the Ueno Park.
"Chang-Wo?" said Kobo with a smile. "Yes, I will tell you about him ifyou do not mind listening to a somewhat long story. It was in theautumn of '94. I was then a captain in the Eleventh regiment. Ourgeneral, Count Yamagata, had driven the Chinese across the Yalu, and wehad made a dash on Feng-huang-cheng, only to find the place a heap ofruins. But we captured a vast quantity of stores, and it was while wewere making arrangements for the disposal of these and for the advanceof our main army from Kiu-lien-cheng that word was brought to GeneralTatsumi of a disaster that had befallen one of our transport trains. Itwas one of those tiresome little contretemps that cause loss andannoyance without affecting the general progress of a campaign."
"We had several affairs of that kind in our Boer war," remarked Bob."But I interrupt you, sir."
"A half compan
y of infantry escorting a large quantity of war materialhad been ambushed by a force of Manchus from the hills on our right.Nearly all our men had been killed; the remainder, with the wagons, werecarried off into the mountains. The leader of these guerrilla warriors,or brigands as they would more properly be described, was a certainChang-Wo, a notorious freebooter, who had collected a formidable band ofoutlaws, and was playing for his own hand. The news was brought to usby one of the wagon-drivers, who had cut the traces of his team and madegood his escape. He told us that the brigands were very numerous, butowing to the suddenness of their onslaught he could not give us definiteparticulars. It was clear that the attack had been most skilfullyplanned, for the captain in charge of our column was an officer of greatability.
"The general could hardly allow such an attack to pass unpunished. Hewould have sent cavalry in pursuit of the brigands but that the hillycountry was entirely unsuited to them. It happened that my infantrycompany had been the first to scale the defences of Kiu-lien-cheng, andGeneral Tatsumi selected us to track the marauders down. But he gave usonly twenty-four hours. If we did not overtake them in that time wewere to return; he said he could not afford to waste a company on awild-goose chase in the hills. Accordingly I set off at once with mymen. The brigands had four hours' start of us, and unluckily we had noinformation as to their route. But the chances were that they would makewith their booty for their stronghold, and we discovered that that laysome two or three marches distant among the hills. It was fifteen milesto the spot at which the ambush had been laid; that was four hours'march, so that the enemy were altogether eight hours ahead of us. Wehad only sixteen hours left of our twenty-four. Could we accomplish ourtask? The one point in our favour was that Chang-Wo was encumbered withbooty. No doubt he had impressed natives to carry it: wagons would beuseless in the hills; and laden coolies perforce go slowly.
"Just as we were starting, it occurred to me that we might make use ofthe river if boats could be procured. After a little searching we foundenough flat-bottomed craft to embark all our men, and we punted down theriver for some sixteen miles, saving our legs, and making excellentprogress, for we were going with the stream. We kept a sharp look-outon its banks, and at last my man Taru, an excellent scout, declared thathe saw traces of a recent fording of the river by a large force. Welanded, following up the tracks, and prepared to march them down.
"We had not gone very far before we came upon a coolie dying by thewayside. He told us that he had been brutally maltreated by the Manchusbecause he had been unable to carry his load. From him we learnt thatthe brigands had passed seven hours ahead of us. It was one o'clock inthe afternoon. My men were in grand condition, the boats having savedthem a fatiguing march; and the Japanese infantryman--pardon my sayingso--is hard to beat at forced marching. By dusk we had covered thirtymiles over the hills. Then a few of my best men went ahead to see ifthey could more definitely track the enemy. The night was still youngwhen they returned. They had found a large camp about six miles ahead;watch-fires were burning, but the bivouac was but loosely guarded.Chang-Wo evidently believed that he had outmarched any pursuing force.We at once pushed on.
"The brigands were engaged in high carousal when we came within ear-shotof their camp, which was pitched in a hollow of the hills. I sent ascout forward; he returned with the news that they appeared to be aboutto carry out an execution. I could not doubt that some of my unhappycountrymen who had fallen into the Manchus' hands were to be thevictims, and I knew that their death would be neither speedy norpainless. Sending a score of my men to the further side of the hollowto cut off the brigands' retreat, I waited only long enough to give themtime to take up their position; then in dead silence the rest of uscharged down among the gang. The sentries were so much interested inwhat was proceeding in the camp that we took them quite unawares, and wewere in the midst of the camp almost before the alarm was raised.
"It was a good fight, a capital fight, while it lasted; but my men had ascore to pay off, and they were bent on teaching the brigands a lesson.My servant, a very tiger in battle, made direct for the big Manchu,Chang-Wo, and aimed a cut at his head. But the blow was warded off by ahenchman of the chiefs, and it took only partial effect, slicing off thevillain's right ear. Then they closed, Chang-Wo and Taru, and there wasa desperate affray, both struggling on the ground, for though the Manchuis big and extraordinarily powerful, my man was a younger man in thosedays, and had no match as a wrestler in the whole Japanese army.Unluckily he was struck on the head by the same man as had warded offhis blow from Chang-Wo, and before I could come to his assistance theManchu scrambled to his feet and disappeared in the darkness. He wasone of the few who got away. We wiped out almost his whole band. As Iexpected, he had been about to torture to death the half-dozen Japanesewhom they had brought as prisoners from the ambush. We had two hoursleft out of our twenty-four."
"And what is Chang-Wo doing now in Tokio?"
"I do not know; though I could make a guess. I had heard little of himsince the war. But he is still the chief of his band of brigands; andwe have every reason to believe that he is in Russian pay. But he is nolonger in Tokio. As soon as Taru told me of his meeting in the Park, Isent men on the Manchu's track. He had disappeared; and I think he willnot again be seen in our towns: his absent ear would make him now tooconspicuous."
One day, not long after Bob had thus learnt the story of Chang-Wo, Kobowas more than usually busy. Telegrams reached the house in quicksuccession, and the ladies, though they betrayed no anxiety, showed bylittle indications that might have escaped a less interested observerthan Bob that an important moment had arrived. Few outward signs ofaffection passed between Kobo and his family, but it was easy to discernhow thoroughly his wife and daughter were wrapt up in him, and how theyall doted on his only son, a boy at school in England. It wasWednesday, February 3. Bob was seated with the ladies waiting for Koboto appear at the mid-day meal. He came in at length. The ladies roseupon their knees and made him a profound obeisance. He was dressed inEuropean costume; in his hand he held a telegram.
"For you, Mr. Fawcett," he said gravely.
Bob took the envelope, tore it open, and read:
"You are requested report yourself Admiral Togo at Sasebo."
It was signed by the secretary whom he had seen when he called at thegovernment offices in Tokio.
"I am summoned," he said to Kobo.
"Yes. I will accompany you. Let us finish our meal."
Bob was so much excited that he found it hard to eat. The others wereoutwardly as calm as though nothing had happened. The many courses werebrought in as usual by the smiling musumes. Bob made a pretence atpartaking of them all, but he was glad when the meal was over, and hishost announced that rickshaws would be at the door in half an hour. Itseemed an age. The moment of parting came. Bob bade farewell to O KamiSan and O Toyo San, thanking them with a full heart for the hospitalitythey had shown him, then mounted to his place. Kobo San followed him.There was no hand-clasp, no good-bye kiss; wife, daughter, the musumesbent to the ground in the lowliest of obeisances; and as the cooliesstarted to run down the hill, Bob looked back and saw them all at thedoor, still with smiling faces, and heard in their pretty, unstressedaccents the soft, long-drawn-out word of farewell:
"Sayonara! Sa--yo--na--ra!"
Kobo: A Story of the Russo-Japanese War Page 4